#❝ two black eyes from loving too hard & a black heart that matches your blackest soul.﹙v : main﹚

[in2theblue]

other assorted good lyrics

- say what you mean, tell me i’m right, and let the sun rain down on me, give me a sign, i want to believe

- two black eyes from lovin too hard and a black card that matches your blackest soul

- darling heart i loved you from the start but you’ll never know what a fool i’ve been

[lunafaeris-archive]

@zhuangshii​ | x

rude. how short do you think i am

          “Why, I’m so glad you asked.” Proceeds to lay her elbow on top of Shao’s head, hand leisurely dangling in front of her face. “Short enough for this.”

[hogwartsfirebolt]

familial magic

(OR: the one where there's ancient, inherited magic, and Draco's hair color resembles his mother's)

Harry lay on his back. He was smiling, an arm over his head, the sheet pooled over his lower body. The expanse of Draco’s lithe, pale body lay next to his in a failed attempt at a relaxed pose, his every muscle primed for escape, as if, now they were done, he was unsure of the next step. Harry’s smile threatened to spill over into laughter. He reigned it in, sure it would be ill received, and instead extended a hand, trailed gentle fingers through Draco’s long curtain of hair, the strands slipping like silk between his knuckles, a gradient of black, dark brown, yellow, white.

“How did this happen, then?” Harry wondered out loud, a question he’d long meant to ask.

“How did what happen?” Draco replied, bearing Harry’s focused attention with a slight flush, but bearing it all the same. The fact didn’t escape Harry’s notice. Draco was intensely private, and yet he was allowing him this. Harry’s happiness was a throb inside his chest.

“Your hair. I remember how it would catch the light,” Harry explained, and indeed a fine, smooth strand of white between his fingers caught the light of the slow burning lamp of Harry’s bedside. He dropped it tenderly, singled out a much darker, nearly almond-toned lock. “It has changed. It’s darker in places, now.”

“What a great observer you are,” was Draco’s dry response, transparent. Harry said nothing. He couldn’t stop smiling. Eventually, Draco looked away and cleared his throat. “My mother. Surely you remember her dark hair, and the lighter strands she kept near the front. When she passed, mine changed to match.”

Harry blinked, the realization slow-dawning. “Familial magic.” The notion was exciting and painted the young man next to him in an even more intriguing light than Harry already regarded him with, which he hadn’t believed possible. Draco’s nod drove Harry to sit up, to reach out and bring Draco’s pale hand close to his chest, heart pounding. “What else?”

He was thinking of his own mother, of the letter he had found inside an oak chest in the vault he’d inherited when he came of age. The letter, one he had puzzled over for nearly a decade, about familial magic, ancient heritage. He was thinking of Narcissa, of her cool, grey gaze, which was now Draco’s.

Draco regarded him quietly. He was quicker to understand than Harry had been. “When I changed, my familiar found me. Now, I can summon it at will.”

Harry knew very little about familiars, could recall himself all too well as a boy, only half listening to a long-winded lecture. The appeal of an echo of his ancestors taking up the form of an animal to walk alongside him had been lost on his younger self, too concerned with the sunny day outside the windows and the call of sport on his small, energetic body to focus on what he was being told. He’d thought familial magic extinct. The multicolored wonder that was Draco’s bright head proved him wrong. He felt his breath escape his body as he asked, low, “Can I see it?”

He had no right. But Draco had allowed him inside his body just minutes before, had allowed him knowledge Harry had no right to, and after a moment’s pause, he nodded and allowed him this, as well. The golden, flickering light of the lamp highlighted Draco’s delicate features as he bowed his head, lips moving in what appeared to be private, close-eyed prayer. When his eyes fluttered open, there was a new presence in the room. At the foot of the bed, with long, pointed ears that turned as though to chase noise, stood a feline unlike any Harry had seen up close before, fur the color of blackest night. Poised on powerful hind legs, its intelligent gaze passed over Harry to settle on Draco, who welcomed it with an outstretched arm. The animal allowed its head to be touched. Draco’s full lips, which he typically held in a repressed line, curled into a smile, all signs of previous tension gone from the lines of his body.

“This is Anæ,” Draco murmured. “She is my familiar.”

“A panther,” Harry whispered. All he could do was stare. The animal leapt gracefully onto the bed, the mattress barely dipping at its weight. She circled Draco, rubbing her agile body against his side, a contrast of dark fur against pale skin. Harry had questions. He did not know where to start. “Does she speak?”

“Only for me to hear,” Draco replied. “She is me. She is my mother, and her mother before her, she is my grandfather, she is my own magic. What she wants to communicate, I always know.”

Harry had no right. Still, he extended his hand. “May I?”

Draco’s smile grew. “My magic knows you already. You’ve been ... closer.” He took Harry’s hand, held it to his lips. “Anæ, this is him,” Draco murmured, and stretched their joined hands towards her muzzle.

The panther sniffed Harry’s fingers, exhaled once. She could rip his hand out, he knew. She nuzzled his palm instead.

“She likes me?”

“I told you,” Draco murmured. “She is me.”

Other than the two titles I offered at the top of the post, this work can also be referred to as "the one where the author tried very hard to emulate the writing style of captive prince". I think I was a little successful, and that would not have happened at all without @opalwritesopioid 's spot-on suggestions and @the-starryknight 's thoughtful, lovely comments. I can't thank you both enough ❤️

[thefightingbull]

My Love Will Never Die

“My love, my love, my fearless love,” Jason Todd sang softly to himself as he whirled a crowbar in his hands. “I will not say goodbye. Sea may rise, sky may fall. My love will never die.”

He snickered to himself as he moved down the hallway and back to his home. He knew what was awaiting him in the safe house he’d created for himself on the fifteenth floor of a rotted building. It had long since been condemned but demolition was halted when some crazy asshole bought it.

Jason knew what Slade Wilson, his beloved soulmate, would try once he arrived to that nicely furnished little apartment. There would be explosives, but they might as well be fireworks for all Jason cared. They needed to talk. They needed to be near one another. They needed to see with their own three combined eyes that they were both breathing.

“Go on, go on, go bravely on,” he sang louder to let his paramour know he was close. “Into the blackest night. Hold my breath ‘til your return. My love will never die.”

When Jason reached the door he banged twice, metal on metal echoing loudly down the empty hall and in the place he’d called home since he beat Joker to death with a crow bar. There wasn’t a sound, but that was okay. Slade was a professional after all. He wouldn’t give himself away by doing something silly like leaping or crying out in alarm.

Even if he was surprised.

“My heart, my heart, my drowning heart. Oh, all the tears I’ve cried,” Jason continued as he gently opened the door. He looked straight ahead at the sight of a maskless Deathstroke and smiled softly. “Oh, I may weep forevermore. My love will never die.”

Slade didn’t appear disturbed or impressed by Jason’s love song. Pity. He knew the man’s enhancements well enough to believe he’d heard the bulk of it. Even if Slade hadn’t been enhanced, Jason didn’t doubt for one second that there wasn’t a feed of information being transmitted to him with any sound made in the apartment.

Jason’s dearest love was too good at what he did to miss a chance at Jason’s return.

“How many times have you died?” Slade asked.

That caught Jason off guard as he tilted his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s more than the once. How many times, Jason?”

He cocked his head to the opposite side as he counted. He even counted the times the others hadn’t known about; that Slade hadn’t heard of even after they consummated their bond.

“It can’t possibly hurt for me to know, Jason,” Slade said.

“Do you wish me to count the night last Halloween when you ran me through with your sword?”

There would be no physical tell as to whether or not his words had struck the man’s heart, but it didn’t matter. Jason peered down at the red ribbon on his left arm. It was no longer on his left ring finger, but rather, wrapped about his wrist. Duty. Obligation. Love, too, but not with the same devotion they’d both felt for one another the night he’d begged Slade to kill him. He didn't need Slade to show off his own left hand to know that Jason's ribbon was still happily tied to the assassin's left hand. Jason wasn't nearly as fickle as Slade.

“Tell me what I want to know!”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Jason grinned.

Deathstroke took a step forward, it was probably meant to be threatening, but it just made Jason hard with desire. “Jason,” he said with a soft patience that reminded them both of better times. “Tell me.”

Jason sauntered closer and looked over his handsome soulmate. That shaggy white hair, the goatee to match, it did things to him still. The armor was always sexy. Black and orang provided a contrast that was nearly as violent as Slade himself. That was something else that drove Jason wild with need. Slade's ability to kill without remorse. To spill blood at will. 

“You think you’ve learned something?” Jason asked. “Do you think you know the secret?”

Slade gritted his teeth, an obvious show of impatience that he fully meant for Jason to see. The master of control wouldn’t have done something so human if he could at all help it. Unless of course it was meant to be seen that he was losing his patience. It would be the only warning Jason got before a full-fledged fight erupted between the two of them. Really, that wasn't something he didn't look forward to, but not yet. Not until they'd talked.

“Six,” Jason whispered as he shuddered. “Six including last Halloween.”

The man before him looked horrified. “How?”

“My love, my love, my fearless love, I will not say goodbye,” Jason sang again. He looked his soulmate directly in the eyes and said as meaningful as he could without melody; “Sea may rise. Sky may fall. My love will never die.” He looked his soulmate directly in the eyes and said as meaningful as he could without melody; 

Slade’s brows knitted, but Jason trusted his soulmate’s intelligence and reputation for piecing things together quickly. He twirled the crowbar again as he whistled the song and waited for his soulmate to make the conclusion and then come to a decision based on it.

“This is my fault,” Slade said, but there wasn’t any guilt. His soulmate was too practical for anything like a conscience. “Your soul is bound to mine.”

“My love will never die,” Jason sang in a whisper as his eyes found Slade’s.

“Soulmates die on each other all the time. That doesn’t mean they come back,” Slade growled.

“Hold your breath ‘til my return; your love will never die.”

“Stop it!” Slade hissed.

Jason pouted but he didn’t really mean it. He relished the irritation and panic he was inflicting upon his soulmate. He wanted to feel more. Needed to feel more. But Slade wasn’t giving in. He was giving so little, Jason would take whatever he could get.

“This isn’t natural,” Slade said firmly. “You’re unnatural.”

“No my love,” Jason shook his head as his mood rapidly shifted to rage. “We. We are unnatural. You don’t stay anymore dead than I do!”

He was pleased by the physical tell he knew Slade had not meant to give away. The high pitched screech had caught Deathstroke the Terminator off guard. Jason would savor having made the unblinking man blink. It was too precious to forget.

He laughed merrily.

“Stop it!” Slade shouted the words that time.

“What’s wrong, trying to understand what unholy bond we have that every death I return from leaves me more and more something else?”

“More like someone else,” Slade growled.

Jason gritted his teeth and bit back a hateful reply. “I am not him!”

“Could have fooled me.” Slade smiled sharply and all at once, Jason knew he’d lost the upper hand. “You laugh, you sing, you shout; all the while sounding like a raving lunatic. Joker might have claimed he was an agent of chaos, but the man could at least elucidate when necessary. You appear lost, love.”

 He took a several deep breaths as he tried to calm the rising tide of fury that was building up within him.

“Do you even understand what’s happened to you?” Slade asked, but there was no longer condescension in his tone. His question was in earnest. “Do you, Jason?”

For a moment, Jason saw only his soulmate. He dropped to his knees as the crowbar fell to the carpeted floor with barely a cladder. He felt an intense anguish douse the flames of his rage as he sobbed out in horror. “Why?”

In an instant, strong powerful arms were wrapped about Jason in an odd sort of embrace that managed to keep his arms pinned to his sides. Lips were pressed against his temple, alternating between whispers of assurance, promises of protection, and even tender kisses to seal each hollow vow that they both knew couldn’t be kept.

Jason cried heartily until slowly, his tears ran dry. He sat staring at the carpet with unfocused intent, content to remain pinned by his soulmate. He saw the red. The red that had been caused by his sixth death. He relaxed his body against Slade. He had no intention of fighting as he stared at the large stain. He felt something much harder than lips press to his temple. He wondered if his seventh death would leave as large of a stain.

It would certainly leave more of a splatter.

“I have to try, Jason,” Slade said.

Jason’s eyes moved to his own wrist and he was relieved to see the ribbon had moved back to his scarred left ring finger. Joker had nearly taken it clean off when Jason had brought his hands up to block the crowbar. 

“For you, for your memory, I have to try just once more. Then never again,” Slade muttered, though Jason doubted the words were meant for anyone but the man who'd spoken them.

Jason Todd smiled at the ribbon and it’s return to where it belonged.

“Sea may rise. Sky may fall,” Jason sang before the gun fired. 

My love will never die.

[thegodshavehorns]

A Study in Maltheism

Atheos: Greek. Meaning “Rejecting the gods, rejected by the gods, godforsaken.” From which we derive the modern “atheist.”

“This world could not have been the work of all-loving beings, but that of devils, who had brought creatures into existence in order to delight in the sight of their sufferings.”

- Freddie Mercury, probably

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are the most-hated student to ever blight the halls of Our Lady Who Is Without Mother or Father Academy for Girls—or Our Lady Without, for a title that’s less of a mouthful. Those less well-read in theology are sometimes confused by the school's name, since the Book of the Zodiac teaches that all the gods are motherless and fatherless. However, the Seer of Mind, patron goddess of the Academy, is considered an orphan in a more ecclesiastically profound way than the others, although you're not sure why. Regardless, you can safely say that you spend the majority of your time at this prestigious institution in the engaging study of just what it is that you have to do before the administration has no choice but to expel you.

As of yet all of your efforts have been fruitless. Your blasted mother is far too influential of a figure for anyone here at the school to want to cross her. She is an alumnus of the school herself, an orphan girl who went on to take her higher education at the Canon Order of She Who Measures, and now she is a high-ranking admin for SkaiaNet Laboratories, which everybody knows—but nobody says—carries out research for the gods.

