#who is going to feed this world when we're gone

[sirenscradle]

for the thrill of the hunt.

(chapter i. the original sin.)

♱✮♱⋆ masterlist: summary, chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii.

♱✮♱⋆ word count: 16.3k

♱✮♱⋆ pairings: ancient vampire!seonghwa x ancient vampire!reader x prey!wooyoung/poker player!wooyoung (eternal!throuple) LOL (san! x reader but that’ll get its own story.) (aged up!san)

(for this chapter ONLY/for the sake of their backstory, holy knight!seonghwa, holy knight!reader, san x reader, and a very light mention of hongjoong x reader) (i am so sorry for the pain that san’s story will cause eventually—i am fully invested in writing a separate one shot about his and the readers story.)

♱✮♱⋆ tropes: murderers to lovers (LOL) y/n and seonghwa have been married for centuries and seonghwa is a very dramatic and whiny husband despite trying his best to be a mysterious vampire + wooyoung’s a methodical airhead!! there will be a smidge of a reincarnation trope… _(:3 」∠)_ sad backstories for y/n and seonghwa btw + there will be elements of fantasy, mythology/mythological creatures, & knighthood centered around the medieval ages when we delve into their vampiric lore/backstory. (chapter one only) after the backstory, we will return to the present time—where we are currently facing your dilemma with seonghwa AKA the main plot of us hunting down the golden gambler (LOL, stay with me now) please note that this chapters’ relative/fantasy genre will not extend as importantly in the present world and serves more as an explanation into the vampiric lore of my story! there’s gonna be a lot going on

♱✮♱⋆ genres: smut, comedy, major angst and tragedy warning for chapter i, fluff, fantasy/supernatural, porn with lots of plot.

♱✮♱⋆ series warnings: 18+ MDNI—detailed depictions of blood, gore, murder, war, strong explicit language, and references to substance abuse. there will be some mentions of a suicide, LOTS of character death, depression, and s/h, age gap (san is eleven years older than reader and seonghwa) switch!seonghwa, ROUGH!sex, sado-masochism, reader likes being treated like shit in bed, seonghwa’s quite literally insane, switch!reader, momentarily sub!wooyoung, brat!wooyoung, honestly rude dom!wooyoung, some religious metaphors utilized in non-sexual and sexual situations, threesomes, solo play, regular play(?) some mxm action but everyone’s f**king each other to be completely honest, a F*CK ton of spit, knife play, biting, blood play, a seriously prolonged roulette game, asphyxiation, mentions of an orgy, probably will add additional chapter warnings when the actual chapter is posted, a murder plot gone wrong, and very ancient vampires who still collect coupons and hate rich people despite being rich themselves #neverforgetwhereyoucamefrom #hypocites

♱✮♱⋆ summary: being an ancient vampire sucks sometimes—both literally and figuratively. when seonghwa refuses to feed and forces himself into a deep slumber after declaring that he’s unwilling to face the painful boredom of everyday life, you’re forced to devise a delicious plan that’s heinous enough to awaken your very mopey husband. this is why jung wooyoung— a world star poker player with not only a great mug to pair with his skills, but the world’s rarest blood type, golden blood— gets a big red x on his photo that you shoddily pin onto the wall of your dining room when your frustrated efforts at getting your husband to stop moping grow frantic. your villainous husband— not one to opt out of a well-crafted game, rises to join you on this particular excursion. the mission? play an all-stakes game of cat and mouse with jung wooyoung’s life—

for the thrill of the hunt.

authors note: (this chapter will be taking on darker notes as we're starting the story off with an in-depth backstory. seonghwa and y/n were born more than 900 years ago—and in this fictional, unnamed country, it was basically the equivalent of medieval times. huge warning, this is the chapter that has the most gore and character deaths. this could definitely be a large prologue, since this is just setting the basis of what will be the main plot—which truly starts in the next chapter. there’s a good amount of time skips too. not much wooyoung yet, but you'll see LOTS of him in the next chapter. )

♱✮♱⋆ update: might be a short series (five chapters or less) —the world may never know because i certainly don’t. updated the fic to angst, since shit got a bit dark when i actually started writing it. first chapter will be probably be heavy backstory!! we won’t be getting deep into the comedy/smut aspect until chapter two.

prepare yoself this is a long one, but it was so fun to write.

chapter i—the original sin.

“you conniving, conniving woman.” seonghwa grits at you in annoyance, stretching each vowel and pushing them passed his teeth— not pleased with the fact that you’re staking out (haha!) next to his coffin to ensure that he doesn’t go and force himself into a century long slumber. you married the man for a reason. a life of eternity was already marred with the promise of a dull and irreversible sense of boredom and it was brutal enough now—it was almost inconceivable to you to try and imagine if your partner in crime wasn’t there with you to pass the ages with.

sure, a century passes in a blink of an eye for someone of your kind. you could fill your days with an absurd number of orgies, attempting to sate your gluttonous appetite, or even better—kissing beautiful women, rolling in your silk, dipping a toe or two in senseless murder plots and playing cupid on your nicer days—but these are things you and seonghwa could do together. at the end of the day, it was seonghwa that you’ve watched the rise and fall of old kingdoms with.

it was also seonghwa who knew how to consume you best, who understood and carried the same weight of your sorrows and was your one true counterpart—seonghwa fed into your brutality and licked into its beauty devotedly.

the centuries were doused from your relentless bloodthirst, and seonghwa—well, he was an extension of yourself, your beloved siamese twin.

honestly, it’d just suck if you couldn’t suddenly bite into his neck without warning on any particularly annoying day—and oh god, who would clean after your messes? if you kill another (you can’t help yourself, sometimes) politician, seonghwa wouldn’t be around to fill out the paperwork you’d need to send to the council of elders, or who would make your tea the exact way you liked it? bless the poor soul who’d be forced to try and should they fail—who would clean up after the body when you’d be too angry to eat? who would hang the laundry or take your stockings off when you’re too blood-drunk and couldn’t be bothered to move? or worse, if seonghwa’s not around—who would help you with tightening your corsets? should he decide to lay himself to rest—your waist might be a few inches less snatched for an entire century. the flurry of thoughts nearly made your eyes start to spin, and you began chewing lightly at the tip of your index fingernail.

“can’t you, i don’t know—just let me die?” he moans out and throws his body against the array of ornate camellia colored velvet throw pillows, face flushed against the dense fabric in a futile attempt at suffocating himself. you turn the pages of an outdated newspaper flippantly, not sparing him a glance as you hum out a quipped reply.

“darling, haven’t we gone over this? if you could die, i would’ve gotten rid of you myself. now stop whining and find something to eat.” you lick at a finger to separate the pages that weren’t budging to turn. seonghwa lowers the pillow down enough to squint his eyes at you in frustration and huffs pointedly at your figure that was casually draped on the loveseat to his left—his beautifully prominent eyebrows and it’s furrows deepen as you continue to ignore him and his antics.

finally giving up with a sigh, you turn your neck to apologize when you’re met with the sight of seonghwa’s midnight hair turning into a pale color of snow and steel— the plush petal of his lips mimick a bitten berry, and his eyes darken into shade of obsidian with the murkiness of charcoal and water.

in a flash, seonghwa tugs your body off the suede loveseat you sat cross legged on with a single hand wrapped around your ankle, and forces your thighs apart when you slide onto the floor. hoisting your satin dress up with a thin hand—he bites into the meaty junction of your thigh, nose digging into the tendons of your bikini line as you lay on the expanse of a large turkish rug.

sighing, you lazily lift your right leg (the one not being gnawed on) and drape it over his left shoulder, threading your fingers through his silken hair to push his mouth deeper into you. perching yourself up on your elbows, you gaze at him with a soft worry that began to carve a dent between your brows.

candles decorated every corner of your elaborate living room that was filled with various textiles, books, maps, and colors that accentuated the beloved antiquity of a time you’d spent together in london— you recalled the more recent centuries and how they were filled with copious love making and short-lived adrenaline—gifted by the mysteries and arrival of the new world.

as you gazed at the all-too-familiar and striking features of your promised person under the yellow-bellied light, your previous expression of annoyance melted into an unsure admittance of defeat.

“would you'd like to eat another president? god knows america’s not having a great time right now and— “

“good lord, y/n—“ seonghwa widens his jaw to slide out the four especially elongated incisors from your leg with your hand still clutched onto his hair from the root. he gazes at you with almost comical exasperation.

“—we could be the good guys for once, i don’t know” you continue to ramble and widen your eyes in an attempt to convince your desperate mate, as if to say, ‘come on, wouldn’t that be so fun?’ and mumbling a small, ‘we’ve done it before, right?..remember?’ followed by an unsure chuckle.

seonghwa’s face falls completely and rolls his eyes tiredly. tilting his head up towards the ceiling and sighing, he pinches at his nose bridge—as if praying for patience. the tuft of hair you’re grabbing shakes lightly as you guide his head into a nodding motion. reclining to lay on your back completely, you press his lips together from their sides with your index finger and thumb—puppeteering him to follow your next words. you’re a beautiful sight with your hair fanning around you, draping around your silhouette like a halo. your chest caves and rises in small, fast movements as you try to restrain laughter

"down! down with that evil cheeto puff president, i say—" you exclaim indignantly in a high pitched and boyish voice, mimicking the paperboys and rioters of the previous century. seonghwa's arms bend at your sides in order to hover your body—his facial expression communicating his being utterly unimpressed by your impressions. though, not disagreeing with your message, he mentally added offhandedly, and sighed.

like dominoes falling, seonghwa's features shifted from its abrupt wintery pallet into their original form: olive-toned skin that was slightly flushed from his inhaling of you earlier, a cherubic softness gleaming from supple and doughy skin, and dark satin-like hair that brushed and fell like ribbons over prominent cheekbones. his features emitted a natural glaze over his gaze, as if imbued with a perpetual fever.

raising himself up to move from his position above you, he sits back and tucks his knees under his chin—a sudden morose and soft gleam emitting from his eyes. all dramatic pretense and frustration washing away, unmasking a more ambiguous version of seonghwa that transcended the current persona he’d curated in order to adapt with the times. speaking with a tone and experience that revealed his true age.

"my sweet girl," he softly began with.

you immediately recognize the rawness of his somber tone and sit up to mirror his position. there was something in his gaze that evoked a terribly far memory—one traveling from a time long passed.

of simpler times, really.

you can't recall the horrors of your humanity as vividly anymore—of your time in fighting against an unfair world, after being born into misfortune, and finding comradery and comfort in only seonghwa. the memory bloomed an emotion that you hadn’t felt since being reborn into a primordial darkness. you momentarily lose yourself to the recollection of the innocence of that love, of that seonghwa.

"we've done so much, haven't we?" he smiles softly at you, right cheekbone leaning onto rest at his knee, reflecting the surrounding embers off the domes of his eyes—it’s demure light bouncing towards you like a little comet.

"we have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms of great majesties. some, in which we partook in—and others, we tried our darndest to defend. i no longer recall in profound detail the softness of my own mothers’ breast, my once human boyhood, nor the clasp of my once brothers hands in mine. I don’t even remember the names of the first men i'd killed, and have barely a recollection of my brief human sorrows,

—but i have loved you in every single life we've lived together. i remember your girlhood and every tear you've ever shed. i remember every version of you—your once warmth, and the red hotness of your bloodthirst upon your awakening into the dark gift. i, myself, followed to relinquish my humanity after yours was taken—i knew, even then, that i would only accept damnation as you'd give it to me, and who would make your tea if i disappeared? i couldn't leave you on your own—no heaven is worth our separating and i knew that there was no hell that promised our seats next to each other." he huffed jokingly and began to smile widely at hearing your soft giggle.

"my heart, that is now solidified into volcanic rock, had only mimicked the beat in the order of which syllables fell from your name when it was still alive and warm— and my monstrous soul that took its place in its most ardent adoration for you after it's timely departure—can only find joy in the infinite hours of our damnation i share only with you." he sighs wistfully and a couple strands of hair flutter at the touch of his breath. he shifts a little to gaze at you more closely and continues

"i say this to preface that, even now, i do not regret in my pleading for you to pull me in to share your darkness. this primordial evil that has long gutted any visage of our genesis, our origins, and once holy union— and i don't yearn for a single glimmer of the human lives we were momentarily damned with, especially as holy knights." his stare hardens with a hint of incredulity—and you knew that, he too, felt an old seed bloom within him.

it reminded you that due to your... state of being—time didn't occur to you in numerical terms all too often. you knew you'd have, well, forever for the most part, and were hilariously unsure if the sun exploding would kill you either.

which is precisely why recalling your original life felt surprisingly off putting. you knew where he was going with this, that although he would never truly leave you alone—he ached at how mundane every valuable thing on earth became to him. our endless lifetime granted us a painfully melancholic predisposition, and although we couldn’t die—at least not seonghwa and i— we were creatures immensely susceptive to various eternal tortures that were honestly light years worse than death.

other vampires would occasionally choose to slumber for a century or more to try and reinvigorate themselves from time to time, but they also weren’t the physical inhabitants of an ancient and old god—this was the very reason why yours and seonghwa’s cases were so particularly dreadful.

the nature of your creation myth as a vampire co-existed as a singular anomaly—the circumstances made it so that while yes, other vampire forms were built to be able to achieve an immortal life, they could still die due to the various specified weaknesses that accompanied their conditions like a stake to the heart, lack of and overconsumption of blood, or not being able to regenerate to an extensive degree (ex, if they’re misfortunate enough to get caught up in an explosion, their bits are definitely not finding their ways back to one another.) you two, however, had the freakish delight of being able to survive an absurd amount of…circumstances—incinerations, overconsumption, explosions, falls from horrible heights, the tearing of multiple limbs— you’d even survive being puréed. it doesn’t take too long to do get back into one piece either.

however, this had everything to do with the fact that you both weren’t born as vampires, and only became as such after eating the flesh, and drinking the blood of a primordial god-creature that was the physical incarnation of the original sin. it was a creature that acted as a necessary guardian and host to arguably, the greatest and most sorrowful evil, because there was no unwriting it—it served as the irreversible sin that spurred the dawn of physical creation and appetite.

the creature, who went by the name amera, could never die. in some ways, it served as one of the few pre-generators of vampire-kind. you hadn’t killed the god, that in itself would be an impossible feat— amera’s form was designed to be in a constant state of regeneration. her blood came from some divine source, and therefore, would be replenished in full. her flesh, which had the ability to take on the form and shape of any living thing, would mend no matter the destruction it faced.

you’d first met amera when seonghwa and you had ventured to the land of the unforgiven— a place that was then a barren, dead, and ancient country with a forgotten name. no human dwelled within those lands, for each time a brave soul would attempt to cross into its border, they would immediately be turned back by some unknown force—their bodies moving against their own will and it was said to hold the remains of an unknown god's temple.

you were in search of a way to delay the imminent massacre of your people during the holy war, and by a strange turn of fate—were able to cross into the land, and to this day, you’re unsure how or why. when the god-creature emerged from the shadows of a half-fallen pillar—you immediately recognized that amera was a very tired god.

it was sentient in ways that were an anomaly to other godkind. the creature was nearly human-like in its curiosity and more willing to interact with humans than the other pro-generators, albeit with initial hesitation—but the cruelty of mankind had pushed it to the outskirts of a forgotten land.

amera offered its aid to both you and seonghwa during your time as holy knights, when malignant forces of both humans and vampires joined together with the goal of destroying your homeland— it was a last-ditch effort of absolute desperation due to the ongoing "cleansing." the brutality of the war never waned and only increased as it neared its peak.

at this point, you and seonghwa had grown so terribly tired. the days were filled with seemingly endless slaughter and the corruption that had infiltrated the barracks made the fight on your side a double edged sword. the existence of other creatures had been discovered during an infamously grueling era of the war, when humans stumbled upon a small group of young lupine in the densest part of a nearby forest—despite children of the moon being quite avoidant of human interaction, mankind’s paranoia had propelled into itself into an era of mass killings as more species were discovered due to heightened awareness of what was beyond human nature.

seonghwa had been stationed nearby when the young lupine were found and under strict orders—had to slaughter the youngest of the wolves. you recall seeing his frighteningly serene face as he stepped into your tent, as you were fulfilling the orders of marking the densest areas of each nearby forest—knowing that you were losing yourselves by the hour.

by this point, seonghwa had grown into a fine man. the inheritance of his mothers beauty was obvious and even in the midst of slaughter, seonghwa fought with a cold and calculated elegance—his cool temperament and tactical brilliance made him a household name known across the sea.

despite being a woman, you were accepted into knighthood two years after seonghwa. your intellect was held in high regard and you had an exceptional talent at utilizing the available terrain to devise optimal battle formation precautions. yet, as time passed—each celebratory gathering after a successful hunt weighed on you. you knew seonghwa felt similarly, even if neither of you said it out loud.

you had once dreamt of being knighted because it felt like the only way you could actively partake in ending the unreasonable war—but the horrid reality of war is that there is no room for innocence on either side. there was nothing holy in your methods of survival.

a steady losing streak eventually took the life of one of seonghwa’s older brothers—san when his unit fell into a trap that led them straight into a nest of young vampires. there was no salvageable part of his body that could’ve been brought home.

seonghwa went mad with grief.

you don’t want to think too deeply about the rawness of that time— of san’s death. even now, amongst all losses, his was and will always be the most painful.

you knew alternative methods were necessary and hit a breaking point— humans couldn’t win this war alone. you needed to investigate the origins of these otherworldly creatures to gain an understanding of their biologies and creation before seonghwa’s goals would morph into the complete genocide of other creatures.

it was when you released a teenage wolf, mingi, in secret, that you were pointed to the direction of the land of the unforgiven and its legends. mingi was a reserved wolf—one that became subjected to a life of servitude, as his notoriously enhanced physique proved him useful around the camp. many of the lupine were enslaved after a sudden discovery that if you had deprived them from the light of the moon—they wouldn’t be able to shift into their other forms.

other than having enhanced senses and strength, they weren’t much different from a human during the new moon. your developing resentment and disgust towards your holy order motivated you to release him from his chains one night, when most of the men were drunk on dark liquor. he had stared at you with an unreadable look in his eyes before he softly mentioned the information as a token of gratitude— before taking off to run without looking back.

which is how you’d arrived at amera’s temple. the creature recognized that your landing there was predestined, which permitted your entry.

amera was weary-eyed as it slowly limped towards you both—it’s form appearing as an amalgamation of unnamed animals—similar to what you’ve heard the descriptions of chimera to be, except with the tail of a snake. it radiated a golden light that seemed to flicker like the belly of a firefly.

amera’s fate was cruel—though it couldn’t die, it had to endure the starvation of faith, which was what the gods called the misfortune of being forgotten and not being invoked by devoted prayer. it’s century long hunger churned its stomach like clockwork, and rested on the rubble of what was once its beloved and revered temple.

it’s watchful eyes drifted between you and seonghwa carefully, as if reading your destinies. before explaining that there may be only one way it could assist you— and in a moment of striking vulnerability, shared the woes of its undying nature. it craved an end and said after eons of hypothesizing, it suspected that consuming the god-creature in its entirety may act as a transference. it would continue to live on within the new host, because of its state of constant regeneration—but would, in some ways, be able to ascend to a non-physical, omnipresent plane of existence by becoming one with another entirely. amera’s ability to shift itself would aid it in morphing into another, becoming only flesh and blood— the fuel to host a new machine.

however, that would mean that the carriers complete existence would endure the thrumming of a pure evil, for the rest of eternity. amera was unsure if this transference could occur more than once, in the case that the new host may grow as weary as itself, since its ascendance may take away its worldly consciousness.

despite amera’s point of existence being that it was the physical incarnation of the original sin, it carried itself with such striking goodness that you’d almost forgotten the nature it embodied. amera warned you of the bloodthirst with solemn eyes that would pull at any innate evil within you, as every person contained evils of different sizes, and use it to form your creation. to add to the cards you were dealt—since you weren’t a born vampire and a human at that, not even another sort of entity or creature—the nature of your evil had time to evolve into something other vampire-kin did not have, because their own natures were already implanted at birth: known and destined, with time to acquaint themselves with discipline.

amera knew that it’d be catastrophic were you to receive the gift—by twenty three, the amount of sins humans have committed were on the higher end. accompanied by the fact that you’ve slaughtered a probable thousand or more, made the likelihood of your blood thirst to be astronomical.

amera prefaced that only someone of immense good could endure it in the same manner—but amera was made with the amount of goodness necessary to act as its host.

amera met your eyes, and knew that you were the one destined to draw first blood—and left the destruction to come to fate as it closed its eyes. before seonghwa could march forward—you threw your arms around amera and bit into her skin, tearing at flesh and swallowing. you’d immediately felt a hot throbbing in your body but continued to push passed the bile that began to build in your throat— unaccustomed to the taste of raw flesh and guilt at amera’s flinching. through your tears, you repetitively thanked and apologized to amera— but her last words were gentle and carried the cadence of a song.

