#but i remember they were one of my lights in le darkness when i was struggling a lot

[forbiddcnsirvn]

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DEVILSERPENT: 

Five years. Half a decade. Sixty months. However you slice it, that’s how long Cyrek and I have been bound in this wild ride. The fucking audacity of us - two broken souls hitching their wagons to each other - is almost laughable. If you’re waiting for the sweet nothings and poetic drivel, you may want to hit the door right about now. Cyrek and I are not your garden variety, sickeningly saccharine, fairy-tale protagonists. Far from it. We’re at war against each other just as much as we love; there’s no grand castle with spires touching the sky, no enchanting serenades beneath balconies. Rather, we’re more akin to the shadows that creep out when the day fades away - a pair of misfits navigating the underbelly of life, perfectly content within our chaotic obscurity. Over the course of our relationship, we’ve traversed a veritable minefield. Losses that have reduced us to specters of our former selves, injuries leaving indelible marks on both flesh and psyche, and the harsh pangs of life, in general - dreams conceived and lost in the same cruel breath. Our journey has been anything but easy; we’ve crawled through the darkest tunnels, stumbling blindly, yet always feeling our way forward, together. We’ve helped each other to be the versions of ourselves.

Now Cyrek, that stubborn, yet undeniably irresistible arse, where do I even start? This one is a living, breathing paradox. Each day, he squares off against unseen opponents in the arena of his mind. Shite that could make the uninitiated squirm. Yet he stands tall, albeit a bit skewed, weathering the storms that batter him from within. He’s not the shining knight on a white horse; more like a war-weary soldier with tarnished chest, yet never hesitating to get back into the fray. The shadows he battles aren’t for the faint-hearted, yet he does. Every day. And here’s the part where I want to punch anyone who spouts that ‘just smile and be happy’ bullshit right in their cheery face. It’s not that easy. Not for him, not for any of us.

And yet - here’s the clincher - he’s the best damn father I could’ve asked for our kids. He’s not just dealing with his own demons, he will be teaching our kids how to duel with theirs, too. There’s no pretense, no false promises of ‘everything’s fine.’ He’s raw and real, and he’s showing our children that it’s okay to be human, to be flawed, to hurt, and to keep on fighting anyway. It isn’t a bed of roses. Hell, it’s more like a field of thorns with the occasional bloom. But those blooms are worth every scratch, every moment of pain. He’s taught me that beauty can be found in the most unexpected places, like the heart of a person who fights monsters and still tucks our kids into bed with a gentle smile and a story to make them dream of better things.

And I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I want more, in fact, I’d never want it to end. Here’s to our five years and more. I have loved you for so long, and undoubtedly, I always will.

Happy anniversary, sugar. @nxnbinarydracvla

[hedgehog-moss]

"rn I feel like reading about someone's quiet daily life, maybe a diary or letters, set in a place or context I don't know much about, without turmoil or tragedy" oh! do you have any recommendations for books like this?

This is one of my favourite types of books! Here are 30(ish) recs...

May Sarton's The House by the Sea or Plant Dreaming Deep

Gyrðir Elíasson's Suðurglugginn / La fenêtre au sud (not translated into English unfortunately!), also Bergsveinn Birgisson's Landslag er aldrei asnalegt / Du temps qu'il fait (exists in German too)

Gretel Ehrlich's The Solace of Open Spaces, which iirc was originally written as journal entries and letters before being adapted into a book

Kenneth White's House of Tides: Letters from Brittany and Other Lands of the West

Sei Shonagon's Pillow Book

The Diary of a Provincial Lady, E. M. Delafield

Growing Up with the Impressionists: The Diary of Julie Manet

Elizabeth and Her German Garden by Elizabeth von Arnim (do not read if you don't like flowers)

The Road Through Miyama by Leila Philip (I've mentioned it before, it feels like this gif)

The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, I keep recommending this one but it's so nice and I love snails