She is, for all intents and purposes, untouchable, and she has made it clear on other occasions that she intends for you to finish out your education here no matter what you do. Even if you should manage to burn the whole campus down, you would no doubt spend the rest of your childhood in some solitary schoolfeeding cell but you would still get your education. This came much to the disappointment of the principal, who once slipped you a box of matches during a parent-teacher conference when your mother caught the action and told you both that it would do no good.

You and the principal don't exactly like each other, but common goals have a way of making allies out of the blackest enemies. Not that you’re actually black for her, of course. Even if you were so... affected by the gods, you’re sure that you wouldn’t be directing caliginous feelings in her direction. Or anyone’s, really. You think that you'd deny yourself a kismesis just to spite the gods.

That kind of attitude is exactly why you’re in detention, of course. You wrote an admittedly scathing essay, well-constructed and thoroughly-argued, that couldn’t have been more scandalous had you named it Ninety-Five Proofs that the Teachers Are Engaging in Lewd Acts with the Students, with Details of Their Exact Activities and nailed the pages to somebody’s door.

Actually, now that you think about it, that doesn’t sound half-bad for Round Two, and you get out your pen and paper to begin drafting an outline when there is a crackle over the intercom. You ignore it, more interested in your burgeoning next project—you’ll have to make some adaptations to account for the switched sexes, but you think that you’ll be able to draw on some material from your last creative piece, The Circle of the Sword, whose sleaziness was matched only by its blasphemousness. It was about an all-boys school, and one for wizards, but you can fix those details. It helps that you were inspired by some of your peers at Our Lady Without to begin with.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear your name through the speaker, spoken in a uncharacteristically tight and anxious tone, and look up.

"-TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. I REPEAT, MISS LALONDE, DO NOT KEEP HIM WAITING."

...Odd. You haven't done anything new that is worth calling you to the principal's office. And who is  'him?' Still, hope springs eternal, in this case hope of being expelled, so you sigh and pack your things up to go to visit the principal. You know the way there by heart.

The principal's door at the end of the well-trodden corridor is ornate and heavy, but it swings open while you are still several feet away, revealing Principal Garland, her forehead shiny with perspiration and her eyes looking half-crazed. "Finally, you're here. Come in, Lalonde." The principal reaches out for you, and lips curl into a fearful smile as she looks over her shoulder. "She's here, my Prince."

Prince? Curious, you peer around Principal Garland to see who it could possibly be, and your bookbag drops from your hands.

You are so, so dead.

You haven’t seen a god before in person, only a recording of a speech by the Mage at one of your mother's work functions, but you still don’t need to think about it to realize who’s standing in front of you. Despite your best efforts, the school’s theology lessons and your mother’s own drunken rants and recollections have sunk deep into your mind, and his names and titles start spilling into your awareness almost by reflex. Standing there, casually leaning against Principal Garland's desk, is The Stormcrow, He Who is the Evening and the Morning, The Aquatic, The White, Thrice-Formed Eridan Ampora.

And though your lizard brain wants to vault out the window and run for the hills, you manage to stay calm. You compose your face. You quiet your mind, as you learned to do in morning meditation. If you mess this up you won’t get a second chance. There’s a reason they call this one The Wrathful.

You stand there, bookbag at your feet, and keep your voice as steady as you can. “Hello, Prince of Hope. To what do I owe this honor?”

He scoffs in your face. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Rose Lalonde. That’s not you at all.”

He's not wearing his god-hood. You know from your mother that most of them hate that kind of formal and ritual attire. Instead he is dressed in the most ridiculous and ostentatious get-up that your eyes have ever suffered to behold. You know for a fact that he doesn’t need those glasses, much less a slightly-cracked set, and his yellow-and-white scarf is almost longer than he is. Emblazoned on his frilly purple shirt is the Aspect of three sets of stylized, curling wings, the symbol of his divinity.

You feel the blood drain out of your face, because you just noticed what he’s holding. It's a stapled sheaf of paper, and it has your name, signed in your distinctive loops, across the top.

Principal Garland drags you into the room, your mind reeling and your every instinct screaming to run, not to go closer. How did he get your essay? Did...did the school send it to him? Why, why would they—

"Lisa," he says, and it takes you a moment to realize he's addressing the principal. "You can go, now."

Principal Garland gapes at him, mouth flopping open like a fish. "I, this is... Yes, sir." She bows stiffly, then straightens and leaves, but before she shuts the door behind her she spares you a single look of pity.

You are now trapped in the principal's office with one of the most feared of the gods.

“I read your paper,” he says. "I liked it. Every last word.” And then he flips through the pages and begins to read from one of them. “As was well-said by John K. Roth, ‘Everythin' hinges on the proposition that the gods possess—but fail to use well enough—the power to intervene decisively at any moment to make history’s course less wasteful. Thus, in spite and because of their sovereignty, these gods are everlastingly guilty and the degrees run from gross negligence to mass murder.”

He smiles, teeth sharp, and you want to run away. Maybe...maybe if you throw something, if you distract him, you might be able to get past him, away from him and the school both. Run away, change your name, never think too hard when the gods are present in your mind… They’re not omniscient. You could do it.

But all your plans fall apart and you can only stare in horror as he continues to read, at first pacing back and forth, then walking behind Principal Garland's desk and sitting in her chair. “The gods, those Supreme Fascists, as Paul Erdos called them, are nothin' more than despots and liars. They are powerful, but Euthyphro demonstrated that power alone does not a god make. They made the universe, but like a clockwork device it now runs on its own, and by their own admission it would continue to function without their interference. They are landlords who charge too much rent, they are authors who don’t know that they should step back and let their work speak for itself. They are not inherently good, as anyone can realize after thirty seconds of meditation on the Dark Carnivale, and they are not worth worshippin'.”

Shit. The gods don’t make a habit of killing heretics, but…sometimes there are deaths. Sometimes they make exceptions to their unspoken rule.

You swallow, and glance around the room again for anything you could use as a weapon or distraction. Certificates of scholarly excellence? The landline phone? A lamp? At least you have the desk between you and him, but—

“Breathe,” he says, but you barely register the sounds. “I said to fuckin' breathe,” he says again, and your frantic thoughts are swept aside by violet. You’ve never heard the Tinge before, but you understand it now, how deeply it cuts to your core. The purple in his words is like nothing you have ever experienced, and all of a sudden you could not deny, even if you wanted to, that what is talking to you possesses a wholly different nature than your own. You take a deep, shuddering breath. “There you go. Much better, Rose. Your mother raised you wwell.”

You are such a mess. You would have liked to have at least died with dignity, but no. You sit down in one of the upholstered chairs reserved for prospective parents and turn away, hyperventilating.

“You seem to be missin' the part where I said that I liked this.”

“You are as c-capable of sarcasm as the rest of us,” you reply.

“You’re thinkin' a' Sollux. I guess I can dally in it once in a while too, but I don’t deal in lies.

You know that. I particularly liked the part where you deconstructed Richard Dawkins, by the way. Sometimes I wish we could pick our theologians, but we try not to interfere that much.”

“Then what d-do you want with me?”

“I want to take you under my thrice-formed wings,” Eridan says, opening his arms and gesturing grandly. “You’re a very special girl, Rose. I don’t make a big deal out of it, but people like you are my soldiers. There’s more to this game than you know, but you and I, our job is the same— we tell the gods when they’re fuckin' up.”

“So… I’m not going to die?” You're special? And not only is he not going to punish you for your heresy, but he's going to reward you? It seems too good to be true.

He smiles and shakes his head, steepling his fingers. “I’ll bet you’re tired a' this school. Am I right?” You nod vigorously, and he continues. “I can teach you more than these schoolmarms ever dreamed of, if you want.”

Ah, there's the catch. “You want me to be a disciple. Like my mother.”

“Consider it a partnership, more. Even the scientists and the teachers, they look up to me.” He stands and leans forward over the desk, suddenly taller than seems natural. He looks you square in the eyes, pink meeting purple. “But I want somebody to look at me. Keep me honest, as I do for the other gods. I’ll teach you everythin' I know, just as fast as you can take it in, and in return you promise to speak your mind about it all.”

Eridan looks away, and you blink. You hadn’t realized how hypnotic his gaze had been until he was no longer fixing you with it. You close your eyes and breathe, the deep violet afterimage still dancing behind your eyelids.

When you look back up, he's at the door. “Just consider it,” he says, and then he leaves you to your thoughts.

[a-curious-aquarius]

SCM: a sea of stars and lucid dreams

(...so I’ve been working on this for forever, this sort of a stream of consciousness, poetic thing, and I’m so proud of the finished result. I know a long time ago an anon requested more SCM stuff - though I think they requested Zyg or Hue or someone else... so, sorry anon. I had hardcore Dui feels and couldn’t stop myself.)

(I’m actually kind of afraid to post this because I worked very very hard on it, and I’m worried no one will read it... c’est la vie, c’est la tumblr. also, the ending of this is slightly, barely nsfw, so uh, you’ve been warned.)

Before you, Dui doesn’t dare dream.

His subconscious is a web of nettles and black holes, shattered and reformed into something ugly and divided and cold. In sleep, he is pulled into that sickening void, drowned in black and thick and anger and shadows, those shadows mocking him over and over again - You are not whole, not whole.

The only other color in the blackness is a glint of white, sharpened fangs curled into a grin, his shadow self shelved away and forgotten only until he dreams. More taunts from that half of himself - You dare call yourself a god? You suffer because your sins are unforgivable, his shadow hisses. You’ll suffer as an incomplete being for infinity until you confront your transgressions. This is why you can’t be whole. Not whole not whole not whole you deserve NOTHING-

And then Dui awakens, shaken and sweaty and wracked with a guilt so profound he can barely breathe.

So, he doesn’t dare dream. Not anymore. 

And with his subconscious shut tight like Pandora’s box, his shadow self shelved and hidden, Dui can only pray it will be enough to keep those unsavory fragments of himself locked away, banished to the blackest parts of his mind, drifting in the void - drowning, drowning.

In those first few months you are together, Dui can’t help but resent you, if only slightly. He resents the way you sleep so soundly, nose twitching sweetly as you dream - soft, incoherent words manifesting as sighs. He resents the subtle way you shift under sheets, unburdened by tossing and turning and thrashing, unplagued by a guilt so profound that he doesn’t dare sleep.

Of course, he resents himself even more for resenting you, only leading to a familiar cycle of self-loathing, fragmenting of self, not whole, not whole, you deserve nothing-

You’ll never know how many tears he sheds while you sleep, awed and angered by your steady breathing, borderline snores - overwhelmingly endearing, infuriating.

He tethers himself to you, tucks your body into the circle of his arms until any space between the two of you disappears, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in deeply, exhaling resentment and guilt and years of shouldering his suffering alone.

“...Dui?” you murmur, adjusting in his arms, voice thick and groggy. “Mm, what time is it?”

“Shh,” he hushes into the skin of your shoulder. He places a soft kiss there, revelling in the way it makes you sigh. “Go back to sleep.”

Ever-perceptive, you twist in his embrace until you are nose-to-nose, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth until he smiles. “Are you alright?”

His shadow self chimes in, How did a mess like us get so lucky? His voice is sharp, clear - unburdened and freed from Pandora’s box by your unconditional love.

Although Dui still struggles to accept his shadow’s thoughts as his own, he can’t help but agree this time, kissing you full on the lips until you’re arching into him, bringing your body impossibly closer, closer. Dui groans at the contact, surging and gasping into your mouth, willing your warmth to seep into every one of his pores, begging the heat to banish the chill in his bones, the lingering fear in his heart, the unmended rift in his soul.

Afterwards, he can’t help but slip into sleep, sated and safe, lulled by your even breathing and the beat of your heart.

Tonight, he dreams only of vague shapes and shadows, of muttered words and curses, of unsettling swirls of discord and mismatched puzzle pieces, of ropes tied around wrists and tugging at seams.

When he stirs far too early that morning, awakening with his shadow’s sneer burned into his brain, Dui instinctively tightens his arms around you, tethering himself to your warmth, your warmth, your warmth-

Why won’t you accept me?

He swears fervently, I’m trying, I’m trying - but the echoes of himself don’t cease, rattling in his ribcage - that dividing line between his two halves blurred but prevalent, nonetheless.

And shadows whisper like ghosts, haunting him even as he wakes.

He loves the way you look in starlight, the shine of each star echoing the constellations in your eyes. You gape and sigh and blush, reaching a hand out into the void, almost as if you tried hard enough, you could catch a fistful of stardust.

Your eyes trace the stars, open and awed and awestruck, matching the movement of your fingertips against the sky, and Dui thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Your other hand grips his so tightly, the slight tremble in your fingers betraying your fear of falling. The city stretches out below your bodies, after all, as impossibly far away as the stars above you. Yet you never shy away from letting him pull you up here, free from gravity and every worldly weight, simply floating without care, molecules dissolving into the night air.

“It would be so easy to lose myself out here,” you muse, barely a breath, the first words spoken between the two of you in quite some time. “A single body lost to the sky, stuck between the heavens and earth, you know?”

You don’t turn to look at him as you speak, but he can’t help but stare, watching as your lips move, as your eyes flicker between stars.

“I know,” he responds simply. That is all he can say.

He hears your heart beat once, twice in the following silence, and then you say, “I love you, Dui,” your words as easy as breathing.

His shadow claws outwards then, screaming out his love for you in response to your words - the same love that Dui knows so intensely, a love overwhelming to the point of pain. Dui closes his eyes, fighting the knee-jerk reaction to push his shadow away, instead pointedly opening the floodgates to let him speak in Dui’s stead.

“I love you, too,” his shadow says aloud, and Dui thinks in unison, I love you, too.

You grip his hand even tighter for a moment, almost as if you can sense the spark of turmoil within him, trying to squeeze his two selves together between your fingers, the heat of your palm a nuclear fusion welding him into one. He squeezes back once, and his shadow repeats the motion a second time, the flow between his original and shadow selves more and more natural with every breath.