“it is i who is sorry, my poor child.”

seonghwa, all the while, had been frozen in shock. it was when you began to eat at amera’s stomach that the evil coursing through you began thrumming. you fell onto your back, convulsing as the sickening sounds of your bones beginning to break hollow through the air. flinching out of his daze, seonghwa ran to you—panicking at the sound of your pained wailing.

seonghwa laid you onto his lap, cusping your left cheek in his hand with wide eyes. tears fell in thick dollops down his face— a palpable fear shocking through him for the first time since childhood.

a foreign look bled through your eyes. an ancient rage caved into your chest and settled a heavy weight onto your body— and your heart stuttered for two final beats, before stilling completely. you felt your organs harden inside of you and the love you felt for seonghwa made you want to swallow him whole.

you loved him so much you wanted to kill him, wanted to consume him completely, wanted to drink him in forever. something in seonghwa recognized this and as he witnessed the color of your eyes he’d adored since he was a boy change into the shade of molten gold— he knew what he had to do.

gently pushing you off from his lap, he fell onto his knees before amera’s body and invoked her through a prayer. you were unsure of what exactly he asked of it—it was likely that he asked for permission to share the burden of this primordial evil with you—for permission to join with amera.

its form was already regenerating, though its pained and labored breaths signaled that it felt everything. amera laid on its side, but moved its eyes to gaze at seonghwa with a profound look, and he moved to bite into its stomach once more.

even in the haze of excruciating pain, the parts of amera that regenerated within you felt pulled to continue to consume it, in order to reunite with itself completely. the sounds of seonghwa’s screaming were muffled by a shrill ringing in your head, and you crawled towards amera. the blood-thirst made your consumption monstrous and you teared through the creature with sudden disregard—seonghwa following after you. from your peripheral, you caught glimpses of seonghwa’s shock white hair and a strange zap strung in the air in the space between you.

the parts of amera that existed within seonghwa beckoned you, amplified by a profound and pre-existing desire for one another.

you remember this portion in particular with amusement— you’d all but drained seonghwa, not restraining yourself in the slightest when the heightened call to him dizzied you and had you sinking into his neck and biting into the skin above his heart. thankfully, there had been just enough blood left in him to replenish in full due to amera’s gifts and he left the temple relatively unscathed due to amera’s gifts. seonghwa was always characteristically more patient and disciplined than you, and you saw this in his vampiric nature. though, he had caved and done the same to you a few days after.

seonghwa, in the present day, however— is absolutely bat shit. understandably so, given that nine centuries is more than enough time to lose patience and approach life with disregard when literally the origin of all evil courses through you.

when you’d awoken, you immediately knew that you didn’t have the immense good necessary to not cave into murderous instinct—which is exactly why upon arriving back to the base camp, you’d ripped the throats of every knight in the holy order. it was an exceptional bloodbath, especially since you didn’t have a drop of control over the carnal rage that accompanies the original sin. with seonghwa at your side, it took less than a year to annihilate your foes and finish the war before vanishing—wanting to leave behind the haunting traces of the human life you no longer felt a connection to.

sighing, you break out of your reverie and gaze at his figure as he slowly sits up to stand before the fireplace with a terribly pensive expression—slowly caving into the acceptance at his resolve of resting, and steeling yourself for the impending madness of having to resist the pull for your literal other half while he’s gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

it is important to say that humans couldn’t be made into a vampire by other vampire-kind like many novels depicted, as it was something more akin to a genetic mutation that seemed to bestow eternal life to those at birth by the luck of a draw. once introduced into a family bloodline, the curse would be passed onto all descendants of the original carrier of the sudden mutation. this essentially ripped away a lineages codex of, quite literally, being human and then altered it into a become a general line of what you refer to as vampires.

a case of vampirism overwhelmed the body with a terrible ache that could only be relieved by the consumption of blood and human flesh— and bouts of rage that were meant to feed into their inherently murderous nature. they had to kill not only for the sake of preservation, but because their instinct instructed them to do it for sport—and ignoring its calling would only send those in denial into a madness referred to as the glass delusion. the condition trapped its victims in an inescapable mirage of illusions in which their bodies broke apart into shards of glass repetitively— it’s a process that consumed all five senses and has been said to be one of the few excruciating pains a vampire could experience.

the two of you had settled into this rhythmic life of murderous song quite easily, and there were many adventures to be had when eternity was on your side.

you became scholars, historians, scientists, archaeologists, classical musicians—seonghwa even became a quite prolific model at one point, but had to leave the limelight before his unchanging appearance would raise questions. you’ve made love in every city, learned dozens of new languages and their dialects, made friends and attended every funeral— though every bout of grief carried notes of envy. it was all so fun, really. being one of the undying was only bearable because seonghwa was always by your side—and you were afraid of crashing into its lonely weight once seonghwa decided to sleep for however long it was.

the extent of his sadness made you anxious. what are the odds that his unconscious self wouldn’t choose to prolong his sleep—and then five hundred years may pass without your husband? you would feel the time and feared it would pass slowly for you in his absence.

you knew that seonghwa telling you this now could only mean that despite losing his luster for life, he adored you to such a limitless amount and didn’t regret choosing this fate alongside you. it acted as both an offer of reassurance and as a plead to allow him to be selfish, just this once—to cave into the looming gloom of our sacred sleep. the sleep you had both avoided, because there was no way of knowing what time a person would rise if their subconscious was largely responsible for that decision.

you slowly slip into the recollection an old life, more than nine hundred years ago, when you were born as the daughter of a sea merchant who died shortly after your birth, due to a sudden storm that unforgivingly rolled in and claimed his fate. your mother already had three children to feed and did as many others would've in her position during those trying ages—kept the eldest son, gave her eldest daughters' hand in marriage to a semi-decent household, while the other had been sold to serve a teenage girl of higher standing, and in one perceived last act of mercy and love towards you—left you for the company of rats in a cold and damp alley way one rainy night.

this is where the youngest and most spirited son of a talented blacksmith found you on his trek back home, after a day of playing ragtag with the neighborhood fruit sellers (they knew he was the one responsible for stealing a weeks' worth of red apples and they were only half right. the baker's son, yunho, was responsible for the other half.)

a shrill wail had him ducking into the alleyway and squinting hard to adjust his sight to the darkness. your small arms flailed around—trying to grasp at something, anything. the obsidian-haired boy first leaned to peer at you incredulously, then gasped loudly in astonishment when he realized someone left their small babe for nature to deal with. although he had just freshly turned four, the boy had a relatively well-developed sense of moral judgment, outside of stealing fruit, of course—and rushed over to cradle you in his arms. sliding his thin tunic off to wrap around your body, hushing you nervously as he ran home to alert his parents. this blip in time marked the beginning of your eternity with what was once park seonghwa.

seonghwa's family was a rambunctious one. his father was a talented blacksmith with a hearty laugh, and his mother, whom he'd taken the most after, was a beautiful woman with hair the color of ink. she was the daughter of a noble knight whose achievements were long forgotten once the war continued to stretch on nearly a decade after his death. his oldest brother, hongjoong, took after his father the most—quickly taking to his craft and brilliantly carried himself with a charming roughness, despite his smaller stature. the middle brother, san, adorned sharp features and was physically an equal mix of the two—but was beautifully somber and sensitive, like water.

seonghwa, of course and unsurprisingly, was always strikingly beautiful—even before the old magic that thrums through the both of you now had beckoned its way in. though occasionally a troublemaker, your arrival into the household bestowed seonghwa a sense of responsibility he'd never experienced as the youngest. he was expected to grow handsomely into an orderly man, who had the occasional boyish charm as time passed. his voice carried gentle cadence and universal kindness, and was devout to the god that the people of the old country used to herald.

though living in the same household, you were not raised as the blacksmiths' daughter. it was clear to anyone that had seen you, even as a mere babe, that you would quickly grow into an exceptionally beautiful girl, and that granted you the opportunity of serving other great and noble households once you became of age. until then, you assisted the family with chores and meals in exchange for a small room at the edge of their old farm. your childhood with the three boys was filled with the laughter of mischievous children—playing with river stones, stealing bread from yunho, and climbing onto seonghwa’s back so he could carry you on the way home. townspeople would watch you both with warm eyes, already knowing the look of young love before it was realized.

your eyes darken when your recollection begins to run clearer. the innocence of your singular childhood, the memoirs of old temperaments, all doused in a holy light— until the war arrived at your doorstep.

ah, that's right—that's what happened. now you remember.

rumors that seemingly undying beasts, no—demons had joined forces with the country across the water you'd been at war with for two decades had emerged. the quaint village you'd been born in had been spared because of its inconspicuous placement on the map, and its utter insignificance to the external economy, and so the unsure and panicked whispers spread like a live plague. the war had never reached that small place, and everyone prayed that the gods would spare them once more—but the day had unfortunately come.

an ominous cacophony of crows flew and sung overhead, almost heralding the incoming slew of precise steps that marched to the exact beat of the other. the beasts pounded their shields in unison and resounded a final cry of war before stilling into complete silence.

mothers attempted to hush their children, and the villagers cowered into one another at the sight of the incoming death march. a terrifyingly burly soldier who stood roughly at a minimal of 6'6 approached the village head, taking off his metal helmet. faces paled at the sudden energetic heaviness that hung in the air like a noose—and the soldiers' bottomless eyes were dark, holding no presence of an iris. his skin, despite being a warrior at the frontlines, held not a single blemish or scar, and his physicality indicated no recent bouts of hunger.

seonghwa's fathers grip tightened around the wrists of his oldest sons, as they pushed their mother further behind them to form a makeshift barrier.

as the maker of weapons, he knew well what that meant—that there had yet to be a soldier who could get close enough to even scratch at his surface. if he's never had to go hungry during the war, it was the result of pillaging and destroying village after village.

you and seonghwa were instructed to stay hidden within a large crate in his father's forge. your cheeks pressed against each other while trying to peek through the elongated chip that stretched down a piece of splintering wood. despite seonghwa's strong initial protests, his older brothers quickly overpowered him and instructed him to stay quiet and focus on protecting you, while they'd watch over their mother. you both knew it was because seonghwa, barely nine years old, was still under his older brothers' adamant protection. seonghwa was a mere boy—just starting to grow, and hongjoong was already eighteen— san, just shy of being seventeen.

the soldier announced his name to be pengma and simply instructed the men to introduce themselves. one by one, he dragged his eyes along the crowd, as if wanting to find something worthwhile, and stopped at fathers' figure.

"you there, what is your craft?" pengma stated flippantly, almost melodically in its lightness.

a brief silence ensued as seonghwa's father hesitated to answer before understanding that nothing could be done. shutting his eyes in defeat, he pushed his two sons further behind his body as softly and discreetly as possible.

stepping forward—he made a point to not raise his head and meet pengma’s eyes and stated

"i am a humble blacksmith, sir." he alas lifted his head to meet pengma's ominously delighted dark eyes, unsure of the source of his sudden glee.

"well, let's see those weapons then, blacksmith!" pengma hollered and joyously clapped seonghwa's fathers' back in excitement, leading him towards the forge. your breath hitched immediately, and you faintly recall the sensation of that palpable fear—for not only yourself, but for the man that had took you under his rather large and clumsy wing. pengma's eyes brightened with a sinister gleam as he'd gazed at the masterfully made steel and iron creations.

"my, what a lovely job." he sighed out regretfully before striking out to pierce the blacksmith through his heart.

you'd immediately wrapped your arms around seonghwa's head to shield him from the sight—somehow finding the strength to hold him still, despite his panic. an uncomfortable twinge evaded your stomach in the present world when unveiling this particularly dusty memory of seonghwa's boyhood. you shake your head lightly, as if it’d fling the emotion away.

his fathers’ death was the catalyst to an unfortunate series of events. pengma continued to kill any man he felt could contribute to our side of the war—our villages spiritual healer, medicine men, blacksmiths, veterans of old wars, archers, and fishermen followed after seonghwa’s father. all were gone in less than fifteen minutes.

pengma had paused momentarily in front of hongjoong, who had practically bitten through his own lip—caging within himself a painful and raw fury, but decisively did not move so as to not attract the needless death of his mother and brother. thick tears welled in his eyes but never fell, and pengma’s face opened to form a small, intrigued smile —his keen eyes dragged down to gaze into hongjoongs own and then back up to scan his angular facial features, and immediately recognized the first and exceptionally talented blacksmith he’d just killed in the young man.

he recognized hongjoongs aptitude by his unfaltering gaze alone, and although he’d arrived at our village full of insignificant nobodies to make sure our country was scrubbed immaculately clean of hope—he opted to let hongjoong live another day by some strange pull to make a wager with the universe.

truth be told, pengma didn’t give a damn about winning the war because it kept all of his kind fed—and therefore, he’d honestly be more hellbent on prolonging it.

the dark gift, however, demanded its carriers to fulfill a necessary amount of bloodshed, so he’d might as well complete the task he’d been sent for. sighing, pengma made a small movement towards his men and those in the front lines marched forward toward the array of slain men. the surviving villagers watched in horror as the soldiers began to feast on their bodies, tearing at their limbs after draining their bodies dry of blood. seonghwa pushed at your chest to peer back into the small slip of light.

a sudden understanding that the fateful and unfortunate timing of your shared destiny arrived abruptly, and despite your small age of six— you were aware that the bright days of your childhood ended here. the wheels spurned and cragged it’s grotesque rolling and it was this particular event that marked the beginning of what you recall as the genesis of the undoing of your humanity.

fate was exceptionally cruel to the love of your life, for as he looked onward at the abyss of death, he was fated to witness his fathers body being torn apart—heart clawed out of his chest, the skin of his stomach being torn open and maggot like intestines dropping onto the mud—vacant eyes, jaw wide open and limp—and you shakily ripped him away to cover his eyes with your small hands. you’d willingly carry the burden of witnessing his life altering sorrow— so that he would not be left alone to the nature of the nightmares you knew were to come. seonghwa shook with the force of an incoming and ominous storm, wheezing and weeping into your chest.

when the soldiers finally left, a grim silence pervaded the air, and fell heavy onto the people who remained at the village.

women took on what was once the trades of men, something pivotal to those early times, and the softness of your home had hardened. for the remainder of seonghwa’s human life, all light had left his mothers eyes. both hongjoong and san took on the financial burden of the home, with san leaving behind his dreams of becoming a scholar in a nearby city, and devoting his time in helping plan the building of a fortress and stations of defense—should the war arrive at your door again.

hongjoong’s character had… changed immensely. something dark brewed within him.

he continued his fathers work and spent a concerning amount of hours in the forge, perfecting his craft to an unknown degree—and had also taken a strange interest in alchemical books. it’d been twelve years since the incident and these fixations never seized.

you walked into the kitchen during late hours of the night and were greeted with the sight of he and san whispering fervently to one another. papers with strange symbols were strewn around the wooden table, several candles and their wax dripping and hardening on its surface.

catching sight of you, san immediately shuffled the papers closer to himself and turned them around.

“y/n!” his eyes formed immediately into crescent moons as he softly beamed at you. hongjoong remained silent but stared at you with his dark eyes.

“young lady, what are you still doing awake?” san leaned his hip against the table, one hand placed onto its surface and the other one adorning a leather glove—onto his waist.

“i just got back from the fields with seonghwa— you didn’t notice we were gone?” you chided and right on queue, the young man walked in with the door swinging behind him, heaving a small but heavy basket.

hongjoong quirked a brow at his youngest brother but opted to say nothing, a small smile spreading on his face.

“what were you doing out in the fields, you know it’s dangerous—“ sans eyes drifted between you knowingly, squinting. not wanting to press, but not resisting the urge to remind you both of the war occurring only a two days ride away.

“we didn’t go too far, i promise.” seonghwa exasperatingly interjects, placing the basket on the table.

you strain a smile and your hands that were clasped behind your back reach to fumble with the string of your waist cinch.

san only sighs and shakes his head with a smile

“you leave for the order in six days, right? make sure to spend time with mom before you go.” hongjoong reminded softly.

san’s eyes began to water, and hastily moved his head up to quickly wipe a tear away with the side of his finger. seonghwa approached his brothers with an unreadable look— it was firm, and held a great amount of resolution, but you could tell that the string inside of him that kept his emotions at bay grew tense at the incoming separation. he gently wrapped his long arms around his brothers necks and pulled them in. san clutched at seonghwa’s thin shirt and began to quietly weep into his neck, while hongjoong simply tightened his grip around his brothers with a faraway look in his eyes, and clapped at their backs in an awkward attempt at comforting them.

you silently walk away from the scene as an offer of privacy and shut your bedroom door behind you. lighting your oil lamp, you begin to untie your hair from its braid and try to loosen your leather cinch when seonghwa carefully steps into your room, softly shutting it so that no one was alerted of his entering.

“seonghwa—“ your eyes widen and hiss at him.

his lithe figure takes one large step towards you and pulls you into his arms before engulfing you with his kiss. you melt into him when he clutched into the roots of your hair—harshly breathing into one another’s mouth as he playfully licked at your tongue. you bang at his chest reprimandingly but seonghwa continues to ignore you and presses you into the wall.

“your brothers will kill us, you fool.” you giggle and tilt your head to the side, so that he could kiss at your clavicle. his hands fumbling with your cinch and taking it off rather quickly and then moving to push you onto the bed.

“how are you so much better at taking that off than i am?” you question before your gaze turned suspicious.

seonghwa stilled for a moment and anxiously chuckled.