Epicurean Simplicity, Stephanie Mills

The Light in the Dark: A winter journal by Horatio Clare

The Letters of Rachel Henning

The letters of Tove Jansson, also The Summer Book and Fair Play

The diary of Sylvia Townsend Warner—here's an entry where she describes some big cats at the zoo. "Frank and forthcoming, flirtatious carnivores, [...] guttersnipishly loveable"

The Letters of Rachel Carson & Dorothy Freeman were very sweet and a little bit gay. I mostly remember from this long book I read years ago that Rachel Carson once described herself as "retiring into her shell like a periwinkle at low tide" and once apologised to Dorothy because she had run out of apple-themed stationery.

Jane Austen's letters (quoting the synopsis, "Wiser than her critics, who were disappointed that her correspondence dwelt on gossip and the minutiae of everyday living, Austen understood the importance of "Little Matters," of the emotional and material details of individual lives shared with friends and family")

Madame de Sévigné's letters because obviously, and from the same time period, the letters of the Princess Palatine, Louis XIV's sister-in-law. I read them a long time ago and mostly I remember that I enjoyed her priorities. There's a letter where she complains that she hasn't received the sausages she was promised, and then in the next paragraph, mentions the plot to assassinate the King of England and also, the Tartars are walking on Vienna currently.

Wait I found it:

R.C. Sherriff's The Fortnight in September (quoting the author, "I wanted to write about simple, uncomplicated people doing normal things")

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith

Pond, Claire-Louise Bennett

Rules for Visiting, Jessica Francis Kane

The following aren't or aren't yet available in English, though some have already been translated in 5-6 languages:

ツバキ文具店 / La papeterie Tsubaki by ito Ogawa

半島へ / La péninsule aux 24 saisons by Mayumi Inaba

Giù la piazza non c'è nessuno, Dolores Prato (for a slightly more conceptual take on the "someone's everyday life" theme—I remember it as quite Proustian in its meticulousness, a bit like Nous les filles by Marie Rouanet which is much shorter and more lighthearted but shows the same extreme attention to childhood details)

Journal d'un homme heureux, Philippe Delerm, my favourite thing about this book is that the goodreads commenter who gave it the lowest rating complained that Delerm misidentified a wine as a grenache when actually it's a cabernet sauvignon. Important review!

Un automne à Kyôto, Corinne Atlan (I find her writing style so lovely)

oh and 西の魔女が死んだ / L’été de la sorcière by Kaho Nashiki —such a little Ghibli film of a book. There's a goodreads review that points out that Japanese slice-of-life films and books have "a certain way of describing small, everyday actions in a soothing, flawless manner that can either wear you out, or make you look at the world with a temporary glaze of calm contentment and introspective understanding [...]"

I'd be happy to get recommendations in this 'genre' as well :)

[byechristopher]

⠀

I hate you, too.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO SMUT.

Author's note: okay so, I was listening to Les – Childish Gambino, and this idea came to mind because uhm, I love Chris, I love parties, I love angry, messy, toxic sex. So, sue me. I got carried away so, super long. Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: this, once again, is pure filth. Super long, didn't proof-read so fml, angry & rough sex, toxic sex, slapping, choking, semi-public. Just a mess. Minors dni!

The lights are so damn bright in here, I can see blue, red, purple, all kinds of colors, everywhere. Not that I'm really complaining, this place is so dark that I can barely see anything – only when the lights flash. I can see people everywhere, their silhouettes, dancing, kissing, drinking.

I quickly pour myself a drink, making sure I'm keeping it safe in my hand; I haven't been in a house party in ages. But I remember how messy they get, I know everyone will pass out at some point. I'm trying to search my friend group with my eyes but it is almost impossible – how big is this goddamn house?

"Hi! You made it!" a friend screams when she sees me and I smile. I try to greet everyone but my eyes meet someone's face that I really didn't want to see here. My ex.

"What is he doing here?" I groan, turning to glare at my friend.