He is thankful, so thankful that you treat him as an indisputable whole, abandoning the distinction between him and shadow. Although he still hasn’t quite achieved the same seamless lines, you make it easier - infinitely easier - softening the struggle within his chest.

In the resulting quiet, you smile to yourself, a movement so slight that it would be easy for anyone else to miss. But Dui notices, always notices when it comes to you, and his heart flares with warmth in response - a warmth he shares equally with his shadow - and the both of them revel in everything you are: stardust and hope and sweet nothings relinquished to the night.

You smile, and Dui knows you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

In the depths of the night, Dui learns surrender.

He submits willingly, emphatically to the softness of your arms, the heat of your breath, the graze of your lips on his mouth, his temple, his neck-

His nails scratch down the bare expanse of your back in turn, and you shiver, that tempting mouth pulling away from his skin to groan aloud - unabashed, unmade, freed.

You’re rocking your hips then, faster, harder, and he can’t keep any sensible thought in his skull, coherency slipping through the cracks - he doesn’t care, doesn’t care if he can’t ever think thoughts that aren’t of you, can’t ever speak words that aren’t your praises. His goddess, his goddess.

“I love you,” he gasps. It’s all he can say, and he’s thrilled to realize that his halves speak in unison, declaring their adoration as a singular being.

They’re entwined, connected by their rapture - those two halves he once thought to be irreparably separate, doomed to fight one another for control of a shared body.

Dui can’t say for sure if he’ll ever be a uninterrupted whole - perhaps the seam between him and his shadow self will never go away. But it is in this moment that he realizes - for the first time - that he doesn’t mind. He and his shadow, sinuous and separate, have accepted one another to the fullest extent thanks to you, a little slip of a woman whose fingernails scratch along his chest, whose mouth calls his name-

-Dui, Dui, Dui, ah-!

-as if the souls within him were never two, as if his heart were never torn, as if there were never walls built around shadows and shame, as if his name were the sweetest thing to ever touch your tongue.

It is humbling, healing, and neither half can get enough - shared heart beating hard as you move against him, both their thoughts speaking in unison - though by now rendered repetitive and unintelligible, nothing more than I love you, I love you, oh gods I love you, you feel so good, you’re so beautiful-

By the way you shudder and moan, perhaps he says the words aloud.

He watches the way you come undone, and he and his shadow are nothing more than men in love, enraptured and ensnared by everything you are.

In the aftermath, with both of your bodies awash in sweat and moonlight, you trace a meandering line along his chest with a fingertip. Your touch is so gentle that it almost brings him to tears - so, so gentle, like he is something precious, something to be treasured beyond its worth.

He watches as you slip into sleep, your eyelids flickering closed with a drowsy, sated smile still on your lips. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he curls around you to pull your body impossibly closer and closer still, lulled by the press of your curves and the beat of your heart.

His eyes fall shut, and in the resulting darkness he doesn’t see nettles or black holes. Instead, there’s a sea of stars - illuminated by the constellations in your eyes, the dimples in your back, the intonations in your laugh.

And as he holds you, fully intending to never, never let go, he free-falls into subconscious - unmade, unafraid, relearning surrender, and oh-

He dares to dream.

(so yeah, please reblog, tell me what you think, etc. I would appreciate it more than you know. I’m trying to be more consistent about finishing what I start, so hopefully you’ll see more from me soon. I think a kbtbb little short story is up next yee)

(...also I’m still a slut for italics, it’s an addiction)

[retrievablememories]

make it feel good (m) | taehyung

pairing: taehyung x black female oc genre: smut, fluff, and a lil bit of angst summary: in which two best friends realize what they've been missing out on this whole time. word count: 7.5k warnings: dirty talk, food play...if you squint, body insecurities a/n: i don’t know if this would be considered idol x reader since ole girl has a name but you can imagine her as whothefuckever (as long as she remains black...lmao) i just hate writing 2nd person “you” and it felt awkward to keep saying “she” so i gave her a name. i crossposted this to wattpad for like 2 seconds but took it down just so everyone knows. maybe i’ll post it again. also yeah this title is based off the childish gambino song lol.

His voice floats on the wind.

The air is cold, and she has to pull her oversized coat tighter around herself so she doesn't freeze. She thinks about buttoning the coat up, but her fingers are stiff from the low temperature, and she doesn't feel like expending the extra effort to flex them into such complicated positions.

She turns around to look at him. He is waving something small and indiscernible in between his long fingers, although she can guess it's probably a seashell or some similar object. From this angle the wind blows straight into her face, stinging her eyes and making them well up with tears. She turns her face away from the wind's assault and faces the ocean again, waiting for him to come over to her and display his new finding.

It only takes a few seconds before he's right beside her again. She feels him before she even sees him. His body heat radiates out in every direction, indifferent to the cold that leeches the warmth out of everything.

"Look," he says gently, his deep voice right in her ear. He holds his hand out in front of her. There's a small rock tucked in his palm; it's shiny with jagged edges and darker than the blackest night. His fingers curl around it as if he's trying to shield it from the wind. She cautiously brushes it with her index finger and it's a strange sort of smooth-rough texture. Still rubbing the surface of the rock, her eyes drag up and up, away from his hand until her gaze is resting on his lips, a bit chapped but still rose pink, and further up to his eyes, which are focused on the object in his palm.

Suddenly he flicks his eyes up to hers, meeting her gaze head-on, and she can't help the tremble that reverberates through her entire body. She pulls her hand away from the rock in a restrained gesture, trying not to move too quickly and betray her utter nervousness. In her haste, her fingers skim past his own and her skin burns. He smiles softly at her. His eyes, in this moment, are impossibly warm. They portray a multitude of things she can't bring herself to acknowledge, or figure out, or accept. Moments like these make her infinitely grateful for her dark skin; the heat spreading across her face won't be revealed.

She's hot enough just from the way he's looking at her, but she pulls her coat closer again—more out of insecurity than any real need for warmth. She averts her eyes in a way that she hopes isn't too obviously embarrassed or flustered, though she's sure he's already caught on to something. He has always been able to read her like a book, and with the increased proximity their vacation brings, she's not sure how much longer the both of them can keep pretending like there isn’t something steadily building between them. Her unmoved facade has begun to splinter and slip.

The sound of the waves does little to calm her nerves as she looks at a point on the horizon, impossible to see clearly from the cover of night.

"Taehyung, maybe we should head back now. It's getting late," Nayana says, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Taehyung stares silently at her for a few seconds longer, and even though she can only see him in her periphery, the simple action elicits a variety of emotions that make the corners of her mind fuzzy. Then he nods, pocketing the rock and giving her his signature boxy smile, as if nothing occurred. "Sure, let's go."

The walk back to the hotel is quiet. Not uncomfortably quiet—at least she hopes not—but there's a stillness that fills in the gaps between their minds and bodies.

There aren't too many people in the lobby this late. Most are up in their rooms tending to their own business or out partying—which is what their group of friends had opted for. It was Jungkook's idea, of course, and if anything was his idea, Lisa was up for it, which resulted in everyone else tagging along—everyone except Taehyung.

Nayana had decided to keep him company so he wouldn't be completely alone, which wasn't hard to do since their friends' excellent room-matching skills left them occupying the same room. Yet another undercover scheme to get them closer together and goad them into eventually revealing their feelings for one other. It was the kind of thing they were all acutely aware of but didn't speak on for fear of whatever consequences lie on the other side.

On the elevator ride to the fourth floor, Taehyung nudges Nayana repeatedly and makes faces at her through the elevator's mirrored panels until she finally smiles and shoves him back. He laughs, and her heart beats a little faster at the sound.

They get off at their floor and head to their room toward the end of the hall. Nayana trails slightly behind him so she can observe his back view, admiring his broad shoulders and long legs. He'd changed a lot since they first met; she still remembers the young, small boy he used to be. On occasions when she takes the time to really think about it, the contrast between his past and current self is jarring—but not in a bad way.

She is startled out of her thoughts when he looks at her over his shoulder.

"Why are you all the way back there? Are you staring at my ass?" He says it loud enough so that anyone currently in their hotel room could probably hear it, and she knows he's trying to embarrass her. Nostalgic moment = ruined.

"Ugh. Boy, shut the fuck up." Nayana snorts and rolls her eyes, and this makes him giggle. "Give me something to stare at and maybe I would."

"Are you saying I don't have an ass?" Taehyung asks teasingly as he slides the hotel key into the card reader. "Then be generous and give me some of yours."

"In your fucking dreams, Taehyung," Nayana scoffs and punches him in the arm. Their push-and-pull game of innocent flirtation is nothing new. But ever since her feelings for him began to tip away from merely platonic, his comments never failed to make her falter and sweat and wonder if anything he said could be an indicator of his own interest.

She's glad their friends at least had the decency to leave them in a room with two beds.

Nayana makes her way over to the far side of the room, near the window, where her bed is located. There's a balcony outside the window, and from her bed, she has a nice view of the ocean below when the curtains are pulled back.

"Do you wanna shower first?" Taehyung asks, hovering near his suitcase as he waits for her answer.

"I'm surprised you're not suggesting we shower together and save water," she responds, still looking out the window.

"I mean, I'm down if you are." Nayana doesn't even have to look at him to know he's smirking and raising his eyebrows in that way she (loves) hates. She laughs airily and sheds her coat and shoes before rolling over onto the bed, her braids haloing out around her head. She drops her purse onto the nightstand and pulls her phone out.

"You go first, I take too long in the shower and I don't want to keep you waiting forever."

While he's in the shower, Nayana's phone pings, signaling a new text message.

11:45 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 what u doing girl??

11:46 P.M. Nothing...just waiting on Tae to get out the shower. Why?

11:47 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 are u and taehyungie gonna have some fun?

11:49 PM We already went out and walked on the beach earlier...

11:50 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 u know that's not the kind of fun i'm referencing sis.

11:52 P.M. BYE GIRL. I have no clue what you're talking about me and Tae are just friends

11:52 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 but we all know u'd rather be more.

11:53 P.M. ANYWAY why are you texting me? You're at the club bitch ain't you supposed to be partying????

11:55 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 this place is lowkey lame. nothing but corny wannabe rappers selling mixtapes in here. i've already cussed out two dudes who tried to get at nakiya. yoongi and namjoon are close to losing their tempers. lucia's drunk af and jungkook is babysitting her. we'll probably be back soon.

11:55 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 thinking back on it, it's a good thing u ended up in the room with taehyungie instead of me. i'd h8 to come back and walk in on u getting ur cakes smashed to smithereens

11:56 P.M. Lisa.............please

11:57 P.M. LaLisaaaa 💕💕 😘 u love me. have fun . and know tht i slipped some condoms in your purse pocket. be safe bitch.

11:58 P.M. 🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿

Nayana grabs her purse off the nightstand and checks every pocket, just to see if Lisa was fucking with her or not. Sure enough, on the inside pocket, there is a strand of condoms tucked snugly inside. The backs of her knees tingle and her body grows hot as she allows herself to entertain the idea of using them...with him...who is currently still in the shower, very much naked and very much wet. Immediately after this thought crosses her mind, she squeezes her eyes shut and groans, silently berating herself.

Girl, stop! You're not even sure if he likes you or not. And even if he did...you cannot have sex with him.

The shower cuts off. Her heart rate kicks up. She zips her purse back up and closes out of her messages. Although she knows mind reading is impossible, she can't help but imagine what he'd say if he knew what she was just thinking. She lies back on the pillows and tries to look as inconspicuous as possible when Taehyung comes out of the shower, wrapped in one of the complimentary bath robes the hotel provided. "It's all yours," he says, and she nods before gathering her toiletries and entering the bathroom.

When Nayana finally comes out of the bathroom, she finds Taehyung lying on his bed still in his bath robe, watching something on his phone and eating from a bag of Hershey's Kisses. She pauses near his bed, her facial expression stuck halfway between amusement and incredulity. "Where did you get those?"

"I brought them with me," he says, wiggling his toes in the direction of his suitcase.

She raises one eyebrow, crossing to her side of the room and putting her dirty clothes away in a laundry bag. "Are you gonna share? 'Cause I feel some kinda way about you eating chocolate all up in my face when you know it's my number one weakness."

Taehyung pats the open space on the bed beside him. "Come watch this cheesy ass k-drama with me and you can have some." Nayana goes to take him up on his offer but hesitates when she realizes that she will be sitting beside him while he's wearing the robe—with nothing underneath. Taehyung notices the awkward smile on her face and sits up, his k-drama momentarily forgotten. "Oh, I can change if you're uncomfortable, I—I just—you know how it is when you plan on getting dressed after a shower but then you're distracted by something? Yeah, I—um, sorry."

Seeing Taehyung assume the opposite position in their usual interactions—flustered and stumbling—makes Nayana feel less embarrassed about her own chaotic emotions, and a small part of her even takes pleasure in it. Before she can think twice about her actions, she's already climbing onto his bed and tugging at his arm to pull him back down. "It's fine, you don't need to. We're friends, right?" She instantly regrets saying that, but it's the first thing she can think of to assuage his nervousness. He nods, but his responding smile appears just as strained as hers was moments ago.

Taehyung turns the volume all the way up and holds the phone so they can both comfortably watch it. They have to huddle closer than Nayana anticipated, and he's practically lying on her chest, but she doesn't mind it much. The bag of Hershey's sits in the minimal space between them and they take turns taking Kisses out of it. The wrappers collect in a little pile on the bed.

In the drama they're watching, a scene comes up where the main girl is being fed by her love-interest-slash-mortal-enemy after fracturing her wrist and being unable to lift the utensils herself. The overly romantic music combined with both actors' exaggerated facial expressions makes Taehyung burst out laughing. Nayana startles and looks at him with wide eyes.

"Can you believe that? Who does this?"

"What, feeding each other? You've never done that before?"