“w-what do you mean? just a few little strings to fiddle with—“ trying to find his way out of the conversation by rubbing lovingly at your sides in desperation and sliding himself out of his linen tunic

when you continue to silently glare at him, he sighs out

“i was much younger and it was long before you and i realized we were in love— you know this already, why are you making me say it?” he whines at you and dabs at the sweat on his brow line.

“suppose i didn’t realize just how many corsets you had to untie—“ you snip at him and turn your body away to face the window to your right so that he could only see your back.

“weren’t you fornicating with the stable boy across the river?” he blurts out, baffled and growing increasingly annoyed at your hypocrisy.

your eyes widen as you spin around to face him

“how did you know that?—“ you squeak

“oh, what don’t i know, you little harlot—“ he guffaws victoriously, eyes sparkling—and continues.

“yunho? the merchant that comes every fortnight to sell fabric? let’s not forget soldier number one, two, and three— OH, what about the village’s accountant. and your old little crush on SAN.” he wheezes out, widening his eyes at you defiantly as you cover your face in disbelief.

“oh, I’M the harlot? tell me, my love, is there any woman, both wedded AND unmarried that serves at the old tavern you haven’t yet laid with?—or better yet, don’t you remember sleeping with all THREE of old man alaric’s daughters?” you say in astonishment and push at his chest so that he laid back completely.

seonghwa locks his hands behind his head to laugh as you swatted at him, and you crawl to sit on his hips. the light emitting from the oil lamp flatteringly drapes onto your features—the shadow of your figure showing under the pointed light and the sheer fabric of your tunic. seonghwa stares at you for a moment and softens with an indecipherable smile.

“—and as for san, well, i was fifteen, and look at him.” you tease and widely grin at him.

“look at him, you say?” he gasps at your taunt before sliding his right hand up your torso to palm at your breast, pulling the fabric of your now extremely loose tunic down with dainty fingers to pinch at the bundle of nerves. he groans when you rock your hips into the semi-hard bulge in his pants, and you sigh out a quiet laugh.

“yeah, look at him. he’s literally a pot of gold—an obvious winner of a genetic lottery.” you stifle a moan as he frustratingly shoves a hand down to pull at your bunched skirt and comes into contact with your slick. victoriously smiling to yourself and at the fact that you’d won this game and have successfully thrown him into a cesspool of jealousy. he sits up with you still planted on his hips, pressing your chests together.

“is that so?” he all but growled into your mouth as he held your hips down and guided them to rub against him. moving a hand to shove two fingers into your mouth—your saliva pooling around the digits and dripping out to trail down your throat and seonghwa’s wrist. without warning, he slides the hand down to your cunt and curves them inside of you.

you lurch forward and hold onto his shoulders for support. a loud squelching resounded from between your legs, and you can feel the excess liquid being splashed onto your thighs and stomach as his palm pistons against you ferociously, all while his fingers slink around your pulsing walls. suddenly slowing the pace, seonghwa kisses the sides of your face and licks at your jawline, pulling his palm slightly away to begin rubbing at your clit with the pad of his thumb— and resumed a slow pump into you. you try to muffle your whining by biting the firm meat of his shoulder, your senses heightened and focused on the feel of each ridge and knuckle. when you began to feel the tension in your stomach about to snap—he immediately pulls his hand away.

“a gift for you, since san’s so pretty.” he tilts his head back a bit to gaze directly at you with half lidded eyes and whispers softly in quiet seduction, a mere centimeter away from your lips. there was something in his egotistical gaze that filled you with a fire so hot it burned you. watching and not blinking as he parted his lips to lap patiently at the two fingers, placing them so deep into his mouth that you knew the tips had hit the back of his throat— then slowly slithered downward to station themselves back inside of you after leaving a small trail of the residual spit on your stomach.

you gawk at him and in your frustrated astonishment —decided to push him even further. chest heaving and wetness beginning to flow down his hand—you were desperate. the thought of holding him down to ride his fingers with your hand shoved against his mouth to keep him quiet bordered your mind, but you opted to chastise your cunt for getting in the way of your annoyance at him. you knew that beyond the veil of his calculated and unbothered gaze was a thin patience at the halfway point of snapping like a rubber band.

“wanna know something even more interesting?” you challenge with a red hot fire in your eyes. seonghwa only quirks a brow at you, defiantly.

“humor me, darling.” he deadpans.

“hongjoong and i kissed during the last autumn equinox.” you confess

seonghwa’s face contorts into an array of emotions— offense, disbelief, hurt (more so his pride), curiosity, and wonder. after a few seconds of shocked silence, seonghwa finally snapped out of it.

“why would hongjoong kiss you?” he bubbles out but flinches immediately when you smack him stupid because of his comment.

“why wouldn’t hongjoong kiss me?” raising your brow like it was obvious. seonghwa hated that you were right—despite your annoying amount of arrogance, it wasn’t unfounded at all. you were easily the most notable girl in your village and should you ever travel into the further, more populated regions—you would still put other visages to shame.

“how and why did it happen? spill.” seonghwa leaned back a little to place his hands on the bed to hold his weight. from your place on his lap, you hold you palms on the soft skin near his navel. he gazed at you with keen interest—while he did feel a moderate amount of possessiveness as a lover, growing up together made it easy to talk about anything. you were still his best friend, and since you and his brothers were also close, it wasn’t abnormal for these things to happen in passing. his older brothers were undeniably handsome men and he’d known about your little fixation on san before he’d come to terms with his own feelings for you. he thanked the gods that san was about eleven years older and wouldn’t dream of being with someone with that sort of age gap in the picture— if you’d been around the same age, he’s sure that san would’ve swiped you away by now, leaving him to sob in his lonesome about unrequited love.

‘hongjoong, however, clearly didn’t mind.’ he thought to himself, but looked at your visage once more in the light, and couldn’t blame the guy

“well, remember the mead i’d stolen from old man alaric—the one he left out in his old shed that i found while helping him clean it, after he’d injured his back? when the fire was being lit at the heart of the meadow during the autumn equinox’s celebration, hongjoong and i had drank all but the last drop of what we found out to be a much stronger mead than expected. we chatted until the fire went down, and i took as much of this chance as possible to spend time with him, since we both know that hongjoong doesn’t usually speak so much—but the alcohol opened him up.” you start with, gazing at seonghwa’s expectant eyes earnestly while he nodded in agreement. his interested silence encouraging you to continue

“i think you were out with one of alaric’s daughters—i forget her name, but it was the one who ties her hair with a green ribbon—“

“delilah.” he piped and snapped his fingers (the ones that weren’t inside of you) when he remembered who you were describing for the sake of the story.

“yeah, delilah—and san was preoccupied with dancing with your mother, and a few other older ladies like the sweet, sweet man he is. no one was home and hongjoong opened up about… a lot of personal stuff i have no business in mentioning, but during a moment of vulnerability, it just sort of happened. it got a little heated, but we didn’t go any further than that— we never brought it up again, and i know it wasn’t something that happened because he was in love with me. i think it was because he trusted me, and partially leaned on me to ease a momentary loneliness. i kind of forgot about it, because i was involved with six other men at the time, and lost track of the happenings, you know?” you shrug and seonghwa sits for a moment to digest your words, raising his brow when he felt you tighten around his fingers at the memory, squinting his eyes at you once it dawned on him.

“hm, makes sense, i guess. can’t be mad about it, cause i was screwing delilah dumb into her bed—almost came in her in the heat of the moment. i could’ve been a father of twins by now.” he flatly recalls, before finally processing the last portion of your confession. “—wait, SIX? do we even have that many boys our age around?” he pulled his fingers out of you and tried to ignore the lewd string of thick wetness that remained attached to the tips of his fingers—he flipped your bodies over so that your cheek was pressed against the bed, and pushed his weight against your back.

“who said they were all our age?” you grin playfully in excitement. bingo.

“you’re such a slut.” he hisses into your neck, quickly pulling down your skirt and hiking your tunic up to the back of your neck so he could gaze at your bare back.

you could fully feel the baffling stiffness rutting slightly against your core when you raised your hips to try and adjust your position on the bed.

“yeah, and you seem to thoroughly enjoy that. look at us—two whores in a pod.” you brush his frustration off with a laugh, rolling against him. he shakily exhales a small whine and lurches forward in surprise at the sudden intense pressure, gripping hard onto your hips.

quickly shrugging off both of your clothes, seonghwa roughly pushes your face into the mattress—before leaning his own towards the skin of your inner thigh to a spot dangerously close to your core. seonghwa licks upwards to engulf your cunt with a wide mouth, flicking your clit with randomized pulses. you couldn’t resist the urge to crane your neck to see whatever you could of him and nearly came at the sight of his eyes already looking straight at you when licking a strip up to kiss your bottom right cheek.

his broad and tan shoulders glimmered with a thin layer of sweat, panting lightly as he stared at your bottom half—dazed and entranced, before reaching to thumb at you slowly as your arched your back to widen yourself for him. his left hand ran flat against his tummy, before he grabbed at himself and began to jerk lightly. you felt traces of your wetness string and fall onto the sheets below you, finally throwing your hands up in emotional surrender to plead

“seonghwa, please. be inside of me. i want to be in your body—isn’t it so lonely to not be one?” you pant out sweetly, overwhelmed by the carnal desire and wishing that you could be something so deeply embedded inside of him: an organ, his blood, the bones that held him upright and close to you.

you wanted to be tucked somewhere in the confines of his rib cage, and fantasized about sleeping inside a knob of his spine. however, both tragically and delightfully, the closest you could get to that were the moments he’d lock himself inside of you, and rocked you so full of him— that it was enough to appease you for the night.

he smiled softly and turned you to lay flat on your back, before leaning close enough for you to feel his breath and have his nose touch your own. raising his hand to feather lightly grip your neck, seonghwa impales you with himself without offering a moment for adjustment—a large contrast to his hold on you. you knew seonghwa was toying with you, fully intent on making it a little painful for you, despite his initial masquerade of softness.

he doesn’t care to check if you’re handling him well since this was what you wanted to happen anyway, and you smile as he pistons into you without any regard for your safety—you didn’t want him to be sweet today. you choke out a sigh that was a mixture of both relief and exhilaration, as he gradually began to tighten his hold on your neck and left leg that he lifted slightly to widen more. his damp hair and its strands held tiny beads at their ends, and dragged themselves across your temple as your bodies jolted and trembled against each other.

there was no space between your bodies as seonghwa deliberately pressed his chest into yours—wanting to fulfill your desire of becoming a part of him as much as he physically could. the squelches that emitted from between your legs and the slick sweat from your skins echoed throughout the room— all caution flying out of the window, damning yourselves to the repercussions of having to endure a stern talking to from san and hongjoong about how now’s not the time to be careless by having children.

the fat of your breasts rippled the manner water would when a small pebble is thrown into a still lake— at his force and momentum. your nipples were incredibly sensitive from their rough and constant rubbing against his skin, and you grow progressively more overstimulated by the sheer ecstasy pervading your body.

he’s defiling you, this god-like man and your sole sanctuary is ruining you beyond repair.

your cunt was stretched to its edges and his thickness drove itself brutally against your cervix. your open mouths clashed against each other and pull back to tilt your head away in bliss at the onslaught of overwhelming pleasure. he pulls harshly at the nape of your hair, combing his nimble fingers through to tug at your roots in order to continue to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. it was so warm—his body against your own, his sweat bleeding into your open mouth in the yellow-bellied light. he was so frighteningly beautiful that you wanted to breathe him in for the entirety of your life.

you moaned loudly against his tongue—eyes rolling to the back of your head completely when his grip around your neck tightened completely so that the whites of your eyes went blood-shot, and the veins on your face began protruding. you felt like you were actually going to die—and you liked it. you liked that seonghwa knew when not to be gentle with you.

saliva pooled by the corner of your lips and still not releasing his hold on you—he licked and sucked at the trail, and somehow summoned the strength to pound into you even more. your body bounced into the bed and back into his body when he smacked into you—and it was only when he brought you to the edge of somewhere dangerous that he released his hold on your neck. immediately, you find your release and push out a stream as the intensity of your orgasm causes your body to nearly convulse.

his hips began to stutter, and the desperation that filled his face as he splashed through your orgasm, and gazed at your cunt that continued to squirt on him. he dazedly thought about making you a mother—the intensity of the moment amplifying his dream of breeding you and having children with your eyes and mannerisms that you’d raise by the sea—if it weren’t for the war on the other side of it.

he pushed the thought away almost immediately, not wanting his melancholy to ruin his orgasm but thanking it for granting him the will to pull out of you just in time, and opted to release on the fullness of your stomach. he rested his head on your bare breasts for a moment or two to catch his breath before looking up to see you basking in your afterglow, breathing heavily and smiling.

my god, he loves you.

“my god, i love you— you cruel and beautiful woman.” he exhaled before laughing lightly in complete utter adoration, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“by the gods—do i love you just as much, seonghwa.” you kissed the words onto him before falling into a deep slumber—not wanting to spare a moment to think about his departure and the unknown future of you two.

once dawn broke the next morning, seonghwa had loosely tugged his trousers on with a drawn out yawn, and began to try and slink away from your room. closing the door to your room softly and crouching at the door handle, he still winced at the sound of its small thud.

“good morning, little brother.” seonghwa jumped in fright like a cat would with its hairs standing and whipped his body around to greet the sight of his eldest brother brewing tea.

“ah—“ was all seonghwa could muster out of himself and the shock—wide eyed and stiff. hongjoong simply quirked a brow, shook his head at him while turning back to fix his tea, and said

“—i don’t even want to know.” in which seonghwa just sheepishly smiled to and replied with a hasty, awkward

“got it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

seonghwa carried a medium sized sack that was packed with minimal clothing and small trinkets he was permitted to bring along with him to his quarters. his wrist was slightly bent from holding it casually behind his shoulder as hongjoong, san, and you walk him out to the front of your shared home— choking up but trying your best to not sob in front of him, so that you could give him an encouraging goodbye.

you had been trained in the ways of the sword, alongside seonghwa since young—when a nomadic man had stationed himself in your quaint village for some time. the man, helios, was once a knight of the holy order who had long since retired from his days of war—but had taken a liking to you two ruffians, eyes holding a certain knowing that the war had done a number on you both as it did to everyone. when he left, you and seonghwa had learned enough to continue your practices together and wished your teacher a warm goodbye—because of this, you weren’t too far behind seonghwa in joining the holy order, but the process was even more tricky for a woman.

the casualties of war were immense, however. men were beginning to be drafted as a desperate call for support— but the population of men had severely dwindled in the last decade, and so slowly the ways of the old were shifting into an acceptance of woman within matters of war and other traditional non-commonalities.

he said his goodbyes with a certain calmness that spread a sudden knowing in you that when you met seonghwa again—he’d be a different man. the war would change him, and you didn’t know in what ways yet.

he kept his goodbyes minimal. probably so that it didn’t feel like an end— to offer some sort of reassurance that he’d return home and it wouldn’t be in the form of a body bag.

his mother watched him with vacant eyes—she’d become frighteningly thin, but slowly stepped towards him to cusp his face in her palms. “oh, my baby. my youngest son—has the time really flown by so quickly already? is my boy leaving his nest?” she whispered.

seonghwa’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar sound of his mother… and at her gaze on him that was so similar to the mother he’d once known before the loss of his father. the light had vanished as quickly as it came, and she began to walk away again, in a daze, towards the corner of the yard. staring at the trees overlooking the trail he’d take on his journey.

you could see his resolve beginning to shatter and he swallowed a sob and squeezed his eyes to stop the ammonia induced burn in his nose.

you were the last one he said goodbye to.

neither of you had discussions about what you both were to do and even then, at the very last moment before his departure— you never addressed the elephant in the room.

you knew you loved him and he knew that too,

but there was no time for domestic dreams during war. your goals for the holy knighthood were first and foremost— and so when he left, you weren’t sure if it was as your lover or your childhood best friend.

it was quick, but profound in its own way— it consisted of him wrapping a singular arm around your neck to push you against his chest to kiss your head shakily and whisper “i’ll send you letters, sweet girl. i’ll wait for you at the order.”

before pulling himself away with a strong resolve to not look back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

so much had changed within a year.

seonghwa’s letters—the ones that had come every week or so, slowly became more infrequent, until they’d practically stopped coming in at all.

every time you prayed that he was alive, you’d miraculously receive a brief letter, but in his words, his tone—your seonghwa wasn’t there anymore. in the beginning he’d share the perils of his training, rant for three pages about how much he struggled with missing home, and how it was hard to get close to anyone out there. it was after his first mission that everything changed.

maybe it was hard for him to have to recount all of the war and murder he’d partaken in and witnessed on the battlefield—writing it down would be the equivalent of twisting the knife in a real fucked up wound. seonghwa gradually had less and less he wanted to share, and eventually only sent letters with a brief paragraph reassuring he was alive—cool, collected, reserved. a true soldier.

he stopped saying that he couldn’t wait to see you all and you knew him enough to know it was because of the overwhelming guilt he’d experience once he returned to your small home—a guilt for taking part in the brutal carnage and that he actually would never return as himself ever again, his promise already broken even if not carried back in a body bag.

you would often sit and read in the forge as hongjoong worked in silence, and you could tell that you’d both felt comforted by being in someone else’s presence— someone familiar that knew that there existed a time before the war took all the joy of this place, of this home. had our village been left alone, san would’ve been a revered scholar known across the kingdom—no doubt taking his seat amongst nobles and participating in larger politics by now. hongjoong may’ve allowed himself a domestic life—dedicated to his craft, but have the capability to be present and invite joy into his life without the haunting of his past.

and seonghwa, your beloved seonghwa would still be right here—warm and belly full of laughter. you feared the light had been taken from him—that he’d been taken from you. at the time, you wanted nothing more than for your previous wish to be a bone in his body to come true.

as for san, you’d gotten closer.

concerningly so.

what was once a brotherly comfort slowly smoothed into an unaddressed tension.

it was san whose arms you cried into in seonghwa’s absence, it was san who became your closest confidant, and who protected you from anything that tried to harm you. hongjoong would often watch you two with understanding, but chose to never say anything.

san was like water,

he washed and waved at wounds, and loved you in a silent way— not as loudly as his brother, because of the unaddressed boundary, you’re sure— but he loved you in a way that told you that he would stay. that he would want nothing more than you choosing to not march into the next town over to complete the trials necessary to become a holy knight in a years time.

he was beautiful, but unlike his playboy brother— san was everything gentle and soft in the world, and everything but a ladies man.

you recall the flush that would bloom in his skin at every advance made by coquettish girls— many were shocked at how a man of his stature and age was still unmarried without declared prospect. he was all dreams for world peace without the use of violence—without the nonsense of bloodshed, and would often take you to the fields he’d warned seonghwa and you to stay away from when he knew you’d missed him the most.

you tried to not love him.

you tried to not love either of the brothers, really— it was truly painful business.

but if there is anything you could tell the world in defense, it’d be that there was no way you would have been able to not love them in the ways you did.

he knew that you loved seonghwa with your entire being— and loved your love with seonghwa, alongside loving you. san would smile softly whenever you both spoke of his younger brother, and his eyes would glimmer with unadulterated joy when listening to the unknown tales of your childhood with seonghwa for hours without interrupting.

san loved without possession, without fight, and unconditionally—he loved with an ease one would have when breathing.