"I'm sorry, babes, he literally just came. I texted you. He's friends with the host, Jake, I didn't know." she has an apologetic face and I check my phone to realise she did text me about it. Fucking hell.

I can feel his blue eyes on my body, burning it like daggers on fire. I try to avoid him as much as possible and the fact that he looks this good, doesn't make it very easy. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans and I can't help but steal a few glances. He's already looking at me. He's smirking.

Fucking asshole.

"Hi, pretty." he is next to me now, dangerously close to me, as I take a sip of my drink.

"What do you want, Chris?" I roll my eyes.

"That's not how you treat your ex." he scoffs, looking around playfully before looking at me again. I turn my head to look at him, too.

"Let's not open that topic here." I try to push him away, his body doesn't really move.

"I agree. Let's talk about the car sex we had a few days ago." he smiles and you would think he's talking about the most innocent thing. His hands still in his pockets, he looks cool and unfazed by my angry glare.

"Shut the fuck up, Chris. Don't you have anywhere else to go, anything else to do?" I yell. Now I'm facing him, my body turned towards him.

"I'd like to do you." he comes closer to my ear and I sigh, downing my drink before turning my back on him. I am afraid I won't be able to hold myself back this time either.

"Well, I don't."

"Yeah?" his chin is touching my shoulder and I can feel his jeans pressed against my butt, "so if I touched you now, you wouldn't be wet?" he hums.

I am not wet. I am dripping. But that doesn't mean anything, right.

"You're not allowed to touch me anyway." I dodge his fucking question.

"Well, you weren't saying that when you were pressed against the car door." he chuckles, "you're wet, then." he whispers but it's enough for me to hear.

"Not for you. Maybe for your friend, Jake." I smirk, knowing this will stop his attack. He's always been extremely jealous. So have I.

"Fuck you." he almost growls in my ear, but the smirk still stays on. He turns me around and as soon as he says that, one of our favourite songs starts to play. Les by Childish Gambino, "fuck you.. can I have this dance?"

I can't help but chuckle a little, which I try to hide immediately. The timing, the line he used from the song, this songs specifically, him. Fucking Chris.

I quickly grab him and drag him in the center of the room that we're in, he holds onto my hand tightly and brings me closer, pressing my back against his chest. We dance to the music, he's not moving much but I can tell he's enjoying the little show I put on for him. My butt is pressed against him then whole time and I can feel the bulge in his jeans. Good.

I turn around and continue to dance with him, my hands traveling to his back to grip his shirt and pull him as close as possible. The part in the song that we love the most comes on and he cups my cheeks, pressing his forehead against mine as he looks into my eyes. We're both singing the lyrics.

"Oh, girl, I wanna know, are you ready to cry? 'Cause I'm no good, no good.." his playful smile never leaves his face.

"Oh, girl, I wanna try, I'm an awful guy and I'm always away.." my lips curl up into a playful smirk as well, my hands sneak under his shirt and I dig my nails into his lower back.

"And I'm tryin' to say, I'm a piece of shit.." he stops singing and the next second, he's kissing me. I fucking hate myself for kissing him back as hungrily as I did.

He grabs my hand and makes me follow him – nothing else matters, as the song says. Only us. We practically run up the stairs and I see a wooden door, he seems like he knows this place. My friend did tell me he's friends with the host.

He opens the door and then locks it once we're inside the room. It's a bathroom, not very big and the light is so dim, I'm not sure if it is there to match the party's vibe or if this dude just doesn't like actual lighting in the house. We don't waste anytime – Chris picks me up and sets me down on the counter next to the sink, my dress rides up just enough for him to move closer, pushing my legs apart with his body. We can still hear the music from here.

I take his shirt off immediately, throwing it somewhere behind him before wrapping a finger around his chain, pulling him closer for yet another hungry kiss. He grabs the hem of the dress to push it up, my skin meeting the cold counter but it is soon replaced by Chris' large hands. He squeezes my butt, pushing me forward so that his bulge rubs against me. He sneaks a hand in between us, his fingers rubbing my soaked panties.