"I was more referring to the fact that she's letting her so-called enemy feed her with a spoon," Taehyung says, rolling his eyes. Nayana elbows him in the side. "But yeah, the feeding part is so corny."

"Really. It's kind of cute to me..." Taehyung throws Nayana a skeptical look and she instantly feels judged. She scrambles to put together a response before he can open his mouth. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious? It's not so much the act itself but it's the feeling of being cared for...knowing that someone else cares enough to make sure you're good." Taehyung's expression shows that he's turning something over in his mind, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes go back to the phone screen and she thinks that he's dropped the subject, so she relaxes again—until he says,

"So you like being taken care of?"

His words come out careful and measured. It's an odd question, and she wonders where he's going with it. She's hesitant to answer. The crinkling sound of him opening another Hershey's Kiss distracts a part of her mind.

"...Yes. Who doesn't?"

"You would be surprised," he mumbles. Before Nayana can ask what he means by that, the words are halted in her throat as she watches him balance the little piece of chocolate between his fingers and bring it up to her lips. It's so close that if she were to pucker her lips, she would touch it easily.

"What are you doing?"

"Feeding you."

A puff of air leaves her lips—the beginnings of a why?—but she decides not to ask. Because this is another of those precarious situations that could catapult their friendship into uncharted territory, and she is deathly afraid to go plunging into that terrain without armor, a shield, and a backup plan. So, she takes the candy without asking any questions. She's very careful not to close her lips around his fingers. This is already more suggestive than she thinks her poor cardiovascular system can handle.

Taehyung's mouth quirks up in a smile, but he doesn't seem satisfied.

"Now, feed me."

"Greedy ass. Weren't you the one calling it corny?" she jokes, but she reaches into the bag anyway. Her body thrums with anxiety and it takes a few tries before she can still her fingers enough to actually grab a Kiss. She wants to believe that she is playing it cool enough to where he won't pick up on her inner turmoil, but she knows that isn't true.

Nayana peels the wrapper off and guides the chocolate to his plush lips. He leans closer and opens his mouth, capturing the candy with this tongue. Unlike her, Taehyung isn't afraid of an overly intimate touch; he allows his tongue to glide across her fingertips. The thing that nearly knocks the wind out of her chest, though, is the way he keeps eye contact with her the entire time. The act of eating chocolate has never been so erotic. He makes it look like something wicked.

The phone is lying on the bed now, the k-drama paused and forgotten.

Taehyung unwraps another candy, but his eyes don't leave her face.

He feeds Nayana again, and again she avoids touching his fingers. When she has eaten the chocolate, she expects him to take his hand away so he can have his turn, but he doesn't. His fingers hover in front of her mouth.

"You—you have chocolate right...here." Taehyung presses his thumb onto her full bottom lip and swipes across, albeit much slower than he needs to. Her breath hitches and stutters at this action. She regards him with disbelieving eyes, her mind jumbled together with a hundred different thoughts. When he pulls away from her, he brings his thumb to his own mouth and licks the smear of chocolate away. His expression is unreadable—at first. But then he moves his hand, and she is almost horrified to see the small smirk there.

This single look changes something. Or everything.

For once in her life, Nayana doesn't think about the consequences, the aftermath, or the debris after the dust settles. There is nothing of importance to think about except herself, Taehyung, this hotel room—her hands, reaching for his face—his lips, pressed to her own and more delicious than she could've ever dreamed. A vulgar moan drips all silky and hot from the gap between their lips, and she realizes belatedly that it's her own voice. Taehyung laughs at her enthusiasm, but it turns into a moan of his own when he reaches behind her and grips her ass in his big hands.

The kiss is sloppy and far from the movie-perfect couplings you see on screen, but it is one of the hottest things she's ever experienced, so she can't complain.

With his hands still on her ass, Taehyung lifts her up and drops her down in his lap, rocking his hips to meet her when she settles. She feels his half-hard dick through his robe, rubbing against her through her pajama pants and underwear, and even with so many layers between their bodies, the feeling of him is indescribable. Taehyung sucks her bottom lip into his mouth and grinds into her again, although he quickly becomes frustrated with the muted friction. He slides his hand up her shirt to rest on her waist and his fingernails scrape against her bare skin, coming noticeably close to her stomach. This is what snatches her back to reality. Her reality.

Nayana jerks away from his lips and puts her hand on top of his to prevent him from going any further.

He looks at her with his eyebrows furrowed and his pouty, swollen mouth turned down into a frown. He searches her troubled face for answers. Some of her braids obscure her face, and he brushes them away. "Wh—what's wrong?"

"I can't." She lets out a pained groan and climbs off his lap to lie back on the bed, her arm thrown over her face. She is still uncomfortably warm and throbbing between her legs, but she tries to ignore it.

"I'm sorry," Taehyung blurts out, trying to keep the panic from rising in his voice. The sinking feeling that he might've went too far and singlehandedly destroyed their friendship brews in his stomach. "I'm really sorry—I should've asked you first. I shouldn't have—"

"Stop, it's not your fault," Nayana interrupts, sitting back up to face him. She chews her lip and casts her eyes downward, unable to look at him directly. "I...I want to, believe me, but..." She pauses a moment, thinking of a way that this could still work. "Can we at least turn the lights off?"

"The lights?" Taehyung questions it as if he's never heard of such a thing, and his apparent obliviousness doesn't alleviate her distress. "I...wanted to see you, but if that's what you want—"

Nayana rolls her eyes. "Taehyung, I don't want you to see me and think this was all a mistake. Or run away screaming." She laughs in an attempt to make it a joke, but the sound isn't genuine. Taehyung understands.

"Are you embarrassed of your body?" His voice is gentle, but in her defensive and vulnerable state, it comes off as patronizing. She struggles to think of a reply that won't hurt his feelings, not wanting to lash out at him.

"Does it matter?"

"To me, yes. I want you to see yourself the way I've always seen you...even though I haven't exactly said it. Because I didn't want to risk things with you. But I'm saying it now; you're more beautiful than I can put into words. Your body is beautiful. There is nothing you could ever do to run me away."

Nayana makes a noise of disbelief, although it doesn't come out as harsh as she intends. "Sure, okay. But you haven't seen me without clothes."

"I'd like to. If that's okay with you." Taehyung's voice is lower than it was a second ago and the difference makes her squirm. She chances a glance at his eyes and finds the same soft, melting look from the beach. She can't remember the last time someone has looked at her like that—or if anyone ever has—and this revelation makes the backs of her eyes sting. Sighing, she rubs her face. This is not the time to get emotional.

"Dim the lights," Nayana says quietly. "Don't turn them off."

Taehyung does as she tells him to while she clears the mess of candy wrappers off the bed. Soon there is nothing left on the bed but their two bodies, the raw sexual energy from only moments ago transformed into a more subdued, humming tension. They face each other. Nayana's eyes shift to different spots of the room every few seconds. Taehyung moves closer until there's only centimeters of space between their faces, his nose brushing hers. He moves his hand to cup the side of her face before pressing his lips to hers, firm, but not rough. She parts her lips to let him inside and he accepts, licking into her mouth and sucking her tongue. The other hand that's not on her face rests on the juncture between her thigh and hip. Nayana feels awkward with her hands at her sides, so she tentatively places her hand at the nape of his neck, running her fingers through his long hair.

When he breaks the kiss, she can't stop herself from chasing after his lips, and he chuckles at this. Giving her a chaste peck, he says, "I'll give you everything you want. Just be patient." He moves to her jawline and down her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses on the places he predicts will be most sensitive. Occasionally he pauses to nuzzle into her neck, breathing in her familiar scent of vanilla. This is not Nayana's first time having sex, but her body responds so quickly to his touch that it's embarrassing. By the time he makes it to her collarbone, she is soaking wet.

Taehyung's hand stays planted on her hip, kneading the supple flesh and, every so often, curving around to squeeze her ass cheek. "Tell me what you want me to do," he whispers, pausing his attentions on her chest to look up at her. Now she is the oblivious one, looking back at him in near-shock.

"I..." Some part of her is grateful that he's letting her do the deciding here, handing the reigns over so she won't feel rushed or taken advantage of. But the other part feels lost and without direction. What does she want him to do? "T—touch...me."

"I am touching you," he answers, smirking.

Nayana resists the urge to pout and roll her eyes. Always the damn tease. "I mean...touch my...touch m—my pussy."

Taehyung's resulting smile is wide and hungry as he slides his hand between her thighs, cupping her pussy in the palm of his hand. He makes sure to tilt his hand so the heel of his palm grinds against her clit. Nayana gasps and grabs his shoulder. "Fuck, it's so warm." He bites his lip hard, his hooded eyes sliding from her pussy to her face. He continuously rocks his palm into her clit while he busies his mouth with her breasts, latching onto one brown nipple through the fabric of her T-shirt.

"Tae," Nayana moans, pushing her hips into his hand to create more friction. He switches off to the other nipple, smoothing his tongue across it before gently biting it. Her grip on his shoulder tightens and her back arches, the action pushing her breasts further into his face.

"Hmm, you like that?" Taehyung grazes his teeth over her nipple again and he can practically feel her get wetter in his palm. "You like being bitten? You like being hurt?" Nayana's response is an embarrassed whimper, but she whispers yeah. Taehyung simply grins and files that bit of information away in his mind for later.

His kisses reach her stomach. Nayana lies on her back to accommodate him so the position won't be awkward, although she starts to fidget from nerves. The urge to reach down and push his head away is overwhelming, and she balls her fists up in her shirt to keep from doing so. Even though he's steadily rubbing her, it's not enough to make her fully relax and her body tenses up. Taehyung doesn't fail to notice. "It's okay," Taehyung murmurs, gingerly kissing her soft, slightly pudgy stomach. He moves at a slow pace to avoid making her too uncomfortable, glancing up to give her reassuring looks every now and then. He takes his hand off her and she sighs with disappointment, only to let out a high-pitched moan when he circles his thumb on her clit. Her legs tremble and her body heat increases but she still has enough sense of mind to notice his other hand on the hem of her shirt, and when he asks for her permission, she answers with a shaky yes.

Taehyung pushes her shirt up until it's sitting under her breasts and doesn't try to take it any further than that for the moment. "You're so soft," he sighs contentedly, leaving kisses here and there on the expanse of her brown skin.

He dips his tongue into her belly button for a hot second before moving down to the waistline of her pants. Nayana jumps when he does it and they both end up laughing at her reaction. It's a strange sensation, one she's never experienced before, but she decides that she likes it.

When Taehyung asks if he can slide her pajamas off, she takes a deep breath and nods, to which Taehyung says, "I need words, baby" and leaves a hot kiss on her abdomen that leaves her mind fizzling.

"Take...take them off, Tae."

He does so, taking his hand away from her neglected clit for the second time that night to pull her pants off and leave them lying somewhere on the floor. He gazes at the stretchmarks spreading across her hips and thighs and curving around her ass and he smiles. "You're so pretty," he hums, running his hands over her skin. He traces some of the lines with his fingers. "A work of art. But not just any art; you are the kind of masterpiece an artist spends their whole life perfecting." He settles down between Nayana's legs so he can get closer. "I wish we'd done this sooner. I wish I'd said something sooner. I've spent too many nights wondering," he holds her thighs apart, "what it would look like to have you all wide open for me."

"Ha—ave you?" Nayana's question comes out in a staggered breath when Taehyung chooses that moment to bury his face into her clothed pussy, his nose bumping against her clit. When she realizes that he's breathing her in, she becomes so flustered that she covers her face with her hands.

"Of course," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I can't count the amount of times I've laid in bed with my hand around my dick, imagining what it'd be like to have you sit on my face and cum all over my tongue." Her lavender cotton panties are so wet that her lips are visible, and Taehyung prods his tongue against her hole before coming back up to lick her clit. "Can I taste you now?"

"Please."

Taehyung hooks his fingers into the band of Nayana's underwear and takes his time pulling them down, kissing each new exposed patch of skin until his lips land on her pubic mound, just above her clit. His eyes pin her under his gaze as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks. Nayana tugs her lower lip into her mouth, her eyebrows furrowing from the pleasure rocketing through her veins.

Taehyung makes quick work of her underwear, tossing those to the side too, before he's diving in face first. He uses his long fingers to spread her lips open and drag his tongue across her pussy from bottom to top. He takes her clit into his mouth again, circling his tongue around it and sucking it at the same time, while he carefully slides one finger halfway inside. He searches with the tip of his finger until he finds what he's looking for, and he knows he's struck gold when Nayana clenches and bucks into his mouth.

Taehyung introduces another finger and curls them both up into that spot repeatedly, keeping a steady pace. Nayana relaxes enough to release one of her hands from its clenched position on her shirt and bring it to Taehyung's head. She grasps the strands of his dark hair between her fingers and tentatively presses his face closer. Taehyung tightly grips her thigh with his free hand and moans into her pussy, the vibrations making her twitch around his long fingers.

"Fuck," he gasps out, "this is too fucking good." Taehyung gives her clit a sloppy French kiss and lets his tongue roll around the small nub until Nayana is vocalizing his name in a broken cry and threatening to tear his hair out. "Pull it harder, baby. You're not the only one who enjoys being hurt."

Nayana is close. The way Taehyung speaks to her, his voice honey and velvet, only pushes her farther toward that shining peak. "Tell...me more."

Taehyung locks eyes with her and smiles like he knows something she doesn't. He increases the speed of his fingers. "What about, babygirl?"

"About...you—when you would think about me...at night."

"Ahh." When he speaks, Taehyung's mouth doesn't part from her for too long. He's intent on pleasuring her with both his words and his tongue; between every few words, he pauses to kiss and suck her clit. "I don't know if you even remember this...but there was this time we went to a festival...and you wore this red dress. It clung to you perfectly...it drove me crazy. I was half-hard the entire time." Nayana moans at this. "When I went home that night, I couldn't stop imagining...bending you over one of those picnic tables and eating you out right there...or fucking you in my car with people outside just feet away. It would've been so easy...to just pull your dress up and slide inside." Taehyung punctuates this last sentence by pushing all the way in and rubbing Nayana's g-spot until she is screaming and covering his fingers with cum. He finds the sight of her orgasm incredibly endearing, and he laughs as he keeps fucking her with his mouth and hands until she forces him away.