it was by a cruel twist of fate that once you’d finally succumbed to your love for him, and shared an unquestionably happy life for six months at san’s side that while on the precipice of relinquishing your dreams of knighthood to focus on protecting your home with him— he’d received a letter drafting him to an infantry unit after his name was pulled from a randomized lottery. you recall falling onto your knees to sob at his feet, begging him to runaway with you—damning the war for taking everything you’d ever treasured, as hongjoong covered his mouth and hurriedly ran to vomit into a corner.

but you knew the softness of san’s heart and how he knew some other unfortunate man would have to take his place, and how he, at his core—was not a cowardly man who could reject a responsibility that called out to him

and so san knelt to hold your face in his hands and cried with you. for the last two nights before he had to go on his journey, you’d spent it side by side—not risking even a single minute apart. he would sit to hold your hand in silence as you bathed and would scrub gently at every area of your body as he cradled you on his lap.

at night, he once more whispered the dreams of his life to you, just as he did when he taught you what he knew of the stars, and his made up myths for each one, and shared with you the once aspirations of his youth—except this time, it was his dream of a life lived long beside you and your children—how he’d wanted to see this home filled with the joy of a child’s laughter again, and your shared child perched on their uncle hongjoong’s shoulders.

he whispered his love to you, again and again without fear nor restraint— but somehow you both knew that san was never coming home again. he didn’t ask for your hand in marriage and you knew it’s because he refused to make you a widow, even if he never admitted it out loud. he didn’t need to.

destiny was relentless. yours and seonghwa’s names were written in red ink, right next to each other— and it twisted your path to ensure there was no escaping your eventual sharing of the dark gift— that all paths would lead back to each other, and back to the original sin.

the rest of this story is scattered and full of all sorts of myths, loss, and magic— some of which i, the omnipresent narrator, have shared with you.

san never came home again.

he’d only sent two letters to you— one in which he confessed in more detail his love for you and gratitude for the time you’d shared, and the second—as if he knew what was to eventually come, was a letter detailing that he wished love for you wherever you went, and stating that he was still rooting for your love with seonghwa. you faintly recall him saying that he knew seonghwa would love you just as much as he would if he were still around.

the time had flown, and as originally planned, you attended the trials of holy order six months after san’s departure. you worried for hongjoong—who in his brooding silence and intense fervor with his craft, fell into a dark hole of helplessness. for years, up until your turning to the dark gift, you’d exchanged letters with hongjoong at a consistent frequency.

you were correct in seonghwa’s changing, but that’s an entirely separate tale of trials to recount some other time. your relationship ran hot and cold—and was an incredibly turbulent and confusing mess to have dealt with amongst all things.

san was killed in action two and a half years into your service with the holy order.

you’d never told seonghwa about your time with him, but when the both of you received the news of his death—he just knew. he saw it in your eyes and in the grief of the girl he’d known since boyhood. he knew what your eyes looked like when they were in love.

shortly after san’s death, their mother hung herself. hongjoong sent a simple letter because there was no point in talking about his grief— nothing would make it disappear. it was a quiet day when he found her there in her bedroom.

a couple weeks following that, hongjoong had sent you a final letter— a heartfelt and vulnerable one filled with gratitude for being his rock and one true friend.

he disappeared one day and you’d never heard from him again.

it’s been several centuries since you’ve dared to recount the immense sorrows of your time as humans. for a moment, you’d even assumed you’d forgotten it all—but the still raw ache resonated in you, dusting all of the cobwebs away and threatened to make you human in your emotions for one moment.

san was undoubtedly the love of your human life.

he was the one thing that stopped you from hating humanity—from hating your once and real time as a human girl, even now. you knew it was in his lessons of goodness that saved you from going mad when accepting amera.

seonghwa was eternal. he was undoubtedly your soul and one true counterpart— your fellow forest fire and forever flame. you would never be able to resist his siren song, fate made it so that it couldn’t happen.

and san—you smile softly at the clearest recollection you’ve had in centuries of the softness of his hands, gaze, raven haired broadness, and the beautiful dimples that adorned his cheeks.

san was the river that would continue to flow within you, no matter where or how long the time and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

the memory was sobering, and you’ve mentally returned to the present— the heavy recollection more than enough for the night or for the next couple of centuries, honestly.

a sudden bout of resolution overcame you and you rose to march on over to seonghwa—immediately slapping him so hard his head jerked a concerning amount to his left. he could walk it off.

“that’s for leaving me.” you hiss at him bitterly, before grabbing his hand and shoving him into his casket. you cross your arms, huff in defeat, and avoid his eyes like a brat.

seonghwa’s eyes widened in understanding and then proceeded to smile with such sheer joy, you almost felt bad that the guy couldn’t actually die. ‘shit’ you think to yourself, and put it on your mental checklist to start researching intensely for ways to die.

if that’s honestly what makes him happy— then what hubby wants, hubby gets.

you hypothesize that maybe eating him as you'd done with amera could work, but if you were to eat his portion of the original sin after about nine centuries of committing atrocity after atrocity—you might just incur the dawn of armageddon. which sort of defeats the purpose of why you guys even took on the original task.

nah, you don’t want him to be happy if it meant he’d die on you.

he could live with being depressed, ‘not like he had much of a choice anyways.’ you shrug happily, but squint in annoyance when seonghwa rises momentarily to try and kiss you

“and what do you think you’re doing?” you say as you push him away with a single finger, your sharp nail pointed against his chest—with such intense confusion adorning your face, it looked like disgust

“what do you think i’m doing? i’m going to fuck the ever-living shit out of you before i sleep for an entire century probably????” he explains, gazing at you as if you were the stupidest fucking thing on the planet.

“HAH!” you all but guffaw before fighting to shove him back down into his coffin, with him actively throwing hands back at you—your absolutely unhinged ferociousness crowns you as victor. you claw at him and even tug a large chunk of hair straight out of his scalp, and frown when it immediately grows back. you genuinely wish this bitch could go bald, because YOU would’ve been bald by now with the amount of emotional stress this is putting you through— and just before you victoriously shut the coffin, you look into his eyes and say

“you honestly thought you’d get pussy AND sleep? go to bed before i change my mind, whore.”

seonghwa immediately crosses his arms into a cliche 'X' position over his chest, the tips of his sharp nails draped elegantly over the edges of his shoulders, and forces his eyes shut as a bead of anxious sweat forms on his forehead. he knew you weren’t kidding—you were supposed to go to a hookah bar tonight and you’d drag him by the balls once you realized that he, not only planned on sleeping for a century or more, but that he’s basically flaking out on date night.

realizing something, he opens one eye to look at you and asks “how do i even do this?”

your eyebrows furrow as you try to find an actual answer to the question or the most annoyingly unhelpful thing to shoot back at him. “i don’t know, maybe try meditating? focus on how bad you want to die and see if that helps.”

“oh that’ll do wonders for my mental health, thanks.” he rolls his eyes before actually giving it a shot.

a few minutes of silence ensued and in your boredom, decide to hang from a chandelier. “is it working now?” you whine as you swing yourself off to land back on your feet.

“seonghwa?” you singsong and peer over his body, looking at his completely unmoving figure innocently.

“holy shit, it actually worked.” you scoffed.

pretty fast, actually.

“damn, he was being fr when he said he wanted to die. “you all but :/ before abruptly slamming his coffin shut and tip tap over to your room so you could get ready and find a booty call somewhere over yonder.

wait. you freeze, halfway down the red and well decorated hallway.

“that bitch—we had date night!”

and you could’ve sworn that even in his unconscious state—seonghwa’s body twitched in fear.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

vampires, too—use toilet paper.

not many people think about toiletries or household appliances when they think about the creatures of the night, understandably. the inherent glamour and sex appeal instilled into our biology at birth in order to attract prey does not, in fact, wipe for us, just as dirt and other things don’t immediately vaporize and grant us an immaculate appearance once more—but by the gods, when did inflation get this bad?

these were necessities for everyone, even the undying.

you’re pretty sure seonghwa tucked a couple of coupons you’d found in the paper into your wallet a few weeks ago, and brightened at the sight of a 'two for one' deal on aisle three for your favorite herbal essence smoothing shampoo and conditioner—you've been feeling frizzy.

rolling your mini cart to join the line at checkout, you anxiously tap your boots on the floor when it hadn’t moved in ten minutes—why was it so fucking busy on a wednesday?

you hope that seonghwa’s vacuuming at home—since you had the bright idea of chain smoking inside of the house and were pretty sure that your cigarette ashes fell onto that insanely expensive rug, but then remember that your husband threw himself into pseudo-death mode.

sure, at this point, because of all of the loot collected from adventures that had you feeling like the incarnation of indiana jones, PLUS all of the jobs you and seonghwa had worked for in the last several centuries granted you both a stupid amount of money—but that didn’t mean you’d have to throw your financial literacy out the window.

you were centimeters away from killing everybody that had a fuck ton of items in line for the express lane that so kindly expressed to clientele in bold font—twenty items or less.

twenty items or fucking less and you're pretty sure that there's thirty items in the bitch's basket two people ahead of you.

that was actually evil.

is this your fault? since you're technically the root of all evil—at least most of them?

cashiers weren't around for the creation of mankind (you think), so this is someone else's fault probably

and when you find the person who's responsible for the evils of grocery shopping, inflation, and cash registers—it's fucking over, and you hope that they're an evil that could actually die. though, if they couldn't, you might find some reprieve in pureeing them until you were content.

you glance at the person who's currently checking out to try and figure out what the holdup was but saw the cashier anxiously thumbing through a book of coupons that could’ve been aired on insane couponing, in order to scan them as fast as possible—trying his best to not have a panic attack under all of the impatient eyes on him.

'ah.' you knew a girl on a budget when you saw one.

'yeah, that makes sense.' you admit in finality and offer a nod at the college girl as a sign of comradery and she smiles shyly in reply. you sigh and adjust your posture as you prepared yourself for the long wait.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the house is looking like the aftermath of a frat party because seonghwa's not around to split chores. butlers and house servants were too expensive, and you refuse to spend the money despite having it—so you're going to have to vacuum when you get home.

the dread ticks inside of you like a time bomb.

there's no way.

there's no way you're going to vacuum for the first time in your life—absolutely not. you’re momentarily astounded by the fact that there was actually something you haven’t done in your nine hundred plus years of life.

you throw your keys onto the insanely large dining table before plopping down onto the sofa, anxiously biting your nails as you stare at seonghwa's coffin with an intense shaking in your leg.

it's only been four months since seonghwa had logged off on you. as expected, the time hadn't gone as fast as you'd wanted it to—and waiting on seonghwa to awaken felt like you'd be waiting for human years.

there had to be a way to get your husband up and happy—to get his appetite going, so he doesn't whine and go absolutely ape shit when he finally crashes out in real time about the fact that he couldn’t die. you knew you’d get the brunt of it— the last time he did, he lost his shit and literally bit chunks off of you. yeah, sure, it immediately grew back—especially since you ate enough for the timespan of regeneration to be almost instantaneous. this factor was the one thing that helped amera not regenerate as quickly—the starvation of faith and flesh allotted you some time to finish the entirety of her body without her speedy regeneration, you remember pitifully.

you couldn't shake him awake either— you'd have to find something convincing enough to tempt his psyche and unconscious self.

you begin to brainstorm about what seonghwa likes nowadays, holding your pretty fingers up to count.

1.) you, sometimes.

2.) pretty boys, handsome women, and non-binaries that are hot and make great non-fat lattes.

3.) orgies that can sate the natural sensory gluttony that your kind has a predisposition for and appease his possession over you by ramming into you in a room full of people. he also makes sure to eat the ones that touch you in any way before the night ends, which leads us to the fourth on our list—

4.) the occasional, tasteful murder.

5.) (born) rich people dying.

6.) uno, poker, and other lame card games.

7.) games, lots of games—actually. (you hum in interest at the observation.)

8.) a meal that makes him earn his bite.

"... games, huh." you mumble to yourself before turning on the outdated tv you'd stolen from a best western motel for fun. you're immediately greeted by the sight of a slick looking pretty boy sitting on an expensive leather couch with a drink in hand—it seemed like a live airing of an interview.

“he’s got the eyes of a conman, but like—in a hot way" you say out loud, something you've been doing quite often with seonghwa being gone and all.

you take a large swig from the sweet red blend you bought labeled menage a trois, and digest his features with each gulp— and your mouth begins to fill with a thick coating of saliva.

you sit up to peer more closely at him, cross your legs into a pretzel shape, and grab the tv remote to raise the volume. the sound was slightly distorted and antiquated, as if it was being aired through an old telephone speaker, andthe screen flickered from time to time.

your eyes couldn't stray away from his pointed and cocky gaze aimed at the man interviewing him. there was a charming mole situated under his left eye that looked like a small constellation to you, and an intensely sharp jawline. the sensual dip of his collarbone exposed itself as he leaned forward to place the glass onto the tap—his oversized v-neck cashmere sweater tipping out teasingly to expose the protruding ridges on his chest. his semi-long hair flick against the nape of his neck as he moved back, and he adorably fumbled to adjust the bangs that hung directly above his asymmetrical eyelids—going cross eyed momentarily when struggling to fix a particular strand.

the host of the unknown show, or rather, the man interviewing the guy who was sex on legs, laughed the sort-of-laugh that told you he was rich—at something hot guy said.

“so, wooyoung��other than being one of best poker players in the game right now, do you have any fun facts you’d like to share with the crowd?” the host adjusts in his seat to lean forward humorously towards the hot guy, wooyoung, and raised his eyebrows with catty interest. “in the mood for spilling some secrets, or would you still want to stay the ever-so-elusive man—shrouded in mystery?” he playfully instigates as the crowd began to hoot in good fun in return.

wooyoung puts his head down for a moment and leans forward to place his elbows on his knees—“well damn, you’ve put me in a tough spot—don’t think i could find it in me to ruin it for the crowd.” he jokingly sighs out exasperatingly, wiping away at a non existent tear. “though it’d help a lot if you asked questions because i wouldn’t know where to start, honestly.” he smiled sheepishly and scratched his head.

the host immediately grabs at a pile of notes from under his desk and the crowd laughs as he puts on a show for them by fumbling excitedly, before turning towards wooyoung. “hmm, okay— we’ve heard some talk about you being close friends with award winning opera singer, choi jongho and the nations favorite chaebol, kang yeosang. how in the hell did that happen? it felt like a crossover episode when i heard about it.”

wooyoung nonchalantly answered immediately “rich people love gambling.”

the crowd hums in agreement with small comments like ‘honestly, yeah that tracks’ and ‘obviously’

the host smiles wide before hitting big by asking the question that had been stamped on the headlines of major magazines for the last few months. “we hear that you’re especially close to our dearest yeosang.” he practically sing songs and wooyoung smirks a little

“well, i fuck guys too.” he all but says and the crowd goes wild before he adds “—but he’s my closest friend. so i don’t deny me being queer, but sadly, our dearest yeosang is not in my cards.” the crowd boos in disappointment, while some repressed homophobes tell wooyoung that god loves him.

“yeah, clearly! that’s why i’m here baby.” and only laughs happily in their direction—no malice or offense visible in his demeanor. “—yeosang, jongho, and i all grew up with each other since our parents are close friends. our careers and interests are in completely separate worlds, so I’m not surprised that people thought we were a randomized blunt rotation.” he shrugs and cocks his left brow, before sipping at his glass. laughing lightly when the interviewer gasps and says to the crowd “oh, so our wooyoung’s a RICH-rich boy?”

“darling, how did you think i made such big bets to start with? no poor man with a life he values would step into trying to have a career in gambling.” he guffaws and continues with sparkling eyes, as if daring to say a forbidden secret “—dearest mummy n daddy just want their youngest son to be happy and will cover my losses so long as i don’t fight for succession with my lovely, lovely older brothers.”

his flippant ease and unflinching honesty had you clapping at his responses in appreciation, despite him being a trust fund baby. you’re a bit amused that he clearly didn’t give a damn about this being broadcasted on live tv. the interviewer all but smiles at the handsome man’s mischief and raises his own glass to clink against wooyoungs.

it was when the host eased into the next topic after the crowd settled down that you’d straightened your spine and bolted to stand up. your features contorted into one of maniacal glee, and if someone were to look a little more closely, they would be able to see the palpable sinister undertone lathered thick onto your face.

“ah! that’s right— i heard another interesting thing about our star of the show today. what’s this about blood?” the host widens his eyes in curiosity.

“oh—that? on top of being rich, my blood’s apparently golden. not literally, but it’s the rarest blood type in the world or something. that’s why people call me the golden gambler even though i’m not a fan of it, because it pretty cheesy, no? but it could be cute—depending on the context.” wooyoung licks at his lips, and a flush starts decorating his cheeks when the alcohol starts hitting.

the interview drones on for another ten minutes before wooyoung says his goodbyes, toppling over the talk show hosts desk to smooch him straight on his lips—it’s a comical sight to see with the host stiffening and tipping his loafers, cheeks pushed together by wooyoungs palms, and eyes bulging while laughing at the bit. the kiss was spurred on by the two having to dance around each other when they kept leaning in to hug from the same side, until wooyoung smiled mischievously and whispered into the hosts ear—with a small nod from him, he proceeded to lay a wet kiss onto the married man’s lips in good fun.

smiling and waving at the crowd in true princess diana fashion, while they hoot and holler—not recovering from the final bit of the interview.

you’re still smiling when you reach to shut the tv off, and slowly turn your head towards seonghwa’s coffin.

“you’re going to have to forgive me for this one, park seonghwa.” you excitedly mutter before running around your mansion to begin preparing for things—

more specifically, your husbands first meal in order to celebrate his return.

he’d have to follow your lead, of course, but you fully intended on taking the responsibility of making up for cutting his rest so prematurely.

you tug on a sheer robe that was lined with feathers on its loose sleeves and long train that trailed after you as you fluttered around the living room, lighting all of the candles.

taking a deep breath, you push seonghwa’s casket open and lean in close enough for you to whisper against his lips

“my love, i know you’re tired— but i’ve come up with a game you might like. it involves a very pretty trust fund baby, but get this—the guy has golden blood and is everything you hate in a man, other than his looks. won’t you join me? it’s been so long since we’ve played.” you blink at his still figure but somehow knew that your husband would rise at this particular beckon. you trace his nose bridge with your nail and plant a soft kiss on his lips.