"Is this for Jake, hm?" he grabs my bottom lip in between his teeth, biting it roughly.

"Maybe." I moan, leaning forward to take his nipple in my mouth, flicking it with my tongue.

He moans, "why are you here then?" he puts pressure on my clothed pussy and let go of his nipple, throwing my head back.

"Fuck off." I groan, moving my hips so that I'm rubbing myself on his fingers.

"You're dying to have my dick inside of you." he whispers, chuckling.

"And you're dying to have me in any way you can." I push him away, jumping off the counter and quickly pulling his jeans down together with his Calvin Klein boxers, "isn't that why you keep following me around, hm?" spitting on my own hand, I grab his dick, rubbing up and down while staring into his eyes the whole time. They're filled with lust, anger, passion. He moans.

"Fuck off." he groans this time, his head falls on my shoulder as I jerk him off, both of his hands grab the counter on each side of me. He thrusts into my hand.

All of a sudden, he slaps my hand away and turns me around, making me press both of my hands on the mirror in front of us, pushing my lower back down so that I arch my back and spread my legs. His hands are on my breasts now, pushing my dress now so that they're free for him to see and touch. With one hand he pushes the dress up to reveal my ass as well, the dress now only covering my stomach and a small part of my back. I don't dare to move, I only watch him as he pulls my panties down – he spreads my ass and spits, not that he needed that, I'm already dripping.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" I groan, pushing my back against him.

"Beg for it." he slaps my ass a few times as he smirks.

"Chris, fucking hell. Fuck me already." I say but he's not pleased. He slaps my skin again and I groan, gently hitting the mirror out of frustration. His cock rubs against my clit and I lose it, "fucking.. Chris! Please, fuck me. I want you inside me." I whine. He smiles. Thank fuck.

He finally pushes inside of me and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I look at him in the reflection of the mirror. He pushes his cock all the way inside me and grabs my hair in a ponytail, wrapping it around his hand to push me back every time he thrusts in.

"Fuck.. fuck.." I moan, licking my fingers before dragging them down my body to rub my clit, always looking at him, as he fucks me roughly. My fingers touch his dick every now and then, it makes him moan a little louder. He leans forward to sink his teeth into the skin of my shoulder as he watches me cry out in both pain and pleasure – with his free hand, he grabs my hand that was rubbing my clit, bringing to his mouth to lick the juices off my fingers. I almost cum.

My breasts bounce with every movement, he thrusts into me and I push back against him. He pulls out of me and I curse under my breath. He turns me around and places me on the countertop again, wrapping an arm around my waist as he guides his dick so that he can start fucking me hard again. I grab a fistful of his hair, tugging it harshly when he pushes into me; it makes him lightly slap my cheek before wrapping his fingers around my neck, choking me. I gasp and slap him back, grabbing his throat with my hand, too.

"I fucking hate you." I moan, his eyes staring into mine.

"Yeah.. turns me on.. love it." he moans and smirks, and that's all it takes for me to come closer to my high.

"Chris.. Chris.. I'm gonna.." I whine and he lets go of my neck, hugging me close and pressing his forehead against mine as I let go of his neck as well.

"That's it, baby.. fuck.. will you cum for me? Hm?" he says and that's closest thing to affection that we showed tonight. I nod and moan loudly, holding onto him as tight as I can. I cum, trembling, and he does the exact same thing, moaning my name over and over again.

We stay like this for God knows how long – he's still inside of me and I almost pass out in his arms, his hand rubs my back soothingly.

"You okay?" he whispers, as if it was a crime to be affectionate with each other again. We used to be together after all.

"Yes.. you?" I whisper back, the feeling of not wanting to let go of him just yet comes back and I try to push it away as fast as I can.