Taehyung sits back as Nayana takes a moment to catch her breath. He watches her with loving eyes and a wet face—an interesting combination. When she's calmed down, she sits up and captures his lips in a kiss, tasting herself in the crevices of his mouth. Her hand settles on Taehyung's thigh, dangerously close to the tent in his robe, and he suddenly realizes how painfully hard he is.

"I wanna touch you, Tae. Can I?" Nayana asks, her lips brushing his.

"Honestly, I'd let you, but I'm so horny I think I might cum the moment your hand wraps around me. I'd rather be inside of you when that happens."

Nayana might've laughed if he weren't staring at her so intensely that it felt like layers of her very core were being stripped away. She merely watches him as he pulls the tie of his robe apart, letting the soft fabric fall open and slip off his shoulders. Taehyung's dick is exposed to the open air—flushed, drooling precum, and curving toward his stomach. It's thick, but not too long, which Nayana is grateful for, because it looks like it's going to be a tight fit without the added trouble of having her cervix stabbed. As Lucia would always say; bust the walls out, not the ceiling. Yeah, thanks, Lucia.

"Like what you see? You've been staring for quite a while." Taehyung's tone is filled with amusement, but Nayana doesn't miss the hint of uneasiness lingering in his eyes. A giggle slips past Nayana's lips as she leans forward to kiss him.

"You're perfect." Taehyung makes a noise of appreciation, and before he can deepen the kiss, Nayana is sliding off the bed and heading to her nightstand to retrieve her purse. Taehyung's eyes are glued to Nayana's body the entire time. Taehyung grips his dick, thumbing the head and spreading the precum around while he commits her curves to memory. Nayana comes back to his side seconds later with the pack of condoms Lisa "gifted" her.

"You brought condoms on this trip? Were you planning on fucking me all along?" Taehyung asks, chuckling.

"Okay, number one, these are from Lisa, and number two, you didn't bring any, so were you expecting to fuck me raw? Because that's not happening...yet."

Taehyung bites his lip at the idea of yet. He pulls one of the foil packets off the strand and rips it open. "I didn't bring any on this trip because I wasn't really anticipating sex with my closest friend, but, you know..." Taehyung rolls the condom onto his dick and gives his shaft a few satisfactory strokes before tugging Nayana into his lap. The head of his dick slides across her clit and they both gasp. Taehyung tightens his grip around her waist and positions his dick with his other hand. "Are you ready?" he whispers, pressing his lips to her neck.

"Yes."

Taehyung thrusts up at the same time Nayana lowers her hips, causing him to slide halfway in. Taehyung muffles a grunt in the side of Nayana's neck. His dick twitches when she moans, long and low, in his ear. "Are—are you okay?" he grits out through clenched teeth.

"I'm f—fine," Nayana insists. She clings to his bare back for dear life, her fingernails leaving little indents in his tan skin. The stretch is unfamiliar and it stings—she's never been spread open this far—but it's a good pain. The kind of pain that leaves you crawling back for more. She craves more of that sensation. Before he can speak again, Nayana sits her full weight on him, taking him completely inside of her body.

When Taehyung bottoms out, his eyes roll back. He can only imagine what it would be like to be inside of something this damn warm and wet without the condom on, and he has to ground himself to keep from busting at the mere thought. His breath puffs out across Nayana's neck and collarbone as he screws his eyes shut and remains still. When Nayana experimentally rocks her hips against his, Taehyung grabs her hips with shaking hands, his fingertips sinking into the soft flesh. "Wait, fuck. Not yet." He kisses and nibbles along the column of her throat in an effort to distract himself and to work her up more. A few more moments pass, and he thinks he's finally calmed down enough to move.

Taehyung pulls out until just the tip is left inside and pushes back in—not harshly, but with enough force to make their skin slap when they connect. He does this again, pulling Nayana's body toward him at the same time so that she easily slides down his full girth, and again, and again, until he creates a steady rhythm that has them both moaning into each other's mouths. Nayana, still with her shirt on, now throws the useless article of clothing away, completely baring herself to Taehyung. Taehyung's breath hitches at the sight of her bare breasts in front of him, and his hips falter for a second before he increases the pace, feverishly fucking into her.

"Tae, yes, yes, oh fuck, don't stop," Nayana's pleas get louder when Taehyung takes a nipple in his mouth and starts sucking. He slides his hand from her hip around to the space where their bodies meet, gathering her wetness on this thumb before pressing the digit against her clit and rubbing in circles. Nayana tightens around him. This action spurs him on even more. Nayana lets out a shriek of surprise when her back abruptly collides with the bed, Taehyung throwing her legs over his shoulders. Their lips meet in a messy tangle of tongues and teeth as Taehyung rolls his hips, again searching for the spot that will have her coming apart in his arms.

"Fuck, please—" Nayana's breath catches and she chokes on her words when he strikes her g-spot, making her legs tense up around his neck. Taehyung grins wildly and relentlessly pounds into that soft, sensitive spot, driving her closer to the approaching end. The room is filled with the vulgar, wet slap of skin-on-skin, a sound that Taehyung loves, a sound that motivates him to fuck her into the hotel mattress until nothing escapes her mouth but punctuated gasps.

Nayana clenches around Taehyung almost unbearably tight, and he lets out a deep moan from the feeling; it's as if she's sucking him deeper within her body. Sweat drips off his nose and chin and lands on her own sweat-slicked skin—evidence of the hard work he's putting in. The pool of warmth in the pit of his stomach rapidly spreads to the rest of his body and he knows he's not going to last much longer, but he refuses to come before her.

"You gonna come for me? Come on, baby...come all over this dick." Taehyung's thumb returns to her clit and it only takes a few more well-placed strokes before she's finished. Nayana's mouth parts in a silent scream as she comes, her body tensing like a tightly-strung bow and her walls pulsing around his thick cock. Taehyung continues rubbing her clit, prolonging the waves of pleasure ebbing through her quivering body until she squirms away from his incessant hand.

At the sight of Nayana fucked-out and spent beneath him, his thrusts begin to lose rhythm, hips clumsily smacking into hers, and soon he is pushed over the edge, burying himself balls deep as the first spurts of seed shoot into the condom. Rough, broken moans spill from his lips as he works his way through his orgasm, thrusting a little more before finally coming to a stop. Taehyung's body slumps with exhaustion, though he makes sure to keep most of his weight off her. After catching his breath, he glances at Nayana to find her already looking at him. She regards him with an amused and affectionate expression. He dips his head to kiss her, though he can't stop himself from smiling.

Taehyung pulls out, slips the condom off and ties it before going to the bathroom to dispose of it. He returns with a warm washcloth that he uses to clean Nayana and himself with. His caresses are as gentle as they were at the beginning of the night, a contrast to the way he just plowed her into the bed moments ago. Nayana's eyes start to hang low, but there is something she must do before she can even think about sleeping. When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom again, he's about to climb into bed beside her until she says,

"Taeee...can you get my bonnet for me? I can't sleep on these pillows without it. It's in my suitcase...in the first compartment."

"Mm, sure." Taehyung kisses her cheek before walking over to her suitcase (still butt-naked). Even after everything that just transpired, Nayana's stomach fills with anxiety-ridden butterflies over the kiss. She's unused to this level of intimacy with Taehyung; every action is performed with intentions that aren't simply platonic anymore, and she doesn't know how to handle this.

Taehyung comes back with her bonnet in his hand, and Nayana reaches for it, but instead Taehyung plops it on top of her head. He laughs at its lopsidedness until he sees the unamused look Nayana levels him with. The laughter fades as he bends down so they're face to face and tucks her braids into the bonnet with meticulous care. It's impossible for Nayana to keep her face neutral and she soon breaks into a shy smile, averting her eyes from Taehyung's.

Bonnet secured, Taehyung turns the lights off and nestles under the sheets with her, her back to his chest and his arms holding her in a comforting grip.

"I...really like you, you know." His voice is tender. He fumbles over the word like, wanting to say something more but still afraid.

Nayana wonders if he can hear her heart pounding.

"I like you too, Taehyung."

Nayana wakes up with the sun blazing her eyes, legs tangled in the bedsheets, and a warm body pressed against her own. A warm body...

Everything from last night floods back to her lethargic mind. Her chest grows warm and her heart beats overtime. She turns her head around to look at Taehyung, who is still blissfully asleep, his arm draped over her middle. His features are soft and relaxed, a contrast to his normal disposition. A smile spreads across her lips at the sight of him.

Nayana's phone rings from the nightstand, signaling an incoming FaceTime call. Of course, it's from Lisa. She doesn't even remember bringing her phone to his side of the room last night. Against her better judgment, she answers the call, making sure to turn the volume down so Taehyung doesn't awaken.

Lisa's big, smiling face pops up on the screen seconds later. She's in the hotel room she shares with Lucia, standing outside on the balcony. "Heeeeeeeeeeyy sis—oh my God, is that Taehyung?" Lisa's greeting is cut short when she spots Taehyung's arm in the corner of the screen.

"Uh—maybe?"

Lisa screams so loud that Nayana is sure the annoying sound can rival every seagull in the area combined. Lucia's panicked voice pops up in the background as she rushes out of the bathroom to check and make sure Lisa didn't plummet off the side of the balcony or something. "Lu, come here! Look at this shit!" Lisa yanks Lucia by the arm, pulling the dark-haired girl into the frame. She's freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel that she struggles to hold in place as Lisa jostles her around like a ragdoll. However, her eyes also widen when she sees the cause of Lisa's hysterics.

"Nayana, girl, is that you? Who's in the bed with you? Is that Tae? HAHA!" Lucia covers her mouth and cackles like a witch. Now the both of them are cheering, screaming, and laughing as loud as they can. Nayana is sure the beach goers on the sand below must be contemplating calling hotel security.

"I TOLD you it would work!" Lisa cries out, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Ya girl is a GENIUS! You guys need to listen to me more often!"

"Too bad you can't be a matchmaker for yourself. How long have you been eye-spying Jungkook and you still haven't made a move?" Nayana retorts, stifling a laugh. Lucia bursts out laughing and Lisa slaps her arm.

"Don't worry about me, girl. All in due time. In the meantime, we should leave you alone with that new boooooyfriend of yours!" Lisa reminds Nayana of a silly first-grader who sings the "K-I-S-S-I-N-G" song whenever she spots another potential couple. Nayana rolls her eyes. "We'll see you later, yeah? Unless you two decide to stay holed up in the room all day. You gotta tell me all the details!"

"Girl—bye!"

The conversation ends and Nayana is immediately back to staring at Taehyung. She's too wired to go back to sleep, and right now, there's no better sight to see than this.

Nayana doesn't know how long she lies there observing him, but eventually he wakes up. She doesn't even bother with pretending like she hasn't been watching him sleep. He blinks his eyes cutely and yawns, smacking his lips. They make eye contact and they both laugh.

"I could get used to waking up to this," Taehyung says quietly, voice husky. He cups her cheek in his palm and smiles. He shifts closer but yelps when something suddenly pokes him in the side.

"What is it!?

Taehyung reaches under the covers, searching for the object. When he finds it, he holds it up for Nayana to see. It's the pack of condoms, four still left over from last night. He raises his eyebrows and smirks.

"Wanna use the rest of these?"

[andermuunoz]

hi beautiful human ♪ ♪ ♪

Hi yourself, beautiful human :)

NF - Turn The Music UpJust turn the music on, just let me get lostI swear that Imma lose it if somebody turns it off

Panic at the Disco - LA DevoteeYou got two black eyes from loving too hardAnd a black car that matches your blackest soul

Hollywood Undead - Let GoDark hearts don't break, they bruise 

 SEND ME A  ♪ I WILL PUT MUSIC ON SHUFFLE AND GIV E YOU A SONG AND MY FAVORITE LINE FROM IT

[randomimaginesforrandompeople]

Drunk Pt.2 | Sweet pea imagine

A/N: A lot of people asked for a part 2, I decided to incorporate this request because I didn't think I could write about it seperately. Part 1

Requested: Hi I was wondering if you could do a Sweet Pea x reader where the reader is emo and a hardcore Panic at the disco fan but Sp doesn't know and one day he finds her in her room jamming out. Thanks a bunch! xx

''A hickey?'' you laughed it off but you silently cursed Sweet pea for not being careful. Jughead shook his head ''Must be nothing'' he smiled and you smiled back trying to subtly hide it. You had sobered up a bit but your head was pounding. ''I'm going to bed.'' Jughead nodded ''Sleep well y/n, see you tomorrow.'' ''See you tomorrow'' 

You woke up the next day, luckily you were already feeling better. You got out of bed and made yourself a cup of coffee, yawning. Jughead joined you at the kitchen table ''Hey sis, feeling better?'' You weren't his actual sister but the two of you joked about being related because you lived together. ''Yeah surprisingly so'' the two of you chuckled ''Any plans?'' Jughead's face lit up ''I'm hanging out with Betty today. We might babysit the twins'' you grinned ''Damn that''s a big responsibility'' he laughed ''I know'' You handed him a cup of coffee ''What about you?'' You lifted your shoulders ''Probably clean my room or something'' You thought about the mess you and Sweet pea had made and surpressed a grin.

''Well I'll probably see you tonight, is it okay if I bring pop's?'' You nodded enthusiastically ''I love pop's'' he laughed ''Bye y/n'' You waved ''Bye Jug'' You plugged your Phone into your stereo system and blasted Panic! at the disco. Your favorite band of all time. You had seen them in concert and owned several pieces of merch. You slipped into your favorite Panic! hoody and grabbed your cleaning supplies ''You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul'' You sang along loudly to the lyrics of one of your favorite songs. You were dancing and cleaning so loudly that you hadn't heard someone enter the trailer.