“you’d never say no to a good game, seonghwa—so wake up, if only for the thrill of the hunt.”

you knew that you’d have to deal with his whining the moment he woke up in confusion—he may even ask if it’d already been a century or more since he’d fallen into sleep.

while you’ve most likely succeeded in appealing to his innate evil (and probably to amera’s nature, rather than his) with the best bait you’ve come across in eons—you’d still have to deal with the very conscious seonghwa whose current struggle is due to that very same undying evil inside of him.

yeah, he’s probably not going to be the most happy that his instinct made the decision instead of him— but there was no other way to get him to hear you, if not for your shared and beloved primordial, despite everything.

you slip off your robe and toss the rest of your clothing off before climbing into his coffin and laying yourself on his body. you move his arms to cradle you and melt into the familiar texture and scent of his skin.

looking up at him from your place tucked into his neck, you leave a chase kiss somewhere on his jawline

“i promise i’ll explain everything to you the moment you wake up. trust me on this one, please? it’ll make you happy if you let it. if you hate it so much, I’ll let you sleep for two centuries and won’t fight you for it.” you solemnly promise, shutting your eyes along with the coffin.

authors note: i honestly don’t know where the word count is at the moment, but it was genuinely so fun to write this. please note that i haven’t fully edited it and i apologize for any awkward mistakes. i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i already have the drafts set up for the next one and the special chapters i’m planning… :3 i ended up adding a lot more lore than planned and cried when writing about san and hongjoong—and will be writing a special chapter/one shot for the both of them. their characters are still important to little subplots I’ve planted in the series!

please reblog if you liked it! though i write because i enjoy writing, it’s cool to have some engagement going on since i don’t socialize directly on tumblr a lot. p.s…. look out for san’s oneshot/ special chapter i’ll be posting soon titled, énouement. :3

[mumblelard]

else or i had a dream within a dream dream last night and i wish i could throw my hands up, exasperated by the bogmonster's relentlessly cryptic babbling, but i have a good idea what they are on about, and we are nearing swallowed by a great fish time if i don't do something about it

the punks came over last night and we drank homemade four lokos and some assorted dollar bucket nonsense. we ate one unexpectedly good pizza and one unexpectedly bad pizza and talked about emo nights, diurnally promiscuous beavers, chipmunk kittens, trail's ends, trials, tribulations, and planned trips, dirt days, lost keys, pain thresholds, and the language of bureaucracy. it was a good night

[nudityandnerdery]

Anyone who lives in a red state wouldn't be surprised that Dallas said fuck you to ice. But these privileged people who shit on every poor, trashy, gerrymandered "red" state citizen are surprised when poor people stand up for their mixed communities. Y'all think we're all bigots since y'all grew up in bigoted upper middle class communities with bigoted upper middle class families. Meanwhile we're out here with queer, mixed, black, white, brown, trans, gay, lesbian, male, female communities where matriarchy runs strong despite the government trying to obliterate us and managing to turn a few of us against each other and blast that minority all over the news. We've always been more diverse than y'all will ever be and because of growing up together we're also less bigoted than y'all. It's the government and like 2 old geezers that's fucking racist homophobic and misogynist. Not us. We love each other, all races and queer shit. We don't care.

Hey there, boo, I'm gonna just take a second to screen shot something I wrote on that post a few weeks back, just for some context:

So, hold your fire, okay? I grew up in a red state. I know that it's not all shitty people, okay? My surprise was literally that the COPS were saying no.

But, I also want to just take a second to gently push back a little bit on something you said:

We've always been more diverse than y'all will ever be and because of growing up together we're also less bigoted than y'all. It's the government and like 2 old geezers that's fucking racist homophobic and misogynist.

Hey. Do me a favor. Think about something for a second:

Who voted in that government? How did they get into power?

It wasn't just two old geezers, okay? You know as well as I do that there's bigots who are voting for these shitbags. And pretending that rural towns are an oasis of harmony and acceptance is the same stupid shit as pretending big cities are. I mean, let's look at recent electoral results. How did your county vote in the presidential race? Where I live right now, the county went roughly 65-35 for Trump. Hasn't gone to a Democratic candidate since LBJ.

It wasn't just two old geezers who got two votes that counted as 65% of the election here, you know? There's plenty of other people that went along with making the government more bigoted. Fucking millions across the country, rural and suburban and urban locations alike.

I'm not saying "Everyone living outside of a metropolis in a blue state is a bigot!" here, obviously, that's not what I'm going for. I'm not saying everyone living in a metropolis in a blue state is open-minded, either, of course, because shitbags gonna be shitbags wherever they're from- like the Felon who got elected, he's grown up in NYC and a racist dick for decades.

But I am saying that being blind to the flaws of places we love is incredibly dangerous, and that attacking each other over pointless shit like where we live is just feeding into the bullshit division that wealthy, powerful assholes use to keep us divided and from actually having an electorate that could support policies that would help large swathes of the nation, and take away the power that their money and control gives them.

So. Just something to think about. Assuming someone is an out-of-touch big city liberal who hates anyone living in a rural area is about as useful as assuming anyone living in a rural area is a MAGA fanatic who hates anyone living in a big city.

Aaaaaanyway. The American inability to acknowledge how class war is what will doom this country is near pathological. Sorry to the rest of the world that we're gonna drag so many of you into our bullshit.

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter eight

synopsis: as you five break into the castle grounds, more banter ensues between you and phosphorus. and mahalat has a little change of heart.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, mahalat is better

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. i've gone through a lot with my family this past month but your patience was very much appreciated

"Oh, Jesus," Nina winced, expression twisting into one of disgust as she stepped over the mangled remains of the security guard. "What did he ever do to you?"

With a sly grin, Phosphorus nudged you, nodding to the poor bastard on the floor.

"You gettin' the munchies?"

"Fuck you."

"C'mon! Not even a little nibble?" he chuckled, gaze flicking down to your mouth, watching your lips purse with your familiar scowl. "No sense in lettin' those nice razors go to waste."

"I'm about to waste 'em on your neck in a minute," you scoffed, brows furrowing from your spot leaning against the wall.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes, opting to ignoring him and his antics.

"You saw the hat, right?" the Bride pressed forward, approaching the security cameras.

"Why are we doing this again?" Nina groaned, tightly hugging herself.

"You know why."

"But what if we're wrong? What if we're killing all of these people... what if we kill the princess... for no reason?"

"Then... c'est la vie?" Phosphorus shrugged, picking up a half-way decent cigar from an ashtray and using his power to set it alight. "There are billions of humans in the world. Who will notice a few less? Right, Weas?"

Everyone turned to the Weasel, who simply sat there with a dead-eyed stare.

"See? He doesn't care."

"He doesn't even know what you're saying!"

"Nina, Waller believes the princess is gonna bring about the end of the world as we know it. She believes her source is credible," the Bride chimed, brows furrowed as she turned her gaze from the monitors. "Isn't any risk worth stopping that?"

"I don't know... I guess. What are you doing?"

"Trying to find a path into the castle that isn't swimming with guards."

"These are the feeds from the past few days," Phosphorus chimed, practiced hands typing away on the keyboard. "Maybe they'll show us another way in... What the hell is that?"

Pulling yourself off the wall, you joined the others as they peered over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a familiar monster walking next to the princess.

'Clayface...'

The woman-hating, sex-obsessed mud man, who was one of Batman's more tenured foes.

You didn't know him personally; but you weren't a true Gothamite if you didn't make a point to study and memorize the calling cards of all the big-name villains.

You saw a bunch of question marks on the walls when you entered your apartment? Run away.

You saw a bunch of plants growing in the middle of the city? Run away.

You saw anything even remotely resembling a clown and/or uncontrollable laughter? Run away.

It all became routine—like covering your car with a tarp or triple-dead-bolting your door.

"Seems like we're not the princess' only monstrous visitors..." Nina noted.

"My love!" a random, huge man exclaimed from the window, his face stitched-up and greenish just like the Bride's. "The princess—!"

Without hesitation, she shot him four times in the chest, sending him falling down the tower with a painful yell.

"Paramour of yours?" Phosphorus chimed, poorly.

"Oh, can it, Ghost Rider."

"We gotta go before guards start swarmin' this place," you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'd be surprised if someone didn't hear all that."

"Let's head to the wall at the back of the garden. That seems to be the least protected."

Rushing out the window, the Bride, Nina, and Weasel leapt, leaving you and Phosphorus behind in the tower.

"Ladies first," he insisted, mockingly, motioning for you to move past.

But, instead, you took a harsh step forward, shoving him out the window with a grin.

He let out a loud yelp, landing on the grass below with a harsh thunk.

"Fucking shit!" he cursed, harshly. "That was my goddamn rib!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess," you teased, an amused smirk stretching across your lips as you sat on the ledge.

"Fuck off!"

The Bride whipped around, turning to you both with an annoyed expression as Phosphorus pulled himself off the ground, you landing right next to him.

"So help me God, I will put a bullet through both your skulls if you don't shut the fuck up."

Weasel whimpered as the five you sat in the bushes, the princess having just emerged from her castle, now standing on a diving ledge in nothing but her bathing suit.

"No!" Nina whisper-yelled as he leaped forward, quickly tackling him down to the ground before he could call the attention of the guards.

"What's he doing?" the Bride asked, confused.

"He's excited to see her. Remember, she played fetch with him for, like, hours," Nina reminded.

"Fuck me," you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Should we put him down?" Phosphorus asked, plainly.

"No!" all three of you denied in unison.

"Geez! Calm down. Just brainstorming," he threw his hands up, defensively.

"Yeah, you need a brain for that," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"The hell's got your panties in a twist today?"

"I'm not exactly gung-ho for killing a defenseless young woman. Y'know? Like a normal fucking person?"

"I wouldn't exactly call all of this defenseless..."

"Between the five of us, we could easily take out every one of these guards and you know it."

"Since when do you have a bleeding heart? You were all for taking a bite out of the witch."

"Since now, asshole. And that was against my will."

"The skeleton is right, (y/n)," Mahalat chimed from within your mind. "I grow hungry."

"Don't you start your shit," you spat, sharply.

"Shh. Be good, Weasel," Nina attempted to sooth, cooing to and petting the poor thing as he whimpered and whined for Ilana. "Be good."

Worried, her gaze flicked up to the Bride.

"How the heck are we going to get to the princess with all these guards?"

Suddenly, it all clicked, the three of you turning to the girl with a knowing look.

"What?"

"It needs to be you, Nina," the Bride stated.

"Me?!"

"Yes, you... you need to kill the princess."

"I need to kill the princess?!"

"The only way to get to her is under the water," the Bride pointed, Nina turned to watch Ilana front crawl across the lake.

"No fucking way. Uh-uh."

Weasel began to whimper louder, the sound starting to annoy Phosphorus.

"Fruit fruit, Sit! Shut up!" he harshly whispered, holding up his hand as a threat before joining in on the conversation. "The Bride is right. Wait until she dips under. Then do it."

"Do what?"

"Stab her," the Bride asnwered.

"Stab her?!"

"Yep. Then come straight back, and we'll go out the way we came."

"No, no. I don't know how to kill someone."

Smoothly, the Bride pulled a large dagger from her holster, demonstrating.

"You shove the blade into her belly and twist," she stated, handing it off. "The water is yours. Home field advantage. She won't even see you coming."

"Bride, I don't—"

"You heard Waller! Killing her is the only way to save the world," Phosphorus stated.

"At the end of the day, Nina, that's just another human out there in the pond," the Bride continued. "But you're a monster like us."

"You said I wasn't a monster."

"I was lying 'cause I'm a bitch," she shrugged, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder with a grin. "You're the biggest freak of us all."

"Not bigger than you," you whispered to Phosphorus, whose mouth stretched in an indiscernible grin.

"I love it when you talk dirty, sugar tits," he quietly cooed, resting his hand on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your core.

"Pervert," you spat, slapping it away.

He let out a quiet chuckle, before focusing on the matter at hand, turning to Nina.

"I know you can do it, kid."

Nodding, Nina's expression hardened, his vote of confidence pushing her to leave the bushes, discreetly sliding into the water.

Everyone paused for a moment, watching her go, before Phosphorus pipped up with yet another comment.

"Did I sound like I gave a shit?"

You pinched his arm, sending him a sharp glare.

"Asshole..."

"(y/n)."

In an instant, you were pulled into the recesses of your mind, your consciousness leaving the world behind as you were suddenly presented in front of an iron throne.

This had never happened before...

'Oh, shit.'

Before you sat Mahalat, in her true, physical form, her cheek smushing against her fist as her elbow propped up on the armrest.

No longer was she just a menacing voice.

No longer was she a figure in your nightmares.

No longer was she the spirit with your face and body.

But now... her own person.

She looked relatively young, about in her early-thirties to forties, though you knew she was far, far older.

Her skin was red, just like yours, with horns and a tail all the same, but even her features were somewhat similar to yours in a way.

If you were being honest, she looked like she could've been your older sister.

"Y'know what?" you scoffed, annoyed. "It's about time you and I have a little chat... I've had enough of this possession bit."

Amused, her brow cocked, silently telling you to continue.

"I've come to terms with the cards I've been dealt with. I was born a demon, and I was born possessed. There's nothing I can do about that," you started, firmly, keeping strong eye-contact with the demon. "And if I'm being honest... I have no problem with you living in my body."

You stopped quickly, gaze turning sharp.

"But if this is for the real long run, then we've gotta have some ground rules... For instance, you cannot just go around eating anybody that you want."

"I cannot?" her brow raised further, an annoyed expression sliding onto her face.

"No, you cannot," you sighed, incredulously, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Alright, we need to back it up a bit. There are good people in this world, alright? Like Batman... and then there are bad people. And I know you've been around here long enough to tell the difference."

She huffed out her nose, turning away.

The accusation was true... but she never thought you knew that.

"The deal is you will only ever be allowed to touch, harm, hurt, or possibly eat very, very bad people. But never, ever good people. Alright?"

"...Fine."

"Oh, come on, you—! Wait... fine?" you realized halfway through your rebuttal.

"Yes," she grumbled, reluctantly. "With this Task Force M, they allow us freedom. They do not pump us full of poisons to keep us docile. Here, I am free... enough, I suppose."

You raised a brow, suspicious, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Why the sudden change of heart? Yesterday, you were perfectly fine with cremating an entire battalion of men—"

"That was before I gave our predicament some thought," she cut you off, sharply.

You clammed up, taken aback by her sudden sharpness.

"Because of me, the healers of Arkham have labeled you as psychotic, yes? If they continue to do so we will not be allowed back out again."

Standing from her throne, she flew down to you, holding out her hand to shake.

"These rules guarantee that my hunger will be sated, and your freedom granted. So until we are able to break free from the shackles of this... Amanda Waller, I will abide by them."

Pausing a moment, you glanced at her hand.

While you were naturally suspicious of her compliance, you knew it was better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

If she insisted, who were you to deny?

"Then it's a deal."

The moment you touched her hand, you were yanked back to reality.

But when you awoke... you were met with utter chaos.

[quicklikelight]

Saw a post just now that was like, how do you work full time and still have time for hobbies? And I think that's a great question to ask, as people navigating a world where increasingly our labor is entirely for the benefit of some faceless (or worse, incredibly public) billionaire and no one else.

I'm a person who takes my labor seriously, and I have had the pleasure and privilege of only working for non-profit or not-for-profit organizations throughout my adult career. I worked part-time for a regular corporation once for six months before I quit out of disgust, and I've worked for a couple of family-owned small businesses during college, but the overwhelming majority of my 12+ year career so far has been in a profit void, which does help.

Even still, I have colleagues at my big shiny non-profit who say, "Anne you have so many hobbies! How on earth do you have time for them?" And the key is,

If I don't make time for my personal passions, I'll die.

I'm not being dramatic. It isn't a joke. An intrinsic and necessary part of me -- the part that labors for love, that labors for the desire of it, for the enjoyment -- will die if I do not create time and space to do that labor. And without that love, that passionate hobby investment, the part of me that is left will not then decide, hey I should labor more for money! It will not decide, hey I should invest in my relationships! It will not decide, hey I should invest in myself as a human being! In my environment! In my community! In the world!

It will decide, if there is no time for joy in the world, I will not be in the world. I will doomscroll endlessly on my phone. I will watch re-runs of a beloved sitcom for 3 hours, exhausted on my sofa, and go to bed. I will show up to work still groggy from the day before, and I will be angry in meetings, and I will be exhausted from customer interactions, and I will either want to cry or I will have zero feelings at all as I enter yet another figure into another cell of the universal spreadsheet. I will not be my best self anywhere, for any reason, because my best self is dead.

People say things like, "I don't dream of labor," and I respect that. But a lot of labor is very good. It's work, to knit a sweater. It's work, to write a book. It's work, to raise a garden, or a goat, or a child. It's work to bake bread, and to sew pants, and to rebuild small engines. It's work to create, and that is--in my humble opinion--what we're here for. To spend all day idly eating grapes would drive a lot of us to the brink. The problem isn't labor--it's capital.

To make time for your hobbies means working intentionally to identify those passion projects as a necessary part of your reason for being on the earth. My job on this earth is not to assign training. My job on this earth is to create beauty, and write stories, and make clothes, and connect from my heart. When that truth is accepted, and you put in the effort to rebirth the part of you that died to capitalism, then it becomes very obvious that the relevant question isn't "how do I make time for hobbies."

The question is, "How do I ensure that my job does not take up all the mental and physical energy I have so that I can re-invest that energy into myself?"

A good place to start is to plan your days / weeks / months with an understanding of your mental/physical boundaries and just do that. There are ways to do this most effectively (collective bargaining, creating a schedule that honors the need for focus vs collaboration, bringing your hobbies to work and being open about how they make your work better) but the most important thing, in my opinion, is for you to understand that your full time job isn't you. It's not what makes you special or important in this world, and it's not what people will remember about you when you're gone, and it's not going to feed you if you stop showing up. So give it as little as you can comfortably get by with, preserve that precious energy, and put it into something that sets your soul alight.

When you invest in the labor that loves you back, that provides for you, that keeps you alive... you'll stop accepting a world in which you cannot dream of labor for fear of losing yourself.

And maybe, at the end, you'll have a sweater. :)

[jjeongkii]

Spring love — Jungkook one shot

finally posted something we cheered 🙏🏻

bf!jk × reader

summary — You surprised Jungkook with a spring picnic, where you both shared laughs, kisses, and paint, creating a sweet memory together.

warning — none! just jungkook being that sweet but annoying boyfriend who loves you so much 💕💝💘💓

word count — 1,157

song recommendation — Still With You - Jungkook | Lover - Taylor Swift

It was a perfect early spring day, the weather finally warming up, leaving behind the ugly chill of winter. Sunshine filled the sky, and happiness seemed to radiate from every corner. Honestly, who even likes winter?

It was March—spring's start—and you had decided to surprise Jungkook with a surprise picnic. Both of you loved the outdoors, walking around, and discussing absolutely everything. you worked so hard to prepare your picnic spot, laying out the soft blanket on the grass.

You'd brought a little raspberry chocolate cake, snacks, fresh fruits, and juice. You even brought a little canvas and paint so that you could paint after lunch. When all was ready, she got out your phone and sent him a text.

"Hey Kookie, can you come to the park? I want to show you something."

Your phone vibrated almost instantly.

"Coming right now."

Damn, that was fast. Guess he was eager to see you. You played with your dress as you waited. It was a nice blue one, perfect for the springtime.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was getting ready too, fixing his hair. He wore a simple white shirt and some ripped blue jeans—a common combo, but somehow he made it look effortlessly hot.

As you waited, a wave of nervousness built up inside you. But you knew Jungkook loved moments like this. He always loved it when you went out of your way to do something special for him. It made his heart flip every time.

Jungkook headed towards the park, his eyes scanning for you. And when he finally spotted you, standing there with the sun softly caressing your skin, he was rendered speechless. The blue dress, your hair gently swaying with the wind—it was something he could never get used to.

He approached from the back and kneeled, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "So, all dressed up for me, huh?" he joked, nudging your shoulder gently.