"I am okay, yes." he mumbles and after letting me know, he slowly pulls out of me, earning a wince from me, "sorry." he mutters.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he says and I sigh. This is wrong.

"It's best if you don't." I whisper, looking at him and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes too.

"That's true." he nods and fixes my dress, pushing his boxers and pants up right after.

"I still hate you." I mutter. I don't want him to leave.

"Yeah." he wears his shirt, he grabs my chin and leaves a sweet kiss on my lips, "me too."

And with that, he leaves.

⠀

[justiceforvillains]

CALL ME M O N S T E R

➽ PAIRING : Vampire Hyunjin x Fem Reader

➽ SUMMARY : Vampire Hyunjin has lived hundreds of years alone, only leaving his castle when the thirst becames too unbearable, so what happened when a pretty faced broken human asks to be his blood pet?

➽ WARNINGS : Mention of Abuse, body bruises and injuries, implied starvation

[How it's like Living with Vampire Hyunjin]

Note : i Don't usually like Vampire AUs but JJAM Hyunjin did something to me

There was a big dark castle just outside of the kingdom no one dares to go there, everyone knew who was inside it or more like…what was inside, the monster hidden  inside away from their sight

The last time someone visited that castle was 10 years ago, and it was an army of men looking to take the monster down that was terrorizing the whole kingdom, however it ended up with the kingdom missing a whole army

A deal between the king and the monster was made that day, whenever he's hungry he will go and pick a random human from the kingdom and suck their blood, however he will only suck enough to feed his hunger and not to kill the human

He might be a monster but he does have morals, and he doesn't wish to kill someone unnecessary, so that leads him to now staring at the human who just entered his castle, he was confused only one human came?

Why would someone in their right mind visit his castle and at night at that?! were they looking for death? When the vampire took a closer look at the human he could see the torn worn out clothes, the messy hair, the bare dirty feet

He growled loudly and apparently that was enough to have the human heartbeat picking path, and falling on the marble floor whimpering loudly, the human was scared? Good he smiled maliciously it's been awhile since he last had fun

With one snap the light of the candles went out, and the human heartbeat was deliciously getting more and more louder, in a second he stood behind the human flicking the lights back on, you havn't noticed that the vampire moved behind you yet, too frozen in fear to notice

“You dare come to my castle human?” In a second there was a loud yell followed by backing up to the wall trying to get as far away from the monster as possible, Hyunjin smiled making it a point to show off his thin tall fangs, you kept staring at him in fear

“Are you just going to keep staring little one”  as if on cue the your eyes widened as if they remembered why they're here in the first place, you quickly got on your knees bowing deeply making you head touch the floor “ple-se m-y lo-o-ord” the human had manners good

He chuckled darkly “what are you here for?” The poor thing shook in fear as Hyunjin got closer but you didn't dare to move you just lifted you head up eyes glossing over “p-le-ase let m-me be your b-blood pet” now that took the vampire by surprise “what?”

you couldn't hold back anymore, your tears finally fell and Hyunjin doesn't usually care much about human tears, he was used to seeing their tears, but this time it was different the human Infront of him was not crying in fear like the others, they were crying in despair what an awful smell “I will p-proof I'm worthy please just try me”

Hyunjin's eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to you "You're willing to be my blood pet? That's a bold move, little one." He smiled, his fangs glinting in the dim light.

you nodded vigorously, your eyes brimming with tears. "I-I will do anything, p-please just Take me In"

“What makes you think I need one in the first place?” “You don't like visiting the kingdom, you h-hate how the people scream” That was true; he hated how much men and women would scream as soon as they saw him. “What's in it for you?” He raised his brow.

Who in their right mind would make an offer like that to a vampire? “I don't wa-anna go back there” “What's your name?” “Y/N, my lord” “Ok, little Y/N, I want you to get in the shower and scrub off all the dirt on your body” your eyes widened, does that mean he will take you in?

you looked around, oh yeah right; you didn't know where the bathroom is. “Follow me” Hyunjin wasn't actually going to let you stay in his castle forever; he would just suck you dry and kill you, morals or not. you did trespass on his property. and he does not appreciate that.