You heard something fall and you stopped dead in your tracks. You moved to the other side of the trailer while the music continued playing, you wanted to sing along but you first had to find the intruder. When you saw the tall serpent you had slept with the night before you chuckled. He had accidentally knocked something on the floor and he was picking it up again. ''Could you not give a girl a heart attack?'' 

The guy turned around and smirked at you ''What's the fun in showing up announced?'' You laughed while he made his way over to you. ''Hey darlin, ready for another round?'' You grinned and shoved a duster in his hands ''Nope, we're cleaning today'' He laughed but followed you back into your room where the music played. ''Panic! at the disco?'' You nodded ''I love them'' You smiled happily and the two of you started cleaning, while jamming along to the music.

You took a break after a while, dancing and laughter together to the song 'Hey look ma, I made it' The cleaning wasn't that bad together and the singing and dancing made it even more fun. It was around dinner time before you knew it and you heard the door of the trailer open. You turned down the volume ''Hey y/n, I'm back'' Sweet pea and you emerged from your room looking disheveld from all the cleaning. Jughead eyes the two of you suspiciously. You giggled once you realize how it must've looked for him ''We soent the day cleaning'' Jughead grinned ''Sure'' He winked at you and the three of you laughed. Jughead handed you one of the bags of take out ''Sweet pea you''re staying?'' He looked at you with a smile and nodded ''Yes please''

[nervyghost]

Rager

Happy Valentine's day to @im-reddie ! Surprise! Okay, this gift is going to be a little different, as it’s going to be a multichap fic. It’ll (hopefully) be done before the end of the month! I hope you fave an, as Richie would put it, “Fan-fucking-tastic” Valentine’s day!

The music thudded through his bones, heart pounding to the beat as it shot through him, shaking him to his very core. With one hand clasped tightly around his microphone and the other holding up his thick glasses, he turned to face the crowd ahead, the smell of smoke and stale beer flooding his nostrils. Adrenaline coursed through his system, pooling low in his belly with that kind of pre-show excitement that was impossible to replicate. He lived for the feeling. His freckled face sported a wide grin as he strode forward, ratty black vans toeing the edge of the makeshift stage, nearly going over the edge.

"HELLO, DERRY!" He hollered, letting his voice ring into the mic before taking another breath. "ARE WE READY TO ROCK!?" The crowd roared in approval, hoisting red cups and joints in respect. Richie shoved one hand through his heavy curls, letting it fall to tap on his thigh. "I SAID," He began again, thriving in the madness of his element. "ARE. WE. READY. TO. ROCK!?" The crowd screamed in response, a few people lurching forward and pumping their fists. Richie laughed, holding up a hand to silence the screamers. "BEFORE WE BEGIN," He shot his bandmates a wink over his shoulder. "I'D LIKE TO INTRODUCE THE REST OF THESE HERE LOSERS!" Smoke pooled on the ceiling of the basement, party in full swing.

Richie almost felt bad for the poor fool holding the rager.

Almost.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he pointed one long finger at the girl with fiery red hair standing just to his left, guitar a bright cherry to match. "THIS BADASS," He took a heaving breath, quivering with excitement, the bracelets he wore swinging loosely around his wrist at his every motion. "IS BEVERLY FUCKING MARSH!" She shot him a tongue-between-teeth grin, green eyes shining as she hammered out a riff, fingers flying on the frets with ease to the crowd's delight. He clicked his tongue and fired off some finger-guns, unable to resist a small quip. "SINGLE, AS ALWAYS!"

Her strings rang out as she lifted her hand, middle finger extended and eyes blazing. Richie shrugged innocently, turning back to the crowd. "Hey, whatever, I'm still an eligible bachelor!" That earned him a few hooting laughs. He turned on a heel and looked in the direction of his drummer, said drummer beating on the cymbals with a passion that Richie had always admired. "HERE WE HAVE BIG BILL!"

Bill shot him a dazzling smile, throwing in a drumroll for effect, hair ruffled and head banging in time to his rapid beat. "RUMOR HAS IT, HE ONLY COMMUNICATES WITH GRUNTS!" Bill rolled his eyes, but crashed the cymbals in appreciation, barking out a small laugh before returning to a normal steady beat. "AND LASTLY,"

He turned to face the well-dressed bass player behind him, able to feel the impressive glare he was sporting before he made eye-contact. "WE'VE GOT STAN THE MAN, WHO WILL INCINERATE ME ON THE SPOT IF I SAY ANOTHER WORD!" Stan's composure crumpled and he giggled, causing a small flicker of pride to erupt in Richie's chest. He prided himself on making Stan laugh while he was performing, knowing that sometimes, the pressure seemed to be too much for him. Tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights. "WE ARE,"

Richie paused for dramatic effect, raising one hand in a fist above his head for emphasis. "THE LOSER'S CLUB!" The screams of approval were more than enough to let him know that tonight, things were going to be out of control.

Just the way he liked it.

He turned to Bill and nodded. "Hit it!"

The pounding of the kick drum made his heart soar, his blood pounding through him in time to the steady beat. Cymbals crashed, and then, Stan began to work his magic, the speakers mounted beneath the stage causing the floor to rattle from the noise. Once Bev began to strum, Richie knew that it was now or never.

His lips hugged the microphone as he leaned in, wild curls bouncing in time with the song. "You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul. I wouldn't change ya, oh. Wouldn't ever try to make you leave, no." The lyrics came easily to him, soaring from his throat with certainty, every note hanging perfectly suspended in the air, floating in the room. It was easily one of his best performances.

He lifted his hand and closed his eyes, keeping his one scarred palm high in the air, bracelets catching the blue party lights that streamed through the smoke, beacons in the night. His fingers snapped in time and he shimmied across the stage, stepping in Stan's direction as Bev hammered out an impromptu guitar solo. He'd learned to trust her judgment. She'd never disappointed with her handiwork before, and tonight was no exception.

Her hips swayed, blue and orange spotted sundress coupled with her leather jacket making her stand out in all the best ways. "Great show, eh Stanthony?" Richie heard him huff out an agitated breath, followed quickly by a small laugh.

"It's just the first song, don't go getting a big head about it." Richie turned his head and watched Stan's fingers for a moment, secretly admiring the way they twined with the strings. It was only when Bill smashed the cymbals again that he looked up to realize that Stan's gaze was firmly fixed on the far corner of the room, and if Richie didn't know better, he'd say Stan looked absolutely whipped. The bassist's cheeks were colored an intriguing shade of pink, his lips curled into a lovestruck smile as he hammered out the solid line.

"He's here?" Richie asked excitedly, making sure to lower the mic. Stan's lips formed a thin line, but his ears turned a rather delightful shade of red. "Oh my God, he is!" He crowed, sliding closer to Stanley and trying to figure out who he'd been making mooneyes at.

It had been like that for, allegedly, every gig the band wound up at, the mystery guy making his appearance every. Single. Damn. Time. And to Richie's utmost annoyance, he had eluded his gaze every time he showed. To make matters worse, Stan always clammed up whenever he was mentioned, which just made Richie more determined to figure out who Stan's secret crush was.

And so, there he stood, fruitlessly scanning the crowd of drunks and partygoers, searching for anyone who matched Stan's type as Bev's kickass playing rocked the floor. What Stan didn't know, was that Richie knew more than a little bit about his type. Stan, as far as he knew, always went for guys with brown hair, sometimes auburn, with eyes that drew attention to themselves. He liked them to be mellow, but still adventurous enough to hit up a party, and they always got points with him if they were well dressed.

With that in mind, he continued to look through the smoke, stealing over to Bev's side. "He's here!" Beverly instantly bolted to attention, her once loose limbs stiffening, a smile of disbelief sparking into existence on her face.

"Actually?!" Richie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yep!" He agreed, popping the 'P'. "Wrap up the solo, I'm going to go see if I can steal a few glances." She clicked her tongue and nodded. Richie pulled the microphone to his lips again and adjusting the loose Hawaiian shirt that clung to his shoulders. "LADIES AND GENTS, GIVE IT UP FOR BEVERLY MARSH!"

Bill's drumming kicked up a notch, which Richie took as his cue to start belting out the lyrics once more. "The black magic of Mulholland Drive! Swimming pools under desert skies-" It was when he stopped for breath that his eyes connected with another pair in the crowd, doe-eyed, brown, and altogether a marvel. He jerked his head back almost reflexively, but kept his eyes locked with those of the stranger as he continued on. "Drinking white wine in the blushing light, just another LA Devotee!" He could see through the smoke that the stranger was bouncing in time with the thudding beat, tongue poking out from between his lip as his eyes slid closed.

A noticeable blush suddenly crept onto the smaller boy's face as he caught the singer's gaze and Richie grinned widely, finally tearing his gaze away and creeping over to Stan, spinning his mic as he did so, earning a loud cheer from the partygoers. He pointed with his free hand between words, raising one eyebrow questioningly, secretly hoping that that wasn't his mystery man. The flush that flooded Stan's face was enough to let him know.

"Fuck off, Richie." He hissed through his teeth. Richie's triumphant grin didn't feel nearly as good as he imagined it would. He always imagined Stan would like somebody boring and normal, not somebody that-

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he launched into the key change, his voice carrying brilliantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, putting his soul into the song, holding up his glasses and jerking his head back to finish the song, shooting the mystery man a cocky grin. "Just another LA devotee!"

He couldn't help the small surge of joy that fluttered in his stomach when the mystery boy put his hands together, the soft smile on his lips louder than the cheering crowd could ever hope to be. "THANK YOU, DERRY!" Richie hooted as Bill's cymbals crashed, signaling the end of the song. He held out his hand, palm-up to silence the roaring crowd. "Alright, we always open up with a cover song, so now..." Bill started up a drumroll, the room falling silent with anticipation. "We're doing an original!" He then turned to Bill and nodded sharply, launching them into another song.

He tried desperately not to think about the boy in the pink collared shirt. Trying not to think of his big doe-eyes, and his stupid half-smile, and the way he was beginning to look slightly confused. A hot flush flooded Richie's cheeks, and for the second time that night, Richie jerked his eyes away from those of the equally red spectator.

"I said I see the ghosts as they run around, hear the distant screams as the walls come down in my heart." The throbbing of the drums echoed through him and he skimmed the crowd, mentally doing an inventory of every person, hating that he could just feel a certain pair of brown eyes on him. "I'm up in my room and I'm all alone, got a mixtape on while I'm gettin' stoned, oh-woah-oh."

You had your casual drunks, your stoners, your frat girls... He waggled his eyebrows seductively at an especially skanky specimen as he continued. "Wishin' you were here, wishin' I was there, wishin' I'd stay strong, that I didn't care, but oh-" It was as though a magnet kept pulling him back to the shorter boy, and in each gap in the lyrics, he noticed something new about him.

He's smiling.

"I just want you back, like it was before-"

He's getting closer.

"I want you in my arms, and against my door-"

He's right at the edge of the stage.

"Wanna taste your lips, see what you've got in store-"

He's got freckles.

That last thought caused his heart to skip a beat, and he found himself prancing ahead, twirling the mic loosely in his fingers. "Oh, you know me inside out, my ups and downs, make me scream and shout out loud. And I know your skin like the back of my hand, wanna chase the stars, wanna make a plan, oh-" He'd locked eyes again, but this time, he couldn't look away. "But most of all..." A wide grin overtook his features as the boy blushed heavily, reaching down to his waist. "I wanna hold your hand." Beverly's guitar began to ring, and he watched the boy press a powder-blue inhaler to his lips and return it to his-

Oh, my God.

He's wearing a fanny-pack.

Richie didn't have time to dwell on the new discovery, his lips taking off without him as he launched into the next verse, and then to the bridge, stealing over to the far right of the stage to distract himself from the weak fluttering in his chest. "And oh, I wanna know if this real, cause if I don't, I'm never gonna heal!" Hands were thrust toward him as he teetered on the edge of the stage, and he leaned over to give a few high-fives, words still tearing from his throat. "And I'm never gonna understand just why I couldn't be your man, just why I couldn't let you know that I would never let you go, and I'm sorry if I broke your heart, and I wish that I could restart, I know that this did not go like we planned." He paced back to the middle as the music crested around him, rising, until finally- "I know that I can never hold your-" He looked over at the spot where the mystery boy had once stood and tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

"Hand." He finished, staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. He tried to force away the small swell of disappointment in his chest. Stan had first dibs anyway, he shouldn't be obsessing over Stan's weird crush. But... he really wanted to.

It took extreme amounts of self-control for him to power through the set, his eyes drifting through the crowd in search of a pink shirt and a fanny pack to no avail. He could have sworn he saw him in the lights, standing off in the far corner next to the spiked punch. But then, he'd blink, or the lights would flash against his glasses and blind him. But even through that, he looked back toward the long table, secretly hoping that Fanny-Pack would make a reappearance.

He nearly leapt out of his skin when Stan tapped him on the shoulder, the noise of Bev tuning her guitar echoing quietly in the background.

"So, you saw him?.." Richie grinned and wrapped one lanky arm around Stan's shoulders, feigning nonchalance easily.

"Course I did, Stanny!" He chirped, releasing the bassist as he ducked out of the one-armed embrace. "Quite the catch!" Stan looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, but even he with his heart of stone couldn't hold back the contented sigh that breezed past his lips.

"He is, isn't he?" He mumbled. Richie nodded, biting down hard on his cheek to keep all of the sexual comments trapped behind his lips at bay, swallowing them and letting them join the rolling mass of emotions in his gut.

"Got that right!" Stan shuffled his feet uncertainty, not meeting Richie's eyes.

"You won't..." He bit his lip and looked up at his taller bandmate, mistrust evident on his pointed features. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Richie smirked.