You hit his arm lightly, a blush working its way up your neck. "Shut up," you muttered, trying to hide your embarrassed face.

"Aww, my baby's already blushing? Adorable," he chuckled, sitting down next to you.

Jungkook's grin swept over the picnic setting, his eyes landing on the canvas and paints. "You're going to let our inner Picassos out?" he inquired, an eyebrow arching upwards. "Since, you know, I'm terrible at painting."

You dismissively waved your hand. "Jungkook, you don't have to be Picasso. I just figured it'd be something fun to do after we ate.

You spent the next bit of time enjoying yourselves together—eating, chatting, stealing little kisses between bites of food. Everything seemed like it should be. The sun was out, the air was fresh, and everything just felt right. You even fed each other, laughing at the mess you made.

Jungkook had given you a chocolate-covered strawberry, but the melted chocolate had dropped onto your lips. He gently laughed, leaning in closer to wipe it away. "You're always such a mess, aren't you?"

"Hey, not my fault you feed me like I'm some cow," you joked, making him laugh even harder.

After your little food fight, you grabbed the canvas and the paintbrush, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "Well, ready to bring out the Picasso within you?"

Jungkook laughed, grabbing his own canvas. "Oh, I'm ready. Let's make the art world proud," he replied, squeezing paint onto the palette.

You had always been very skilled with a paintbrush. You'd gone to art school when you we're younger, so it came second nature to you. But even though Jungkook had seen your talent before, he couldn't help but be amazed by your work every time.

As time passed, you both were deeply focused on your paintings. Jungkook was doing his best, and you couldn't resist trying to sneak a peek at his canvas. "Whatcha got there?" you joked, trying to get a peek.

"Nope, no looking," Jungkook said, covering his work. "Patience, baby."

You crossed your arms and looked at your own painting. You added a few more details, your brush strokes becoming more confident.

Finally, after what had seemed like forever, you both finished your paintings. You counted to three, eager to reveal your works.

"On three. One… two… three!"

You flipped your canvases around. Your painting was a beautiful, detailed depiction of a flower field, every petal and leaf showing your attention to detail. You’d clearly put a lot of effort into it.

Jungkook's artwork, however, was of you—sitting as you were now, painting concentratedly. It was pretty good for someone who claimed to be awful at art. It wasn't flawless, but it was created with so much love, you could tell he'd put his heart into it.

"Oh my god, baby… this is so beautiful." You looked at the painting, holding it up, noticing the little hearts surrounding your figure. Your heart skipped a beat. He really loved you, and this painting was proof of that.

"Thank you, my love," Jungkook smiled, leaning in and kissing you on the cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

You felt a wave of warmth run through you as you looked at him. His eyes sparkled with genuine affection, and you could tell that everything he did—every little thing—was filled with love. You leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, lingering for a moment as if time itself had paused. The still, quiet moment between the two of you was ideal.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you whispered onto his lips, your heart overflowing with emotion.

Jungkook grinned and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you near. "Nah, I'm the lucky one," he replied, his voice gentle. He rested his chin on the top of your head as you burrowed into his chest, the two of you warm in the peaceful moment.

The sun still shone overhead, and the gentle breeze played with your hair, but nothing could be more ideal than this. Just the two of you, surrounded by love, laughter, and art. The picnic could have been simple, but the memories you were making were priceless.

You both just sat there for a while, talking, laughing, and just basking in the simplicity of each other's company. The world around you just melted away, and it was like nothing else mattered. You didn't need fancy plans or material things to be happy—just each other, and these moments that felt like they could last a lifetime.

And when the day began winding down, Jungkook stood up, pulling you along with him. "Come on, let's take this masterpiece home," he said with a playful wink, jerking his head in the direction of your paintings.

You laughed and took his hand, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. "Yeah, let's go. But you're gonna carry your 'Picasso,' not me.".

"Deal," he chuckled, pulling you into his side as you walked hand-in-hand back to the car, your hearts full of joy, and your smiles never fading.

[squinch-depraved]

priest schlatt I beg

we're not gonna talk about how long this took me to get to

happy national clergy appreciation day (in the u.s.) !! sorry if this sucks i was raised southern baptist and even then i sucked at christianity there's a reason i practice witchcraft now lol

hanging your head low as you ducked into the confessional wouldn't save you. sure, there was no one around to see you, but knowing that god had witnessed what you had done was reason enough to try and hide from the world as much as you could. but still you tucked yourself away into the corner of the booth, clutching your purse in your trembling hands.

religion was a something of a sore spot for you; growing up in a hyper-christian family was one way to ensure you didn't feel comfortable in a house of worship. you had always viewed god as an inevitable outcome, a fact that awaited you whenever you happened to reach the end of your journey here on earth. once you graduated high school and locked yourself into a four year program at a catholic college one state over, you came to realize that the reason you couldn't stand your religion wasn't because of overbearing relatives. no, it was the very idea of god himself. you found him sadistic, an egotistical prick who had nothing better to do than let horrible things happen to his creations. maybe it was true that most of the teachings you had heard were lost on you, that you didn't even make an effort to understand the lessons passed down for thousands of years. but so what? nobody had ever made an effort to understand you or what you were going through, why should you waste your energy extending that courtesy to a church that obviously didn't care about you?

but you know who did make you feel understood? the guys you had dated in the three years since you arrived at this prison. at least, for a few weeks, in the beginning. the first one was fine. he was the one who convinced you virginity was an outdated concept- which you still agreed with to this day, you decided. he was surprisingly "woke" about the whole religion thing, which was what drew you to him in the first place.

"my parents made me study here too," he sympathized. "i totally wish i could've gone on a mission trip instead of getting a degree. like, college will be here in a few years! those impoverished people might not, y'know? i just feel like god is totally calling me to go serve. like, 'troy, man, go feed those guys! tell them how cool i am!'" he stopped tossing a miniature foam basketball against your bedroom wall for a moment to look at you.

you smiled weakly at his sentiments and glanced up from your laptop to nod. "totally, troy."

turns out, (unsurprisingly) troy was a fucking douche. he stayed around just long enough to get into your pants a couple times, but then you caught him with the girl who lived in the dorm across from you, so he had to go. nobody ever found out who stole his clothes from the men's showers, but the videos of him streaking down the hallways while he ran to his room were sent around campus for months after that.

guys two and three were more painful than troy; you had actually grown attached to them. guy two lasted almost a year, and three was only a few months, but he felt special. and the half dozen guys you slept with while trying to get over them just added to the tally of sins you were keeping subconsciously.

so when your grades started to slip from depression in the winter of your junior year, and your counselor called you to her office for an appointment, it was no surprise that her words got under your skin as easily as they did. how could they not? getting students to go to church was part of her job. she was concerned that your grades were slipping because she hadn't seen you at mass in a long time, and the absence of the lord will do that to a young girl, you know.

so later that night, after drinking by yourself at a bar a few miles from the school, you stumbled into the church on campus and slunk into the confessional. realizing that the wooden box was incredibly uncomfortable, you winced and pulled off your heels, rubbing your feet gently as you waited to be listened to.

you shrieked quietly when a small lattice window on the wall next to you slid open. "oh, fuck... sorry! um, it's my turn, right?... yeah, i think so. okay, so, um. bless me father for i have... sinned? it's been, like," you paused as you counted back the time on your fingers. "almost two years since my last confession. oh, jeez, that makes me sound awful." you were hiccupping as you rambled, and you could have sworn you heard the faintest exhale of amusement if you weren't plastered.

"whatever, it's too late to stop now," you sighed, crossing your legs. "i let some guys sleep with me and now i'm all unpure and like. i'm supposed to show up here a couple times every week now but i don't wanna, i don't care enough about this whole god thing to waste the rest of my college life becoming a nun. i'm already worried i wasted three years coming here instead of a school where i could have felt like myself," you trailed off.

it was quiet for a moment before a gruff voice with a new york accent asked, "how many guys?"

you snorted. "9, i think," you said with a smirk, rolling your eyes.

the man on the other side of the panel felt his face heat up as he mumbled, "jesus." you couldn't hold in your laugh at how absurd this was. this was what you deserved for coming to confess at 2 in the morning.

"i know it's been a while since i've been here and all, but i'm pretty sure that's not what you're supposed to say," you giggled.

a chuckle was heard before he answered, "sorry. you're right, it's not. tell me more, what led you to sleeping with them?" at least now he was trying.

the two of you talked for about an hour, until it no longer felt like a confession and you were sure you had fallen for this priest you couldn't even see. eventually, he tried to dismiss you without giving you your penance, but something in your gut drove you to bring it up yourself.

he stepped out of the booth first, and you hesitated for a second before following him, freezing when you saw what he looked like. tall, scary, with gorgeous brown eyes framed by aviator glasses and fluffy chops adorning his cheeks. by some miracle, he also felt immobilized by his view of you hopping out of the wooden compartment- dress disheveled, fishnets ripped, heels in one hand and your purse slung over one shoulder. you were his worst nightmare, a temptation he simply could not resist. god had just placed a vulnerable young lamb like you in his midst; who was he to deny himself of the simple pleasures his lord had provided for him?

"father? father, my penance," you waved your hand in front of his face (after a bit of trying to get his attention), which had just gone dark. his eyes now looked hungry and cold.

"hmm?" he blinked and tilted his head towards you slightly. "oh. uhm," he let out a deep exhale, as if contemplating something. "y-y'know what? just come with me," he spoke gently, taking your hand and leading you to a back room with some spare furniture scattered about.

a part of you knew what was coming, and a different part of you never could have guessed the situation you were about to find yourself in. once you were alone in the room together, he pulled you close and pressed you against a wall, letting his hot breath waft over your neck as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

"god's telling me we should make it 10 men you've been with," he murmured, voice velvet smooth as it coated your eardrums. "so you can say at least one of them was a real man of the lord, hmm, doll?"

your breath, caught in your throat, sped up as he slowly, gently, tenderly took your wrists in one of his hands, bringing them to rest above your head. "father..."

"schlatt. my name's schlatt. but that's just a courtesy, hm? stick to callin' me father." you felt him smirk against your skin as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your neck, drawing out a frantic moan from you.

"careful with your noises, angel, there's two other guys here tonight, and if we get caught, i'm gonna have to share you," schlatt warned. he used his other free hand to pull down the top of your dress, smiling greedily at the sight of your exposed breasts. "no bra?"

"i-it didn't go with the outfit," you tried to defend yourself, but he just shushed you and fondled your chest lovingly, like he really was just appreciating one of god's creations. pathetic noises spilled from your lips as you watched him admire you, a hypnotized look on your face.

"you're so beautiful, doll. wha's your name?" he asked, glancing up at your face to meet your gaze.

you stammered out your response and he repeated it, running over the name in his mind.

"pretty," he said simply. "i'm gonna make you feel good now, okay?" it was more of a statement than a question, and you nodded with a gulp as he knelt down and slid his head under your dress. you felt your pupils dilate as you leaned your head back against the wall and let your eyes fall closed. schlatt ripped a bigger hole into your fishnets and pulled your skimpy panties to the side, licking a long stripe up your folds and tracing circles with his tongue on your clit. it was hard to keep your whorish noises contained, but clamping your hand over your mouth did a good enough job.

he ate you until you were frantically scratching at his head through the fabric of your dress as you came all over his face, sobbing from how good you felt. you didn't even know it was possible to feel this euphoric, but here this priest was to show you how. once he was satisfied, he pulled away from your cunt and rose to tower over you again. he reached into his robes and opened them enough so that his crotch was visible. you watched as he pulled out his length, stunned at the size of it, and let him pick you up and position you around his waist.

"father, i'm scared, i don't know if it's gonna fit," you admitted guiltily. schlatt locked eyes with you while he replied.

"it's okay to be scared. but you have to do it anyways." with that, he slid into you, stretching you out more than you ever had been before. you bit onto him in an effort to keep quiet; his robes did a good job of muffling the sound. after a generous amount of time to let you get used to him, he started moving.

he was gentle at first, but gradually got rougher and rougher. there wasn't a moment where he wasn't focused on making you feel good. his eyes pierced through you as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, and the attention he was giving you didn't make you feel objectified like it did when the other guys fucked you. it made you feel divine, ethereal almost.

grunts and pants, along with the occasional squeal, were all that could be heard as he rolled his hips into you time and time again. he coaxed another orgasm out of you just with his cock, and once he felt like he had pleasured you enough, he sped up, now thrusting at a frenzied pace.

"when i tell you, you're gonna get on your knees and take me in your mouth, okay angel?" he instructed, out of breath. you nodded, eager to please.

"yes, father," you gasped as he reached deeper and deeper inside you with every thrust. schlatt's eyes rolled back slightly at the title and he went impossibly faster for a few seconds before speaking.

"n-now! now!" he ordered desperately. he set you down hurriedly and you slammed down onto your knees to take him in your mouth, letting him burrow deep into your throat before he finished with a loud groan and grabbed your hair roughly.

he remained in your throat for a moment while he caught his breath, sliding out once his chest had stopped heaving.

"there's your penance, doll. i better see you here for a 2 a.m. confession next monday as well, yeah? i think that's what the lord's callin' me to do," schlatt said as he buttoned his robes. you straightened your clothes as much as you could and looked up at him sheepishly.

"looking forward to it. but, uh, is there a back door i could leave through? because i do not want to walk through the church like this." you gestured to your outfit, tattered and wrinkled, and winced.

he chuckled and nodded. "yeah, i'll show you to it. maybe it could be our secret entrance," he joked.

"oh, of course. i'll knock three times whenever i need to be let in," you retort with a grin.

maybe coming to church wouldn't be so bad, after all.

[xoxo-sarah]

Ms. Perfect

↝a/n: this is an old idea that I had in the back of my notes app. Oops.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

↝warning: death, widow!Reader, apocalypse, mean! Daryl, swearing, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 4.23.24

Daryl wasn't sure why he hated you so much. You were nice to everyone around you, even understanding. But the sight of you makes the blood in his veins boil.

It became a routine; you and him sniping at each other, digging up trauma neither of you really wanted to. He just got under your skin. Like now.

“Sorry, in case you haven' noticed, the world ain't all rainbows and sunshine anymore. We don't shit money to buy the newest thing. Life is different, Doll. Get used to it.” He drawled, his eyebrows scrunched together.

There he goes again.

You weren't even talking to or about him, but he had heard you. That had been enough for him to butt in, apparently.

Ever since you had stumbled your way into Daryl's group early on, Daryl had had it out for you. At the creek, he would be pointing out how your hair had to have been done recently. Your jewelry, clothes, how smooth your skin looked from the expensive moisturizers and night creams you had to use, your newly manicured nails- ignoring the dirt and blood underneath-, and the shine in your eyes. You didn't have the shine at first, but when you would hang out with Carol, you would smile, and the recent glazed look was gone.

Your eyes shone brightly like the stars in the countryside. Not that you would know. You probably never had the chance to see how bright the stars shone in the city.

You were unbothered by the people at the campsite, keeping to yourself. You didn't have to worry about anything when the world was built for your liking and convenience.

Daryl despised you and that god-awful rock on your finger that could feed him for probably 6 months to a year. He glared at the ring every chance he got—so much so that you eventually yanked it off, throwing it in the murky pond.

Even after leaving the campsite, you stayed with the group, arguing with Daryl along the way.

“I get it, you're used to having people do everything for you, but we're not always going to be with you, Princess. Sorry life now is so much different from your perfect life before.” For a quiet guy, he always had so much to say to you. All negative.

You bit your cheek, glancing from Maggie—who you were originally talking to—to the dirty man in front of you. "Yeah-I had the perfect life. I had the fiancé that I couldn't wait to marry. I had the apartment that I had the luxury to design with my mother, gushing about the difference wallpapers." You smiled at the memory. Your mother had been so happy for you. "I had the fluffy dog that had its own room. I had the dad who would always talk about playing catch with his future grandchild. I had the money where I didn't have to worry about anything in life." You didn't falter as you felt behind your eyes begin to burn. " I did, alright? I had the life that almost every little girl dreams about. But it was yanked out of my hands, like everyone else's. One day, I didn't wake up to my fiancé kissing me, or the smell of burnt toast-- cause he didn't know how to cook. I woke up to him nowhere in sight. Instead, I heard yelling outside the door, car horns honking outside of the windows. When I opened the door, I saw my neighbors with white eyes, growling and clawing at the skin of the man I was going to marry and grow old with. His screams will haunt me 'til the day I die. But you will not ever hear me feeling bad for myself. I did have the perfect life, but that doesn't matter now. So, get over -yourself-, cause I am just trying to survive just like you."

Daryl watched your eyes gloss over, your nostrils flare. You were rightfully pissed. And right. He hadn't heard you weep for your past-- ever. You had jumped right into survival mode as soon as he laid eyes on you. You had held your own too- most people called you a badass, Daryl wouldn't let himself verbally agree. With that, you turned and walked away. Maggie shuffled awkwardly, glancing from you to Daryl. She wore a disappointed frown.

Weeks. You ignored his existence for weeks, 2 weeks to be exact. Everytime he would go up to you, you would walk away. Even if you were in the middle to a conversation. The person you were talking to wouldn't mind, really. They would've known about your bitter back-and-forth. They wouldn't think anything of it.

Daryl just wishes you would give him a chance to at least try to apologize. After you had let your walls down and told him about what the end of the world was like for you, he felt bad - pathetic, even. He was so jealous about how you lived before the outbreak, he didn't care about how it had affected you. He should've.

The moonlight led him towards your house, his hands fidgeting. The streets were silent, everyone already in bed. He hadn't been able to sleep. The thought of you kept him up in a different way than before.

His knuckles hovered over your door. You had to be in bed. Was it worth it? You would probably be too tired to yell at him. He knocked.

It took a minute for the door to open. You stood, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a sleep frown on your face. At the sight in front of you, your hand dropped, your sleepy eyes immediately rolling in annoyance. "Oh my god-" You tried to close the door, but his boot caught it before it could close all the way. "Move your foot, Dixon."

"Listen." His eyes were pleading, something you weren't used to. You kept the door open when he reluctantly moved his boot. " 'm sorry."

You scoffed, Sure, you are."

" 'm serious. " He looked at the floor as he brought his hand up, turning it and showing his hand. "Not sure why I kept it." At the sight of your ring, tears bordered your eyes. Your head pressed against the side of the door as your body shook with a silent sob. Daryl didn't look at you. He let you grieve for whatever you wanted to in that moment. He let you have that moment. After your sobs died down, his calloused hand took yours, opening your hand and dropping the ring into your palm.

"You're a dick." You hiccupped.

"I know." 