He opened the door waiting for you to go inside, and he stood there waiting. “So?” you looked at him confused with those round innocent-looking eyes. “S-so?” you managed to say back. Hyunjin chuckled. “Are you going to shower with clothes on?”

Realization hit you; he wanted you to strip right in front of him. you looked down, no backing down. Y/N, if you disobey his very first order, he will kick you out or even worse kill you. you did say you would do anythin...

You took a shaky breath, willing your shaky hands to move and take off your tattered shirt.

you didn't dare to look at the vampire; didn't dare to see the look in the vampire's eyes once he sees how your body looked like. Once you were just about to pull your pants off, you heard an angry growl. and a door slamming you freezes; fuck now you're dead.

he was gone he left you alone in the big fancy bathroom your legs gave out as you sobbed too scared to move too scared to even think what he will do with you next

“And they call me a fucking monster!”

Hyunjin didn't believe his eyes; he only asked the human to strip to see how far they would take it, what was their breaking point. but he did not expect to see the bruises, cuts, and degrading words engraved in the human's skin.

His blood boiled he knows he's a vampire he knows humans are usually smaller than him but you were too small too skinny TOO FUCKING DESPRATE

The fact that you would rather be a blood bank instead of living with your own kind made him Furios, he knows he shouldn't care but this whole thing was just unexpected

Now he fucking knows why this little human wanted to be his blood pet; why they wanted to leave that fucking hell hole and live with a vampire.

✦ Masterlist ✦

[How it's like Living with Vampire Hyunjin]

[anonymityisfunwriter]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader Summary: The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that you'll never be entrusted with. But your boy only breaks his favorite toy.

a.n. - day 3!!! i hope you guys are enjoying! anyway, how many tortured poets inspired fics do you guys think i have in the drafts? hint, too many.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Anon's Birthday Celebration

"Then maybe you're better off without me!"

No, you're not.

You're not.

You're not.

You fly up from the edge of your bed, doing everything to get him to see reason, to get him to see you, for once, "I never said that!"

"You didn't have to!" he booms.

Your hand reaches out to grip his bicep, but he wrenches his arm away.

And standing in your highest heels, in your best dress just for him, you chase after him, "I just want you to talk to me! I want you to not push me away!"

He snatches his tux jacket up, shrugging it over his shoulders, "I don't want to talk!"

"You don't want to talk or you don't want to talk to me?"

"Both!" The words are so casually cruel. He says it without pause, without remorse. He doesn't even notice the pained look that his words leave on your face like all the wind has left your lungs.

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing as she hears the argument echo through the walls of the Compound. "Oh, here we go again..."

The moment he whips open your door, you know what this night will look like.

You'll be his perfect doll, his trophy for the night. He'll smile, hold your hand, and won't speak more than a word to you the whole night.

He'll leave you wondering what went wrong, what you did wrong, what sent him spiraling into the abyss all over again.

And he'll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever went wrong.

"Steve!" You reach for his hand, but he drops your hand and keeps walking without so much as a second glance. "Steve!"

"Steve!"

He doesn't turn back around.

As you watch him walk downstairs, you feel a warm hand rest on your shoulder. "You okay?"

You nod, trying to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling down your cheeks. "He's just - in one of his moods, I guess."

"A mood?" Nat quirks an eyebrow. "That's the excuse?"

You suck in a breath. It's a shitty excuse. And it only sound worse with every time that you have to use it.

You sound like a broken record, a broken toy. You practically beg Natasha to pull the string for the latest excuse. "You know how he gets."

He only runs because he loves you...

"It's ironic that he always does this right before you've got to put on your best face in public."

You let out a long, deep sigh, "Nat..."

She raises her hands in surrender, "I'm just saying. You look amazing tonight, but tears don't go with the dress."