"About your fanny-pack boy? Nah." A flicker of confusion sparked across the well-groomed one's face, but it was quickly replaced by one that Richie would categorize as amusement.

"Right." Stan echoed, an almost smug smile falling onto his lips. "Fanny-pack boy." Richie nodded, leaning just a little closer to Stan.

"He got a name?" Stan shrugged, but the flush on his cheeks was more than enough to tip him off.

"I'm not giving you the satisfaction." Was all he said in response to the question. Richie stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout, causing Stan to snort. "If you're that curious, find out yourself." The singer pushed up his glasses, making a point of using his middle finger, which caused Stan to chuckle under his breath.

"Fine by me, Stanthony." And with that, Richie strode casually to the edge of the stage, stowing his microphone on the stand before hopping off. His worn shoes connected with sticky concrete, slick with sweat and spilled beer. The party seemed to be a writhing mass of motion around him as he ducked under arms and around couples, oblivious to the steely brown eyes watching his every move.

Stan kept his gaze firmly trained on the mess of a human being as he ducked through the crowd, his mind racing. He pretended to tune his bass and forced himself to take a deep breath through his nose, letting it out through his grit teeth.

It was one small lie.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. The taste of smoke filled his mouth and he exhaled sharply, left hand closing into a fist that quivered on the neck of his bass.

It should have been one small lie.

He mentally corrected himself, delivering a fair sized mental slap across the face for good measure. What had he been thinking? He had known, oh, he had just known that Richie would never leave him alone, constantly badgering him to find someone, or, as the trashmouth had put it, 'Put himself out there'. It had started small, but then again, with Tozier, everything started small. It was the small comments that tipped him off, such as: 'Oh, she's cute!' or 'Wonder if he's single?' or (one that made his skin crawl) 'I'm always here, Stanny'. That particular comment was meant to be a joke, that he knew. But to him, it held a double meaning. Richie, as far as he was concerned, would always be single, as nobody sane would consider him as more than a friend. But it also meant that he would always be there to try and get him to hook up with someone, anyone. Never stopping, never ceasing...

Stan fiddled with his strap, tightening it a smidgeon. It wasn't like he didn't know who he liked. That thought made his cheeks turn an alarming shade of red, fingers slipping from the bass and causing it to ring out, earning him a worried glance from Bill. He smiled weakly and his heart skipped a beat when Bill returned it, brilliant blue eyes turning to fix on the drumsticks he was twirling expertly between his fingers, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, practically begging for Stan to go over and-

No, no, no, no, NO.

That, was exactly why he had invented the mystery guy. To keep attention away from himself and- certain bandmates. It was never meant to be more than that, really. He'd just claim that the guy was there, point vaguely with his chin, and that would be it. But no. Stan pulled his lower lip past his teeth and bit down, a few stray curls falling over his eyes as he returned his attention to his bass.

Of freaking course, he would find a way to screw up what was- quite possibly- the world's easiest lie to maintain. It wasn't his fault that Bill had managed to pull off a particularly hard drum fill, or that Bill had twirled his drumsticks right after, chest heaving, smile wide enough to light up the whole of Derry. And it certainly wasn't his fault that Bill had chosen to smile at him after this impressive feat, causing Stan's normally sure fingers to fumble.

And there was no way it was because of him that Bill's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a small, surprised laugh escaping the drummer's lips. That was just ridiculous. And it was just the lights that caused Bill's cheeks to tint.

That was all.

But he could only blame himself for what he did next. He tore his gaze away from the drumset and willed himself to stare at anything else, think about the song, focus on the rhythm, on the lyrics, on something else. Which, of course, was when Richie had spotted him. He would admit to looking a little lovestruck, hell, he would even admit to panicking in the heat of the moment.

He had even allowed himself to breathe once Richie had sauntered off, hips swaying in time, one hand clutching the mic in a deathgrip as the other drummed on his thigh in time to the beat, scruffy curls falling low on his neck. He had allowed himself to slip into a false sense of security and had managed to make it through the set without embarrassing himself further, which was something he was rather proud of, considering how many times he had looked over his shoulder at Bill and met his eyes, quickly jerking his head in the opposite direction.

Right to meet the condescending gaze of the one and only Trashmouth Tozier, and oh boy, did he ever look smug. Stan thought he had been figured out, and he couldn't stop himself from trying desperately to think up a decent explanation, until Richie said something that left him confused. As far as he knew, Bill didn't wear a fanny-pack, nor was he in the crowd. But somebody else Stan knew sure did.

He grimaced at the thought of what he had done to Eddie, one of his best friends, but really, what else could he have done?

Confessed the truth?

Shame washed over him in a hot wave and he took a shuddering breath of cloudy air, wincing as the taste of weed and cheap cigarettes flooded his throat. Why did it have to be so bloody complicated? To make matters worse, Richie was now stalking around the party in search of poor Eddie Kaspbrak, who didn't even know what was going on. He knew Eddie well enough to know that Richie's methods of torture (which he had affectionately dubbed flirting) wouldn't work well on his small, spitfire friend.

But hey, at least Richie would leave him alone now.

He shoved his guilt to the far corner of his mind, hoping against all hopes that maybe, just maybe, Richie wouldn't do anything stupid.

Something told him that he'd be lucky if that were true.

Eddie Kaspbrak, for lack of a better term, was fucking tired. He was tired of the smoke and the lights. He was tired of the stupid thudding music blaring through the speakers, of the way everyone looked at him like he didn't belong, like he was an animal in a zoo rather than a partygoer. He huffed angrily and pulled out his inhaler, taking a lungful of the placebo contained in the powder blue box.

He didn't even want to be there, not really. He leaned up against the kitchen counter and sighed heavily, his small frame falling awkwardly between a nasty looking spill and a crumpled bag of salted chips. He shuffled his feet and hung his head, fingers clutching the fanny-pack on his hip.

Stan had wanted him there.

It made sense, really, that Eddie managed to catch at least one performance made by his best friend's band, but he had hardly made it through the first song before the whole room seemed to close in on him. It was like they knew. It was like they knew how insecure he was about the whole event, how the walls seemed to be getting closer, how every time someone bumped into him he withered just a little bit inside. His heart rate had been frenzied, and he couldn't help but realize just how stupid his fears had been.

It was just a party.

His best friend was playing, and damn it, he was going to support him.

He just wished Stan had warned him about their loudmouthed front-man. Sure, Eddie had heard of the infamous Richie Tozier, but not once had he actually seen him. He raked one hand down his freckled face and groaned, trying to banish all thoughts of Richie from his head because oh fuck, he was cute. His curls had bounced enticingly around his too-thick glasses, murky brown eyes shining in the low light. He hated to admit that he had been staring. And of course, Stan had warned him that their lead singer had a weird way of telling when people were staring, but Eddie hadn't believed him until Richie had looked at him, wide grin in place on his face.

And then, their eyes had locked, and as stupid as it had seemed, Eddie had felt like the song was for him. It was as though Richie was magnetic, the way he pranced around the stage drawing Eddie closer and closer, and before he knew what was really happening, he was standing right at the edge of the stage, gazing up at the tall singer in the Hawaiian print. And he was so close now, so fucking close and Eddie had to take a heaving shot from his inhaler to try and draw his attention elsewhere.

There was no way in hell Richie Tozier knew.

He hated that he had to fight to convince himself that that was true.

He let his eyes slide closed and let out a shaky breath through his teeth, hands clenched into tight fists that quivered at his sides.

He didn't know. Richie Tozier had no way of knowing, and besides, he had shot a wink at a few frat girls, not at him. Not at the lonely, closeted, worthless, wrong-

"Hey, you okay?" Eddie's head whipped up so fast he thought he would give himself whiplash, eyes flying open to reveal-

"Oh, hey, Ben." He managed to mumble, heart hammering against his ribs. "Yeah, I'm fine." He cursed himself when his voice cracked. Ben's eyebrows raised skeptically and Eddie watched his larger friend heave a sigh.

"Are you sure?" Eddie bit his lip, shuffling his feet and averting his gaze, focusing on the mess of cups strewn about on every spare surface.  

"Yeah." The lie fell easily from his lips, but he knew even as he spoke that Ben saw right through him.

"Right." He agreed, mistrust shining in his eyes. It looked like he wanted to say more, but Eddie knew he wouldn't. Ben, Eddie had figured out, was the kind of person who didn't like to push himself into uncomfortable or personal situations, which was part of the reason why they got along so well. Ben didn't ask questions that went too far. Sure, he gave the best advice when prompted, but he didn't like to pry, and that was more than fine by Eddie.

"Right." He echoed, and that was that. Eddie Kaspbrak was at a party, surrounded by drunks, germs, and other unimaginable things, and he was absolutely, one hundred percent fine.

What a big fucking lie.

[astrcldust]

♪

LA Devotee- Panic! At the Disco

Favorite lyric: “You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black heart that matches your blackest soul. I wouldn’t change ya, oh. Wouldn’t ever try to make you leave no.” 

SEND ME A  ♪ I WILL PUT MUSIC ON SHUFFLE AND GIV E YOU A SONG AND MY FAVORITE LINE FROM IT

[lunafaeris-archive]

@heliinx​ | x

"I am trying to help-free you and they are not, demon-thing. But my help comes at a price." :)

          Hmph. Figures. “And what do you want in exchange for granting me my freedom? Maybe you want a taste of my blood... I’ve been told it’s quite the delicacy. Highly desirable in fact, even among my peers.”

[ask-de-writer]

MEETING WITH A STRANGER : (1 PART) : Bizarre Border

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MEETING WITH A STRANGER

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

509 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 06/14/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

Tumblr exemption: Blog holding users of Tumblr.com may reblog and post this work provided that the entire title and copyright block remains intact with all links included and is displayed with the work. 

Fan art, cosplay or other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

He really hated his name.  Shadow. Damn, couldn’t his folks have chosen something else?

Still, in a way, it was appropriate. He disliked the daylight.  Even at night, he sort of lurked along in the darkest places.  Under the trees in the park, where the street lights did not reach, for instance.  Like the spot he was in right now.

Waiting.  He looked at his phone again. On an impulse, he’d signed up for a hook-up site.  He and the girl who answered his text sort of hit it off.  She hated her name too. Darkness.

Besides, there were the photos.  Almost perfectly Shadow’s type.  It might sound strange, with a sexy body like what he saw, but it was her eyes that really decided him to make a quick hook-up date.  Those eyes almost seemed luminous, which should have been a contradiction for the blackest eyes he had ever seen.  Darkness was well named, her hair was long and black, matching her eyes.  Shadow really hoped that this date for simple sex might grow into something else.

Darkness’ texts showed a keen mind and a caring personality.  Another contradiction of sorts since she was just looking for a fun fuck.  Still, Shadow went for her.

“Meet me in Morton Park, 10 PM,” her last text said.

He was there.  Shadow in the shadows. His phone vibrated.  “I am nearly there,” her text said.  “I have an interesting choice for you.  We can meet for dinner and fuck or we can go to my place for the night or longer.  Up to you.”

With trembling fingers, he texted back, “Your place sounds perfect.  Are you sure that you want to trust a stranger in your place?”

The return text was a puzzle.  “I was hoping that you would want to come with me.  Eventually everyone I meet comes to my place.  Most just want to screw and be done with it. It is not that easy.”

Shadow was trying to sort that out when he saw a lovely lady in the light of the street lamps.  Somebody jumped out from a bush and grabbed her!

Shadow was not the kind to stand by and let someone get robbed or worse.  He charged out of the shadows and clobbered the guy.  Hard.  

The attacker staggered back and then lunged.  Shadow felt like he’d been hit in the gut.  Then the pain. He grabbed the attacker’s hand and twisted as he pushed.  The guy’s stocking cap fell off his head as he fell onto his own knife.

His eyes opened in surprise.  And stayed open, staring at nothing.  The girl that he’d attacked smiled strangely and touched his heart.  The body convulsed and stilled completely.

Darkness gently cradled Shadow and said, “Come, Love.  You risked all for me.  You are mine.  Let us go home now, and be together.  Forever.”  She touched him over the heart.  He got up and went away with her.

The uncaring street light shone down on two figures laying unmoving on the concrete of the path.

–The End–

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[hollywoodshrinerp-blog]

NAME: Holliday Wells AGE: 36 GENDER: Female PROJECT: (currently unattached) POSITION: Screen Writer

you got two black eyes from loving too hard and a black car that matches your blackest soul

Holliday was raised by a very unconventional couple. The people she viewed as her moms were actually best friends - Olive, her birth mother, had lost Holliday’s father in a bout of cancer before Holliday turned one. She turned to her best friend, Jasmine, for support, and the two raised Holliday as if she were a child they actually adopted. Olive never remarried, and Jasmine wasn’t really interested in the sex thing as a whole, so the little girl received solid parenting despite its peculiarities.

One thing that had always been present in Holliday’s life was a love of books. She devoured each section in her local library like it was a five course meal and she was absolutely starving.  By the time she was ready to graduate high school (a year early), she’d read every book available, so Holliday did the next logical thing. She wrote one.

It was a small, whimsical romance novel that under most circumstances would’ve gone unnoticed, but even though she was in New York going to college, her friends back home in Philly didn’t forget about her. They read it, loved it, told their other friends to read it, and suddenly the first time writer had a genuine grassroots triumph on her hands.

Although she was flattered by the positive attention to her book, her classes had showed her that she preferred script writing to novel writing.  She set off to California as soon as she had her degree.

invisible to the Hollywood shrine always on the hunt for a little more time

What Holliday didn’t expect was the sheer amount of competition in the city of angels. At every turn there’s a screenwriter trying desperately to sell their stories. She’s worked tirelessly attending festivals, dogging directors, doing any and everything she can to get someone to pick up her writing.