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[notmorbid]

the silt verses, pt. 6.

close your eyes. try and rest.

a god should not be able to avert her eyes.

what a terrible thing it must be, to be monstrous and not even know it.

how can you remain neutral when it's your property being blown up?

sleep well, when sleep comes.

no one's safe. you know that as well as anyone.

it's happening. just like we talked about.

i need you to know i love you. i love you so damn much.

are you afraid to die?

the road's always where i've been happiest.

everything burns out in the end. it has to.

we need to get you somewhere safe.

you must have an extraordinary heart, to carry so much in it.

i've never heard you say sorry.

i've got grievances. i've got questions i need answers to.

your voice is ____ than i remember.

you were always doing the best you could.

are you happier now?

i don't have much, but i'm everything i always wanted to be.

do you have a family out there?

do you enjoy playing the part of ____?

you'll find another part. you'll become someone else.

it takes courage changing anything.

you were always brave enough to know what needed to change.

you're not the center of all things, past and future.

you're adrift. just like the rest of us.

there's no more truth to your fragment than mine.

maybe you just need a little inspiration.

we're all going to die screaming that we're not really dying, and we're not really screaming.

hell of a view from the top.

can i share something with you, in confidence?

you trust me, don't you?

fuck it. let's take a leap of faith.

none of our problems have gone away, but we're still here. we're still surviving, somehow.

i'm becoming what they see in me.

i want you to be more than i was.

we all thought ____ was making you up.

i can understand wanting to keep yourself apart from other people.

life cannot inhabit a vacuum.

you're not a person, are you?

no blessing comes without cost.

is this kindness, or just a predator circling before it feeds?

can you hear the song beneath the song?

this is where it ends, then?

you have to be lying to me. that's all i can think.

will i see my friends again?

i feel good. i didn't dream.

i promise not to leave without saying goodbye, at least.

i have nothing and no one left in this world.

agreeing is easier than anything else.

what will you be, now that there's nothing left to become?

i've had decades of comfort. none of it made me safe.

i'll go where you lead me.

i will be better than they are.

you do not need to be afraid of me.

i will take care of you.

i am not what they intended me to be.

i can keep you safe.

i was honestly never too fond of families.

you wonder what kind of a world we're bringing children into, you know?

what can they do to us that they haven't done already?

they must not see you hesitate.

when you come for one of us, you come for all of us.

this is great. maybe i should've gone into acting.

you should have let me die.

kill them all, but let _____ live.

i'm not leaving you, you fucking idiot.

calm down, i said.

you can find meaning in anything, if you mess around enough with words.

it's just one thing after another, isn't it?

we can still fix this. this isn't our end.

i only want to live up to the lesson you taught me.

you think i tarnish my title, do you?

you have nothing to confess. nothing to be sorry for.

that's what people say right before they do something really stupid.

you probably know who i am, right?

i survived. i didn't think i would.

where are the tears of our god? where is its sorrow for us?

anything can be a stable foundation, as long as you've got enough cement.

all of us are capable of change. every single one of us.

i am not going to get better. nor will you. nor will any of us.

what do you think i'm going to do to you?

what did you want to be when you were small?

if this is my punishment, why am i smiling?

i did it. i'm to blame. i accept that.

how about what you did to me? can you bear that weight?

there will be a reckoning for what you've done.

you wouldn't be able to bear the weight, if you understood the harm you've done.

there's no way past it, and there's no way around.

it's a little like an apology, isn't it? explaining yourself?

we're entangled, you and i, in the ruin of one another.

hope is a twisting noose.

change will come. it has to.

we're all crawling grubs dreaming of butterfly's wings, told a fine tale by the birds above us. and while we're dreaming, they all come down to feed.

i hate you because i know you. better than anyone else has known you.

i hate you. i truly do. and i love you, too, in spite of everything.

i'm wise to what you really are. i can see the eyes beneath your eyes.

there'll be a place for you, and it will be beside me. that's my offering. that's all i have to give.

the best feeling in the world is seeing you walk away.

walk until you're lost to me. don't look back.

you'll laugh, i think, when you hear it.

i never really cared for any of you all that much, if i'm honest.

is it really such a bad thing, to be nothing?

it's never too late to change.

i'll wear whatever shape you choose for me.

no matter how it starts, it can end with love, can't it? it can end with kindness.

we talked a lot, but always about the wrong things.

you can find the beauty in almost anything, once you stop struggling.

it's not like ____ said it would be.

[melkyt]

Lawlu as parents mmm, (mpreg Luffy vibes)

Luffy doesn't have any father figures in his early life, not even sure what dads do with a kid that is not dump on some island and ditch.

Shanks and his five seconds of fame that Luffy mentions every chance he gets dont count in this scenario, I love Shanks as a dad content, but his track record is spotty xd

Law as a Father is conflicted, scared, and happy at the same time. He had a loving biofather who treated them with kindness and still thinks that Cora made a great guardian despite their rough start together. So he tries to follow their example, so he would never leave his child, though he looks at how Luffy was raised and decides that he will be solely responsible for their kid.

Thats okay, he has a space on the polar tang for when it arrives, decorating with sunflowers and hearts so atleast the kiddo knows the symbols of both their parents, even if they never get the chance to meet Luffy for long.

The relationship Law and Luffy have in Law's eyes is just some fun and a distraction when they both needed it most. So they ended up with a kid in the process, its fine. Law gets used to repeating its fine through the entire process of getting things ready for the child to be part of his life.

Then they arrive, a little ball of shine that resembles them both with bright pale eyes and a brighter smile.

Law is completely taken by their baby. He will spoil them and give them world!

Luffy does that stare of his when he is serious about something, an unwavering determination focused on the kid. It unnerves Law a little as they usually share everything, and he understand what Luffy is thinking better than he did when they met, but sometimes its hard to read Luffy's focused expressions. Especially now,

Law decides its best not to ask, he doesnt want to hear that Luffy thinks they should leave the child behind for its own sake. Worry gnawing at his mind, that he will have to do something drastic to keep the baby and that it will break the relationship he built with Luffy and the strawhats

The baby has to stay on the Sunny for a few weeks, and Law decides to stay there as well. He is determined not to leave the kid. Every waking moment he is carrying the baby arround, washing, feeding, anything he can do while Luffy recovers.

Running himself ragged in the process. He wants to be the best parent ever, and sleep or food doesn't factor into the equation when Law gets hyperfocused. He is a mess. Coming into the nursery on the Sunny with a yawn, just to look at their baby.

Luffy stops him before Law can go to pick them. Instead, forcing Law to take his bed in the room next door.

Law out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow. When he wakes up, Luffy and the baby are gone. His mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario. They are both pirates, and a ship is no place for a baby. That's something Luffy said before, quoting Shanks. So Law is worried he didn't even get to say goodbye.

Law is not bothering to grab his hat, his sword, or even to put on shoes, slipping on the wood. He hears Luffy laughs and runs into the kitchen of the Sunny.

Much ot his relief and surprise, the baby is still there. Luffy is wearing one of those baby slings that let him move around hands free, chattering to the kid about what food Sanji is making, getting everything wrong, much to Sanji's annoyance, as he corrects his captain, determined that the baby knows for sure that cooking is an art!

Law pulling Luffy into a hug, something he only does when nobody is watching. Yet now he doesnt care because they are still there. Luffy chuckles and hugs him back. "Duh, we're still here Traffy" He ruffles Law's hair, the baby giggles where it is pressed between them.

Law after that mini panic at losing family once again, decides to talk to Luffy and what they are doing. That he is prepared fo take care of the kid on the polar tang and while its Luffy's choice in the end and not his, he would rather have the kid in his life then leave it on some island whete it might be safe. Might not have people after it just for being born, but Law would rather be able to protect their kid all on his own.

Luffy pouts, "Who said you gotta do things alone, Traffy?" Luffy holds their kid closer. He tells Law about how even though he dont care about it anymore, he remembers how he felt about being tossed out all the time as a kid and that it hurt not having a place to belong.

He remembers how much Ace hated his dad for leaving him with old man Garp. How Uta felt when Shanks left her.

Luffy aint gonna do that. The kid stays and they are gonna raise it with their crews, with their families and make sure it knowz that its loved!

Law smiles with a soft expression, tension leaving his body. They will have to deal with a lot of danger and shenanigans to protect their child in the future, but at least they will do it together.

[luveline]

hello jade! i just want to say i absolutely adore your writing!! if you have the time, could we see some more grumpy steve in the zombie au? id love to see anything from before the college, i just miss that grumpy era! <3

thank you my love!! steve zombie au —you try to make sense of why steve is so grumpy. 1k, fem!reader

"No," Steve says. 

You sigh and turn away from him, hands braced either side of your face. Steve doesn't talk much, but when he does, his favourite word is no. 

"Why not?" you ask. 

"There's nothing left in Hawkins," he says, stepping with ease over a huge puddle of diesel, the expelled gas strong enough to make you feel nauseous. 

"There's, you know, our homes." 

"What's the point?" he asks. "I'm trying to be fair here. What's the point in going back when everyone is gone and half the town was burned to the ground?" 

You ease over the diesel puddle with much less ease, muttering expletives to yourself when your left foot sinks into the instep. Now you'll smell like diesel for the next week. Great. 

There isn't any point in going back home, but that doesn't mean you don't want to. There really is nothing there, half the town was on fire when you bolted, the Hawk, the school, anything that would catch. It was an organised arson by the escape group you and Steve were supposed to be in (or rather, just Steve, flame to draw the geeks attention. You hadn't known anyone who knew anyone that knew the plan, so you hadn't realised everybody was leaving until they were already gone, the sound of what must've been fifty cars departing northward your lone clue. 

You kick the floor as you and Steve step out of the road and back onto the dirt path beside it, hoping the grass and mud will soak up the acrid smell stuck to your shoe. You'd brought Hawkins up because you're still grieving. Because you want someone to talk to about what you've lost, and Steve isn't abiding. 

"What guarantee is it that the world isn't just as razed as Hawkins?" you ask without pep. 

"There's no point thinking about it that way. We keep moving or we die. We go home, we die. We need to keep going and if we're fast enough, we can catch up to the Hawkins group. It'll be safer when it isn't only the two of us." 

And you'll never have to speak to me again, you think morosely. 

Steve is handsome. He went to your high school, though that was, like, four years ago. He's not the kind of guy who wasted time with girls like you, you know that. You guess you'd been hoping he'd be nicer alone. 

"You're not how I remember you," you say. 

"I don't remember you," he says. 

"Why would you?" you ask. You pretend to mess with the zipper on your jacket rather than look in his direction, worried he'll meet your eye, and see the actual hurt in your expression. "I was nobody, and you were a jock. Everyone knows how that goes."

"It's not like that," he says. 

You bat a rogue insect away from your cold cheek. You hate the forest. "What's it like?" you ask. 

"It's not about what kind of person you were. I had a lot going on back then." 

"Like what?" 

"Like getting beat up so bad I had a concussion twice in the same year," he says. 

"Woah." You look at him through the corner of your eye. "You got beat up that bad twice?" 

Steve doesn't answer you. You continue following him, making your way across a big stretch of road, the next crop of buildings about twenty minutes away if you had to guess. The weather is brisk, the sun occluded by grey clouds, and the air smells like ash. The sky is a hazy shade of white.

"Wait, by Jonathan Byers?" 

"No, he's the one who didn't give me a concussion," Steve says contritely. 

"Oh. Hey, you don't have to look so down about it, Harrington, this is a good thing. I can trust you, now." 

"You didn't trust me? I've been feeding you for the past week." 

"Yeah, but you're a guy I don't really know. I was worried you might try to kill me and eat me in my sleep or something when the food ran out, but now I know you're bad at fights, I'm not so worried." 

"Fuck off," he says dryly. 

"I'm bad at fighting too, if you were wondering." 

"I wasn't." 

"Hmm. Who beat you up the third time? I know that jerk Hargrove got you." 

"Just some guy."

"Must've been an angry guy," you mumble, looking at him with your head tilted. 

Steve is an asshole often and unapologetically to you, but you don't think you want to hurt him. He's shown you that, while he sucks, he knows how to be nice. He makes sure the blankets are covering your shoulders before you fall asleep, and he gives you bigger portions if he hears your stomach grumbling. Plus, no guy so eager to find their best friend can be evil, you think. He must have a whole lot of love stored up. Or stored down. Deep down inside. 

"Stop staring at me," he says. 

"Okay." You stare at him some more. He has a nice nose. He has really nice eyes, kind of hooded and almond shaped at once, brown irises that look dark as tree bark as the sun goes down. "Well, I won't beat you up." 

"Thanks," he says. He sounds less grumpy. You try to push it further. 

"I'm really sorry," you say, slowing your steps a touch. He slows to match you. "That someone hurt you like that. Twice. I know concussions aren't funny, that it must've sucked to recover from them." 

"I had a perforated eardrum," he says. "It hurt like hell. All of it did."

"I'm sorry," you say gently, offering him a sympathetic smile. 

He smiles back. "Not your fault," he says quietly. Then, louder, "Don't walk so slow. We need to be inside soon, the sun is setting." 

"Yes, sir," you say, saluting him sarcastically. 

He doesn't speak to you for half an hour. You don't mind so much, especially when, the next time you come across a puddle of diesel (someone seriously needs to learn how to syphon gas properly), he holds out a hand and helps you cross it, even though you could've easily walked around.

[yuujispinkhair]

Separation Anxiety - Masterpost

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

Sukuna x Yuuji | fluff + smut | Memory Loss AU | Overall warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends) | All characters are of age | Minors don't interact

Playlist: Separation Anxiety

Chapter 01: Welcome to my cage, little lover

Chapter 02: You look into my eyes, you can't recognize my face. You're in my world now. You can stay, but you belong to me

Chapter 03: Your mind wants to leave, but you can't go. This is a happy house. We're happy here

Chapter 04: Do you feel safe out in the light? Or is this the place where monsters hide?

Chapter 05: This could be perfection. A venom dripping in your mouth. Singing like a siren. Love me while your wrists are bound

Chapter 06: I wanna feel you in my bones. I'm gonna tear into your soul. Desire, I'm hungry, and I hope you feed me

Chapter 07: I don't know what to do with your kiss on my neck. I want to steal your soul and hide you in my treasure chest

Chapter 08: Your love is scaring me. No one has ever cared for me as much as you do

Chapter 09: Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

Chapter 10: I don't understand how your love can do what no one else can. Your love's got me looking so crazy right now

Chapter 11: Honey, you're Atlas in his sleeping. And when you move I'm moved

Chapter 12: If I told you where I've been, would you still call me baby?

Chapter 13: You've been my God and when you're gone I'm godless. But with my eyes closed I'm still dancing in your love

Chapter 14: I can't keep you in these arms, so I'll keep you in my mind

Chapter 15: We can meet in the middle, bodies and souls collide. Dance in the moonlight when all the stars align for you and I

If you would like to be tagged when I publish the chapters, please comment on this post or send me an ask. I will cross-post this fic on Tumblr and AO3 starting next week. I hope I can post a new chapter each week! I'm so excited!!

[anyplaceisparadise]

The Use of Colour in Gladiator II: White

I have write ups for multiple colours worn by characters in Gladiator II, and all of them are used to show one specific theme or emotion. However, I argue that white takes on several different meanings throughout the film for multiple characters, so there is going to be multiple themes here.

I'd also like to say that I referred quite a bit to one of my favourite books, The World According to Colour: A Cultural History by James Fox for a few quotes as well as Emperor of Rome and SPQR by Mary Beard while working on this. I highly recommend all of them! These are definitely not mind blowing ideas here, just stuff that came to me because this movie has given me a severe case of brain rot. If you disagree, that's cool. If you've mentioned any of this before, I love that we're on the same wavelength. If you think this is ridiculous and I've gone off the deep end, you are correct. Finally, buckle up, because this is going to get kinda long.

Several characters in Gladiator II wear white throughout the film. While white is usually used to convey peace or innocence, I argue that characters wear white to show four different themes: homecoming (Acacius), purity (Lucilla), godliness (Geta), and honesty (Macrinus).

Let's start with Acacius who wears white to show a homecoming in two sense of the word: a literal return home and a return to what Rome should/could be from what it is now, corrupted and failing.

At this point in the film, Rome has strayed far from "home". The idea of home for Acacius is a uncorrupted state, without the emperors in charge. When Acacius wears white, he is representing that idea.

“We believe that this most pure and perfect colour will eradicate the world’s imperfections, remove even the most stubborn stains and make us immaculate again” (The World According to Colour, pg. 142). The movie opens with his bad deeds. He is seen leading an invasion, conquering lands and people in the name of Rome. He cuts down and kills multiple people, but all of that gets washed away upon his return home to Rome as he wears white and receives laurels from the emperors. His return home in white shows the beginning of Rome's return "home", too.

While meeting with Geta and Caracalla, he speaks about wishing for time to see Lucilla. He also chastises them subtly for their greed and speaks about his care for Rome ("Rome has so many subjects. She must feed them"). Acacius wearing white represents not just his own literal return home, but the idea that Rome will return "home" in a sense as well, back to what Marcus Aurelius wished for, and what Acacius wishes for, too.

He wears the same outfit at the first games in his honour, above. It cannot be stated more clearly, he gives a speech asking the Roman people to pray for strength for Rome. He is representing Rome, his home, negatively abroad. But now, the representation becomes more positive; he has returned home and he is asking for the Roman people to help return Rome back to it's home state (pure, uncorrupted) as well. Again, Rome has strayed far from "home" with the emperors in charge.

He is also wearing white when Lucilla informs him that her son, Lucius, is still alive. Meaning, the hope for Rome to return is still alive too: Rome is on its way "home", with now both Acacius and Lucius returning to Rome, from the same campaign but in two different states.

Later on, Acacius also wears white to the second round of games, this time with a red cloak. I won't get into it here (or Lucilla's yellow dress) because the focus is on white for this post, but his use of white at this point in the film, when the plan is in place to overtake the emperors, is another representation of homecoming, the plan of returning Rome to what it could be and should be is underway. The home they all wish for it to be.

Lucilla wears white throughout the film as well.

Lucilla wearing white is used to show purity. Not necessarily in the sense that she is a good person (even though I think she is), but purity in the sense that really, out of all the characters, she has the best claim to the throne. As the daughter of Marcus Aurelius, she is the prime candidate to take over the throne once it is decided that the twins have got to go. Alas, she is a woman. There's no sense in me going on about the sexism and misogyny of this in this post, but it is even mentioned by her father in the first film: "If only you had been born a man. What a Caesar you would have made." While that quote is from the Gladiator (2000) film, the point is still being made here as well.

She also wears a white veil and a white dress when she confirms for herself the poem that was in Lucius' childhood bedroom:

The purity of Rome, the Rome that Marcus Aurelius imagined and hoped for, is all wrapped up in Lucilla's family.

This is also reinforced when Lucilla meets with Macrinus.

This meeting takes place after the first round of games. Lucius has won the match and Lucilla completes the poem, realizing that Lucius is indeed her son. Macrinus notices this, and during this meeting, he speaks of Marcus Aurelius and also tries to press Lucilla for more information regarding Lucius' true identity. Don't worry, there is more on Macrinus' outfit here later on, as he wears white here as well. The white of her dress is again representing the purity of her bloodline in connection to Marcus Aurelius and now Lucius.

Later, Lucilla wears white and blue during the night scene, when the plans to overtake the emperors is fully exposed.

It is a full betrayal for Geta and Caracalla. Are they more hurt by Acacius or by Lucilla? The hopes and dreams of Rome returning to a pure, uncorrupted state is being fully revealed to the twins in the form of Lucilla (and her dress), and it does not include them.

Lucilla later wears white to watch Acacius die, where the hope for Rome's homecoming (in the form of Acacius) dies as well. She is chained to her seat and is forced to accept what happens. Notably, the dress she wears here is also yellow in some parts. I won't get into the use of yellow, as that is for another post.

Finally, Lucilla wears white to her death. Again, bloodline is pointed out by the commentator: “As punishment for her conspiracy against the empire, for her calumnies against the emperor’s imperial bloodline”.

It is Caracalla's bloodline that is being threatened, by Lucilla's. They know that she is the daughter of Marcus Aurelius, that if anything, her claim to the throne is better than anyone. Using the word 'purity' in association with bloodlines feels icky, but the point stands here.

Moving on. Geta, Geta, Geta. He wears white throughout this film to represent godliness.

Our introduction to the twins has them cosplaying in military wear. However, it is only Geta that wears a long white cape. In this moment, he is not just playing war games, he is also playing god. He is the one to place the laurels on Acacius. He is the one making decisions regarding the conquering of land and people. He says as much to Acacius in this moment: “There are victories yet still to come. Persia, India. Both must be conquered.”

The most obvious moment of godliness is the second instance of Geta wearing white.

He is quite literally channeling the gods by becoming a vessel for them. This speaks to several things, the belief that emperors became gods (usually upon their death), and therefore the arrogance of his belief - he's still alive in this moment. He truly believes that he is a conduit for the gods (watch his eyes flutter and roll back), and he really believes that what he is saying and doing is not only right, but approved by the gods. Obviously this belief is shattered moments later. He is still in white upon returning to the palace.

He is confronted by Caracalla, and pleads with him. He reminds Caracalla that he, Geta, would shield him from their father's blows. “I have always protected you because I love you”, he says. Geta is not just believing he is a god, or playing a god, he really is Caracalla's own personal god, protecting him throughout their lives. And he is doing so again, protecting himself from Caracalla, but protecting Caracalla from Caracalla as well.

Now, from here I diverge for just a moment to Macrinus. Macrinus is a complete chameleon throughout the film and his outfits reflect that. And while it may not seem like it, Macrinus wears white to represent honesty.

Macrinus is not wearing white the first time we see him. The first time we see him wear white is when he speaks with Lucius after taking him on as a gladiator.

Macrinus is actually a pretty honest character! He is just honest...enough. He is honest on his terms.

My apologies for how awful this photo is, I am literally in my living room taking photos of my tv for this. Either way, you can see that the white robes he wears is not completely white like the others. In fact, most instances where Macrinus wears white, it is not fully white, it is patterned or off-white. He is honest with Lucius here.. but only to a point. He is honest about his desire for money and power and he does not have qualms about how he gets either. He is also honest about what he sees in Lucius and why he was chosen: “It is an art, choosing gladiators. Some choose entertainers, some choose brute force, I choose rage.” and, “Rage pours out of you like milk”.

He wears a sort of white outfit again to the party at Thraex's:

Again, it's not an entirely white outfit; he has a dark robe over top. He's honestly showing off his gladiator here, but he's not as upfront about things to anyone, including Thraex and Lucius as he could be. Again honest... to a point.

He is also wearing a combination of colours to meet with Lucilla, as I mentioned earlier. I won't get into the other colours in this outfit. The lining is red and his actual outfit is gold (more on those colours in other posts). But look at the white on top, showing the attempt at looking honest to Lucilla. He's a good guy, trust him! Honestly!

He also wears white and blue to see Thraex in order to take his house:

Once more, it's white with a pattern. Thraex says he can offer Macrinus cattle or art instead of the house and what does Macrinus ask for? "Truth". He wants honesty from Thraex regarding Lucius and the plot against the emperors and he's doing so while wearing a very honest looking white robe. But not too honest, there's still a pattern to it.

Now here I return slightly to Geta.

As stated earlier, Geta's use of white represents godliness. He is a vessel for the gods and he is Caracalla's god as well. His outfit next to Macrinus' is interesting because while they're both wearing white, it is Macrinus that is wearing a more pure white (for the first and only time) with less gold and embroidery. Macrinus is wearing white here to mirror Geta.

It is in this white outfit that Macrinus turns Caracalla against Geta. He dishonestly takes on Geta's godliness, by appearing honest to Caracalla. It is in this outfit that he uses Caracalla's hand to kill Geta, another instance of playing god.

After the death of Geta, this is what Macrinus is wearing:

I wasn't sure where to put this one because to me it was off-white and yellow-ish in other shots. So I'll probably talk about it again when I get to the yellow post. But I'm including it here because the off-white nature of his outfit is again representative of his honest-ish behaviour. His intentions there are not entirely honest, hence the slightly off colour of his outfit.

Interestingly, Caracalla does not wear white in this film (take from that what you will), save the bedsheet which I'm not sure really counts. Another character that wears white is Arishat, who is wearing white just before the Romans invade. If we're counting the bedsheet, it could be argued that they're both representing peace or innocence (which is funny for Caracalla, I know). But let's assume he was peacefully asleep before being awoken abruptly by threats of a coup and violence, just as Arishat wore white as she was peacefully living her life, doing laundry, gardening, and playing with chickens before being abruptly interrupted by the Romans.

There are many different uses for the colour white in Gladiator II, it just depends on which character you are looking at and when. Because white takes on several different meanings, I decided to look at that one first. The next colours I look at only have one meaning or representation. If you read all of this, thank you!

[emblemxeno]

Chapter 13 of Fates Revelation is a writing highlight for me.

Corrin: What's going on? They're both blaming each other for this carnage.

Azura: Of course. Kingdoms at war will always twist things to benefit themselves.

Ryoma and Xander-representative of Hoshido and Nohr as a whole-uphold the conflict and status quo of the world they live in. Even if it makes no sense, they accept that they're enemies and an enemy must have done something awful to harm the peace.

Even parts of their battle quotes and end of chapter dialogue emphasize this.

Ryoma: It doesn't matter, Kagero. Anyone who doesn't side with Hoshido is the enemy. What will you be?

Xander: Trust her? Don't be a fool. I won't listen to any more of your lies. You've chosen your side—opposite me. Prepare yourself, Camilla.

-

Xander: This isn't over! We'll fight to the very last man!

Ryoma: You won't see Hoshido waver! We'll fight until there's no one left!

Xander: Whoever retreats now admits defeat! Nohr will never lose to Hoshido.

Ryoma: This war will continue until we take our last breath!

They are unable to see any part of a conflict as something with them or against them. Nuance and rationality don't sit well in minds stubbornly steeped in years of animosity. War, hatred, and reinforcing the way things are is something both of them are willing to do, because they see no other path or choice for themselves.

Corrin and Azura meanwhile, actively disrupt their world views.

Corrin: ...You may be my brothers, but I won't go easy on you if you try to stop me! Come, everyone! ... Ryoma! Xander! Please, you both have to listen to me! We've defeated the real enemy—you don't need to fight each other now!

Azura: Ryoma, Xander... It wasn't Nohr or Hoshido who destroyed this town. It was done by the invisible forces that we just defeated. Now that they are gone, I will not allow any more senseless violence. I will sing my song as many times as necessary to restore peace. Do you still insist on fighting?

And it's not empty words or cries that fall on deaf ears. Corrin is strong. Her will is iron-clad, and she will ensure her vision of peace is made a reality, no matter who she makes an enemy of. Azura is strong as well. What she lacks in directing a path on her own, she makes up for with raw resilience and no qualms about using her song-something that risks her life-to end things on her terms.

They force their stubborn older brothers to look at things in a different perspective; to stop trying to hack and slash their lives away and consider a bigger threat to what and who they care about.

While they aren't swayed immediately, they're undoubtedly shaken. After that, it takes personal introspection and uncomfortable truths for each of them to swallow their pride and admit their ways are wrong, and to follow Corrin to end a senseless war.

And I love this exchange at the end as well:

Scarlet: Ryoma's talked my ears off about what happened to you as a kid. You sound like an idealistic brat to me. You want to bring peace to the world? Ha!

Corrin: There's nothing idealistic about ending this horrible war.

REJECT 👏🏽THE 👏🏽 STATUS 👏🏽 QUO 👏🏽!

Accusing others of being naive or idealistic for things like this, in my opinion, shows cowardice, or even ignorance; a life that's been beaten down by other upholders of a terrible state of the world until they agree.

Why is it naive to trust people? Why is it idealistic to want something like endless warring to stop?

We're fed a lie as children: "Life's unfair, you can't do anything about it." Says who!? Why accept that life is cruel and unyielding, when there's so much capacity for good in the world? Is life actually unchangeably unfair in its nature, or is it simply malefactors taking advantage of innocent people in order to rise up to slake their own greed?

Once terrible people get in power, they beat down any forms of resistance and feed this very same lie to them. Worse still, they can even convince the masses to discriminate, fight, and kill each other all so they can swoop in during the aftermath and reap the benefits. And people, at their lowest point, take solace in any explanation-no matter how untrue and no matter who it's coming from-in order to have some semblance of control or direction. That forms their new view of the world.

It takes people who haven't been exposed or raised to believe such nonsense (Corrin) and people who are wise enough to recognize the true problems of the world (Azura), to push against this normalized destruction between two innocent groups of people and direct their ire towards the actual oppressor (Anankos).

It's succint, but scathing. The word choice-in both JP and localization-is too deliberate to consider it a coincidence, I genuinely think it's a good criticism of how our modern world works as well. From a philisophical standpoint it is basic, but Fates as a whole also tackles issues of ignorance/discrimination, xenophobia, the boundaries and meanings of family, who defines justice, the belief of many versus the will of the few, embracing consequences instead of running away, and exploring the concept of leadership in general.

For a game this big, IMO, it meets the mark more often than not when considering the points it wants its audience to hear.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 26

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 25 🟣 Part 27

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, angst, Mike being an idiot, feral!Walter.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Soooo we're back with another instalment of the vampyboys! We're not hating on jellybeans today, no worries! (Ain't that a relief?) Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo

“Hey, Mikey…” Your voice came out hesitant and small. Not for any particular reason, other than an especially useless fear of rejection. “Would you please feed?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” He sounded surprised, especially when you stopped him from going for your neck. “Ohhhhh, like that!” He grinned up at you while simultaneously pulling the hem of your shirt up. You let him take it off, barely noticing when he took off your bra as well.

“There’s one more thing I’d like you to do,” you muttered. You were so certain you wanted this, and so afraid Mike wouldn’t be okay with it…

“Anything, Sweetcheeks,” he said with a big smile while he wriggled his way down until his face was where it needed to be.

“I want you to leave the bite,” you whispered, stroking his cheek.

Mike moved back up, leaning his forehead against yours. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “More than anything. Don’t get me wrong, I want the others like that as well, even if they don’t know it yet—”

“They know,” he interrupted. “We’ve been talking about it, kinda… August complained that he wanted to mark you, and Sherlock countered that he wouldn’t let that happen unless he got a black-on-white promise from you that he’d get his turn, too. He was kind of aggressive about it. I— ehh… I really think we should let them know about this.”

“Wise words,” you mumbled. “I'm impressed.”

“I hope the offer to let me feed my favorite way still stands, though?” he asked, smiling at you like he was looking at his favorite thing in the whole world — which probably wasn't even too far from the truth.

“Why do you like that so much,” you wondered out loud. There had to be more to it than a simple love for boobs, right? You looked down at Mike, who looked up at you, his deep frown telling you he didn't appreciate the disturbance just as he was about to sink his teeth into you.

“I think by now we've established that I have severe abandonment issues,” Mike said. It sounded like he was joking, but you knew he wasn't. It was a silly coping mechanism, and you weren't going to accept that this time.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said softly, running a hand through his unruly curls. “But we can't always accommodate those, Mikey. That wouldn't be healthy, either.”

“Are you suggesting I go to therapy?” Mike said, faking shock and indignation. Then, he smiled. “Great idea, Sweetcheeks. Which is why I scheduled an appointment immediately after I came back from… being gone, I guess? But the waitlist is kinda long, so… It'll be a while.”

“I'm proud of you,” you hummed as Mike finally got to start his dinner — well, snack. You immediately sensed his desire for closeness, intimacy and, just like last time, you — ‘boobs' and ‘blood' were actually very low on the list. You locked your fingers in his hair and sighed, almost with relief. There was no need to pull him closer: he took care of that for you just fine, wrapping his arms and legs around you in the most adorable, comfort-seeking way.

Suddenly, you were overwhelmed with Mike's need to be taken care of, stronger than anything he'd desired up until this point, and when you unclenched your fist to move your hand…

“No! Don’t let go of me.”

“I'm not letting go, silly,” you whispered, stroking his hair and the back of his head. You were about halfway on your way to realizing what had happened when you felt Mike's teeth retreat and he looked up at you with big eyes full of shock.

“I didn't say that out loud,” he stammered. “I know I didn't say that out loud, because I very specifically remember thinking I didn't want to say that out loud.”

“That's…” But you were out of bed before you could speak, with Mike at your side who was furiously knocking on a door at the end of… some hallway — you weren't even sure it was the same hallway your room was on. Mike had managed to put a shirt on you, but it was both inside out and backwards.

“Sher-lock, open this door! Now!” What was this door made of? Reinforced concrete? Mike was definitely slamming it hard enough to…

“What the devil is going on, Mike?” A disgruntled Charles appeared behind you. “Unless you somehow managed to accidentally almost kill her, I hardly think this can't wait until morning.”

Marshall appeared next to Charles, with an equally unhappily surprised look on his face. “What did you do now?” His eyes dropped to your chest, where they rested for much longer than what you considered appropriate. He kept his gaze locked on you for so long, that you looked down yourself. Mike, in his infinite wisdom, had put you in a white shirt, that now showed two very obvious red dots at boob-height, and you watched Marshall as he clearly summoned every shred of restraint in his broad, imposing body to keep himself from dragging you back to his room — or maybe even just taking you right here, you weren't quite sure.

“I'm considering ‘right here’,” he growled at you.

“Am I stating the obvious when I say it would not be appreciated?” Sherlock said from the doorway as he dodged Mike's fist, which he’d still been slamming into the wooden door with nearly unperceivable speed and strength. “Might I inquire as to Mike, what the fuck?” For God knows what reason, hearing Sherlock swear was hot.

“She heard my thoughts,” Mike said breathlessly.

“Were you feeding?” Charles said, taking Mike's quick nod for an answer. “Well, there's your—”

“Mike doesn't hear thoughts, Charles,” Marshall reminded him quietly. “I do.”

“And you're sure it was a thought?” Sherlock asked carefully.

Mike nodded furiously. “Hell yeah. And not something I was even planning on saying out loud. So. That's Marshall's gift, right? She heard my thoughts using his gift while I was feeding. That's weird, right?”

“Uncommon? Yes,” Sherlock said with amusement to his voice. “Weird? Not particularly. Apparently, she has an aptitude for the gift.” He turned to you. “We might see if we could train it, if you're interested. Tomorrow. Now, please leave. I’d like to get back to bed.”

“I thought you didn't need to sleep,” you said with a smile.

“Oh, I don't think we interrupted his sleep, Sweetcheeks,” Mike said while his normal smile widened into a cheeky grin. Was he implying… The mental image of Sherlock, ehm… taking care of himself was almost too much.

“Mike…” you started, intending to tell him to stop joking, but as you watched Sherlock’s cheeks, which were suddenly flushed… Mike was right. That was… unexpected.

“Darling, I—” He stammered the words so softly you barely heard him.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” you said with a smile. He wouldn't be apologizing for another damn thing. Not something as mundane as this. Not on your watch.

Sherlock was gone before you blinked, and Charles was nowhere in sight anymore, either. That left just you and Mike, and a once more very intense-looking Marshall in the otherwise empty hallway.

A heavy hand closed around your throat — not squeezing, just… holding you. The other, you saw from the corner of your eye — held Mike pinned to the wall.

“I don't care,” he said, his voice a deep, threatening growl, “that he gets laid three times for every single chance I get. I really don't.” Sure didn't sound like he didn't care… “But this is the second time he's paraded you around like this — bleeding and wet… Is that for him, love? Because he likes to spend his time sucking on your tits?” His hand moved from your throat to your chest, where he brutally squeezed the boob Mike had used as a juice box. You winced when he put his fingers directly over the bite. “Is it sore? I bet he didn't take care of that bite the way he knows he should before he rushed you out of his room, now did he?”

He pulled your shirt up with one hand, still pinning Mike to the wall with the other, and sealed his mouth over your nipple, covering the wounds Mike's teeth had left, and he ran his tongue over both marks with great care. Mike squirmed against the wall while he watched, powerless in Marshall's tight grasp. For the first time since the ambush, you took the time to take a good look at the way Marshall was holding him, and you noticed his feet didn't touch the floor.

“Mike,” he growled when he took his mouth off your breast again. “If you do this to me one more fucking time, I'm going to ask August for the keys to the" — he side-eyed you for a split second — “basement, where I'll chain you to the goddamn wall, and then I'll fuck her right in front of your eyes, understood?” Ehh, did you have a say in this? Not that what you'd be saying wouldn't be ‘yes, please', but still. It was nice to be consulted every now and again.

When Mike's feet hit the floor again, he grinned at Marshall. Bold choice, if you were perfectly honest. You probably would have gone with ‘cowering in fear of what he'd do to you', but alright. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he said casually before walking off, leaving you standing there with Marshall.

“Punk,” Marshall muttered under his breath before smiling at you and turning around.

“What's in the basement, Marshall?” you said as he started to walk away. “Marshall! What's. in. the. basement?”

He was already gone, of course — as was Mike — and you were standing in the unfamiliar-looking hallway all by yourself, telling yourself that it was physically impossible for the hallway to become longer the longer you looked at it. Mike hadn't picked one of the doors you saw, so you had to be in a different part of the house. A different floor, maybe.

“I'll take you back to Mike,” Sherlock's voice sounded softly behind you. “It's a bit of a maze, especially in the beginning.” He silently asked for permission to carry you, which you granted him, and within seconds you were at the right door.

Sherlock knocked before you could. “Girlfriend delivery,” he said, waiting for Mike to reply before he opened the door — probably a wise decision. You could never be certain what you'd find where Mike was concerned.

“Mike,” you said as you crawled into bed with him again and Sherlock left the room. “What's in the basement?”

“A wine cellar,” Mike said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Some storage…”

“Mike!” you hissed.

“Now, if someone told you August had the keys to a special room in the basement of this house — as Marshall did — what would your very first guess be?” he teased.

“Sex dungeon,” you blurted out without thinking about it for so much as a second. On top of that being so completely on brand for August, it was also the only thing that would remotely make sense considering the conversation that had just taken place.

Mike grinned from ear to ear. “Duh. It's not technically his, by the way,” Mike told you. “And, before you ask, yes there are restraints that we — or… Me, specifically, apparently,” — he glared at you — “can't break. Why you wanna tie me up, babe?”

“Because I think it would be so fun to watch you squirm, especially since you’ll know exactly what I’ll so desperately want to do to you,” you said with an evil smile. Mike groaned — it was the sweetest sound on the planet, as far as you were concerned.

“You’re mean,” he muttered as he snuggled into your side, pulling the covers tight around him. “And Marshall is mean, too.”

“Why is he mean?” Your mouth morphed into a sweet smile involuntarily. “Because of the threats he made back there?”

“No, that sounded like a perfectly exciting night, actually.” Mike grinned up at you. “His stupid gift ruined my snack.”