Her big break only came two years ago, when Marilyn Hunter happened upon one of her early scripts in a pile of her then husbands offerings. Marilyn called her up and asked about the story, as it had touched her.  When Hawk decided to do the film, Holliday finally got the big break she was hoping for. ‘Don’t Forget’ was a huge critical success, and even garnered her an Oscar nomination for Best Original Script and a few others for costuming and sound editing. Now, she’s working on her next big thing.

connections:

just another LA devotee

CHARLOTTE KELLER: A fling. That’s all it ever was between the two ladies. Charlotte was a heart and soul lesbian and Holliday was just trying to find herself.  After finding she was bisexual, Charlotte couldn’t get over the fact that Holliday was still attracted to men as well. Frosty doesn’t even begin to describe the emotions in the room when those two brush past.

MARILYN HUNTER: Holliday had sent her script, detailing a young woman’s journey to find the family that had been taken from her, all over but had no luck.  That is, until it caught Marilyn’s eye. They two women met when Hawk accepted the offer and have been friends ever since.

HOLLIDAY WELLS IS PORTRAYED BY STANA KATIC AND IS CURRENTLY OPEN

[deviantordivine]

part 5

Leila

The house was...a mansion. All Leila could do was stare.

If this is the kind of housing New Olympus gives to its residents…

Gold and glass and glittering-- it shone like the sun. Every light must’ve been on to greet the two. Leila had to look away from it; it was so bright.

“Welcome home!” Camille beamed. They both got out of the car and she grabbed Leila’s hand and led her up the long driveway. Camille’s grip was stronger than she let on and Leila was starting to think that Camille was a force in heels.

The inside of the house was simple; white arches and white marble with white furniture and gold accents. Large glass vases housed stalks of wheat that Leila suspected were made out of real gold. Camille fit in perfectly.

She led her on a brief house tour-- nodding at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a pool, her master suite, then Leila’s own bedroom-- that ended in the kitchen. Like the rest of the place, the floor plan was spacious and modern. Leila couldn’t help but wonder if anyone actually cooked in it. The marble was too white to have ever been stained with food.

Leila noticed something as Camille walked through the house, her carefully arranged centerpieces-- curving, crystal horns overflowing with gold fruit and flowers-- to her framed pictures of faraway farmland, how her face shone with pride. And something else, an eagerness.

Leila felt her heart swell at Camille’s waiting face as she realized she wanted Leila to love her home just as much as she did.

She regarded Camille’s manicured hands, folded neatly. Her untroubled, perfect brow. Her eyes, just slightly creased. Leila’s only indication at the undercurrent of emotion, the stress and worry. She remembered how Camille’s eyes hadn’t left Leila all through the ceremony and after, hovering close if Leila ever faltered.

She felt her throat close at the thought that someone was here to look out for her, in this new world. This new life.

Maybe I’m starting to succumb to exhaustion.

Leila carefully rested her hands on the cool marble countertop. She curled her fingers as she spotted the crescents of dirt under her nails.

She coughed. “Your house is beautiful,” she said.

Camille clapped her hands together.

“Thanks, darling. I have food on the way from my favorite restaurant. I hope you like pasta.” Leila gave noncommittal shrug-- she’d find out soon enough.

Camille hesitated, a coy smile on her lips. “While we wait, I thought I could show you my greenhouse.”

A click of her heels and a spin and Camille was off again. Leila’s curiosity peaked and she trailed after her, following the sound of Camille’s heels on the hardwood floor.

How am I going to live here when I have no idea how to get around? Leila wondered as she lost track of her way back to the kitchen.

As they rounded a corner, Leila could feel it. Warmth.

The warmth radiating from a set of crystal French doors at the end of the hall. Light cut through the glass, splashing prisms across the white walls. The warmth of heat, yes but also the warmth of magic, nurturing and sweet. Calling to her own. Her magic was the only thing that felt familiar to her, though Leila could not imagine that magic could be anything near familiar. 

They approached and Camille threw a smile over her shoulder, matching the beautiful warmth and lacking any of the hesitation from before.

She grabbed the doorknobs with both hands and pushed.

A wave of heat gently blew back Leila’s hair and caressed her face. The smell of earth and plants wafted out, floral and wet.

Camille strode in, a torch among the green. Leila followed, her steps more careful.

All she could see at first was blooming shades of green. There were trees and flowers and bushes and fruits and life. This place was alive, thrumming with a sweet heartbeat that beckoned Leila to step farther into the greenhouse.

Her steps grew confident over the mosaic walkway, her curiosity outshining any last reserves of hesitancy.

The white iron and glass structure swirled up above her, the windows fogged from the heat. Spiral staircases jutted up to balconies where even more plants were housed. She spotted rows of vegetables and herbs, making her think that maybe there was some cooking being done in this house after all.

The latin names tumbled around her head.

Nymphaea thermarum, Pseudanthodendron, Leptosporangium

Cyatheaceae, Solanum lycopersicum, Mangifera indica,

She didn’t realize she had grabbed onto a plant, an icy green bush, her fingers brushing over the soft leaves.

“Stachys byzantina,” she murmured.

“Interesting. See, I had to learn all of the scientific names,” Camille said behind her, startling Leila. “Sorry, I know this can be little overwhelming, come this way.”

Camille beckoned Leila to the center of the greenhouse, where the mosaic stone path led to a circular opening. A ring of young trees lined the perimeter and benches were scattered around. Camille stood in the middle beside a large clay pot filled with earth.

She could hear a fountain gurgling softly nearby.

Camille took a big breath, placing her hands on the lip of the vase as if to steady herself. 

“I’ve grown every plant, tree, shrub, and flower in here. I want you to add yours, I have seeds you can choose from…” She trailed off as she gestured to a stone bench at the edge of the circle where an open briefcase lay open, full of corked vials of seeds.

Leila broke into a grin as she practically ran to the briefcase. She gingerly started to pick up each vial, her hands shaking with excitement. They were unmarked but Leila found that she didn’t really need a label to get a feeling for what the seeds could be. Glimpses of petals and branches, fruits, and seasons filled her mind with the touch of each vial.

Her heart fluttered.

Potential.

That’s what she was holding.

Ever since she felt the first flurry of power spring from her hands she had been wanting to try her powers out again, in private. Without the spectacle of ceremony.

A couple of minutes passed while Leila picked her way through the trove of seeds. No doubt Camille had many more stored somewhere in her large mansion. She finally plucked a corked vial filled with dark red seeds. She frowned, looking around at the conservatory, the uniform arrangement.

It’s neatness. 

This won’t fit in one bit.

Clutching the vial, she turned and walked back to the vase where Camille stood at the clay gardening pot. She pulled the cork and shook out some of the seeds onto her open palm. Holding the seeds gave her a surge of energy, heat traveled through her body. She figured she could probably bloom the flowers in her palm but she tried to remain calm. Her hands shook in anticipation.

She looked back up to Camille and she nodded to her encouragingly.

With her other hand she scooped a small hole and placed the seeds inside, then covered them back up with the soil. She felt the soil, cool and moist, as she placed her palm on it.

Leila took a breath and fluttered her eyes closed. She allowed the heat that had built in her limbs, her cheeks, her heart, to flow down through her left hand and drain into the seeds.

For a few moments, all she could hear was sound of her heartbeat, the sounds of the greenhouse falling away.

Then her power flared and she opened her eyes and gasped.

Six green stalks sprouted from the soil around her hand. She raised her hand slowly, coaxing the plants to grow. She wasn’t sure how but she could feel each step like a recipe she was remembering. She stems grew taller and leaves shot out and reached outward. When hey had grown about a foot, buds appeared at the crest of the plant.

Blackest violet petals unfurled, shining velvet in the bright light of the greenhouse. Six obsidian iris germanica in full bloom, like six black holes in contrast to the harmonious colors of the rest of the plants. The magic left her a little lightheaded and trembling but the residual curls of magic in her veins yearned for more.

Leila couldn’t help herself, she laughed. A bubbling giggle as she touched the soft flowers, her doing. This realization rooted her in her place.

The crown of white flowers, the tree at the Induction, now the flowers here.

Mine. From my magic.

She had power, real power. As natural as the sun and as inevitable as rain. This was all hers, her duty and her blessing. 

She sniffed.

“I--” She started before her voice caught and two tears escaped down her cheeks.

Camille’s own eyes were rimmed with tears.

“I cried, too,” she said before enveloping Leila in a crushing hug.

* * *

Leila scarfed down the pasta, fettucine alfredo, within seconds. Cami-- Leila’d been reminded that she could call her that-- ate her pasta with a little more care, using both her fork and her knife with a pause between each bite to take a sip of her white wine.

They talked about the Induction and laughed over Cami’s descriptions of the other Vessels. Leila felt relieved at the normalcy of the meal, after the greenhouse.

Cami swallowed the last of her second glass. “Yes, yes, the redhead’s my best, best friend. You two’re going to get along so well.”

Leila snickered into her own water glass. Cami was much more bubbly when tipsy-- if that was even possible. Her accent started to sound less refined.

“I hope so,” Leila said. She vaguely remembered seeing the red-haired beauty, and she didn’t look to happy to be at the Induction. Though, she did dress for a party.

“Hmm, who else?” Cami asked. “You’ll meet the rest of the Junior Council in a couple of days, so I’ll skip them...You already met Martin…”

She got up from the kitchen island where they sat and went to the fridge to get another bottle of wine. Leila played with the last pasta noodles on her plate, the only survivors of her massacre. 

She tried to remember the faces of the of crowd at the temple, the other Vessels, but it was hard. There was so much going on, and every Vessel paled in the presence of an actual god. Leila had focused on the soft murmurings of Persephone, the unseen hand that had given her gift and completed the ritual at her Induction.

She remembered the hypnotic floral scent, the charged air, heavy and metallic. She remembered the molten orange glow of the setting sun slicing through the columns and the dark silhouette of the figure retreating--

“Cami, do you know the Vessel, um,” Leila paused to try and remember more. “I think I saw a Vessel but I don’t think I saw his face.” She didn’t actually know for sure if the figure was a he but she remembered the broad shoulders filling out a blazer and the arms stuffed into suit pockets as they walked away. And the sun rays cast him in a weird light, Leila swore to herself she saw a black glow around his head.

Like a dark crown. She shook her head. Wow, I’m really tired.

“But he had a nice body?” Cami waggled her eyebrows as she poured herself another glass.

Leila burst into surprised laughter and raised her hands in defense. “I can’t say. I only noticed him when he left the temple in the middle of the Induction, so maybe? Do you know who that is?”

Cami froze, mid pour. Leila noticed her frown into her wine glass like she was debating what she was going to say.

Cami immediately brightened. “Who knows? You know, I don’t even know every Vessel, there’s so many of us. So! Should I call Alicia to schedule dinner later this week?”

The uncomfortable silence had dragged only for only a moment but Leila bristled.

Cami is lying, she realized. This settled heavily in her stomach.

She opened her mouth to ask Cami why she lied when a trilling bell sounded from somewhere else in the house. A doorbell.

Leila looked at Cami in surprise and found the same look mirrored back at her.

If we aren’t expected anyone, who’s at the door?

[pridexjoy]

Tagged By: Myself??

Tagging: Whoever wants to steal it!

Whether it be melodies that give you inspiration for your muse or songs that get you into the writing mood — pick 10 songs you find to give you the urge, the drive, or the creativity to write for your muse — then tag your favorite peeps to get an insight on their musical inspirational feels.

Songs To Write Azurine To:

1) LA Devotee - Panic! At The Disco

You got two black eyes from loving too hard  /  And a black car that matches your blackest soul   /  I wouldn't change ya, oh  /  Wouldn't ever try to make you leave, no.

Drinking white wine in the blushing light  /  Just another LA Devotee.

2) Daddy’s Girl - Natalia Kills

I'll keep your secrets, I'll never tell,  /  You know I'll ride with you right through the fire of hell…  /  They got your number, but you're safe with me,  /  Even if they lock you up and throw away the key.

3) Now You Know - Icon For Hire

Did you really think that's how it works, I'm not fucking eye-candy  /  I'm here to do my job, I'll be the last man standing  /  Boys in crowd asking, for me to flash them, well here you go, news flash:  /  You're ignorant and that's that.

So let's not make it harder than it has to be  /  I'll keep making music, you stop asking me  /  "What's it like to be a girl in the entertainment world?"  /  'Cause now you know.

4) Everybody Hurts - Avril Lavigne

Everybody hurts some days  /  It's okay to be afraid  /  Everybody hurts  /  Everybody screams  /  Everybody feels this way  /  And it's okay.

5) What A Shame - Shinedown

I watched it all up close  /  I knew him more than most  /  I saw a side of him, he never showed.

What a shame, what a shame  /  To judge a life that you can't change.

There's a hard life for every silver spoon  /  There's a touch of grey for every shade of blue  /  That's the way that I see life  /  If there was nothing wrong  /  Then there'd be nothing right.

6) Family Is Family - Kacey Musgraves

Family is family, in church or in prison  /  You get what you get, and you don't get to pick 'em  /  They might smoke like chimneys, but give you their kidneys  /  Yeah, friends come in handy, but family is family.

7) Underage - Kelsea Ballerini

Racin' cars and breakin' hearts  /  First taste of love and twist off wine  /  Kissin' strangers, darin' danger  /  Burnin' bridges, crossin' lines  /  You don't think to take it slow, and you don't know what you don't know  /  The nights are young and our ID's are fake  /  Underage.

8) O.D.D. - Hey Violet

I'm a little O.D.D.  /  Most people really don't get me  /  I'm the girl in the back of the class  /�� Pink hair but I'm wearing all black  /  I'm a little O.D.D.  /  And I see the way they look at me  /  I can hear it when they talk that trash  /  Saying "Any minute she gon' crack".

9) Headphones - Britt Nicole

Anytime you feel alone, put on your headphones  /  Love, love's coming through your headphones.

10) Not Your Barbie Girl - Ava Max

Not your barbie girl, I'm livin' in my own world  /  I ain't plastic, call me classic.

I can take myself on a dinner date  /  Buy myself diamonds and the champagne.