The urge to defend him bubbles within you.

It doesn't matter how much he breaks you, it's you he chooses to break.

You're his favorite toy.

He only runs because he loves you...

After a few moments to make sure the rivulets don't descend on your plastic smile, you go after him.

You find him seated in the car, sitting in the backseat like he knew you would give in and eventually follow after him.

It's all painfully silent. He stares out the car window, drowning in a darkness that you'll never get to see. You sit with your hands in your lap, the smooth silk of your dress crumpling under your fingers.

You hated nights like these. These galas were never fun for you. Still, you don't remember it being quite this hard.

As you step out in front of the flashing lights, Steve grips your waist, just enough to lay claim to you.

Because, in the end, you're still his favorite toy.

You roll back your shoulders. Your cherry lips pulled into a smile that you can only hope looks more genuine than it feels.

You can barely recall a time when your shining smile didn't feel so plastic. You were an Avenger. You were strong, independent. You stood tall and held your own. You were beloved in your own right - or at least, you used to be. Now, you were nothing more than the girlfriend to Captain America. Nothing more than his favorite toy.

You stand beside him in the line of reporters.

He refers to you often. He barely spares you a glance.

He presses loving kisses to the top of your head. He doesn't offer a single comforting word.

You've spent all night watching and waiting for the worst of his tortured heart to hit that you've barely noticed the night passing you by.

The reporter before you politely points the microphone at you. She smiles, tilting her head, "So what's it like?"

You blink at her, realizing that you've hardly been paying attention. You fix your distant smile with a chuckle, "What's what like?"

"What it like being the woman behind the man? Being the woman behind America's Golden Boy?"

"Oh..."

What is it like?

What's it like being queen of sandcastles that he destroys?

What it's like being his favorite toy?

The one he holds so tenderly, caresses with the most gentle of touches, only to be discarded and broken as he pleases?

You crack a smile, pretending to be coy. He hates it when you talk about him, about your relationship. He says he likes his privacy. He likes for it to be seen, not heard. But you think he means you.

You find yourself pulling the string, reminding yourself that he loves you. He only runs because he loves you.

You rest your hand on his chest, looking at him with all the adoration in the world, "I mean, he's - he's Captain America. What else it there to say? Like you said, he's America's Golden Boy."

You swear you can feel something break inside you. He's finally done it. His favorite toy is finally all smashed up.

You feel broken.

His favorite toy.

His broken toy.

He doesn't stay for the party, never does. It's a blur as he guides you back to the car with a hand on your hip.

The silence fills the car once again.

It's all silent as he calls the rain to end your days of wild once more. Back at the Compound. In your room. Watching as he stands before you. He means what he says, he doesn't want to talk, and he most certainly doesn't want to talk to you.

As you sit on the bed, watching as he methodically takes off each piece of his tux, he offers his first voluntary word of the night, "That camera guy was hitting on you."

A pang of joy flashes through your broken heart.

After all, your boy only breaks his favorite toy. You are his favorite toy. You always will be.

"I didn't notice. I was too busy worrying about you."

He rolls his eyes, "I told you to leave it alone."

And out of all the hearts he was offered, it was your tortured heart he stole. And one thing about Steve Rogers, he plays for keeps.

Your eyes snap up at him, examining those blue eyes that you feel in love with. "Why won't you ever just let me in?"

He refuses to hold your gaze, too afraid of what you might see. If he sees forever in your eyes, he'll smash it up.

The voices in his head are so much louder than you. And worst of all, you have no idea how to fight them off. The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that he'll never trust you with.

You know that. And in some ways, you've always known that. It's a give and take, a push and pull. And as long as he keep pushing, keeps taking, you'll pull him as close as you can, you'll hold him through any storm. What other choice did you have?

For the second time tonight, you pull the string yourself. He only runs because he loves you.

"You're better off anyway," he whispers.

But you're not.

You're not.

You're not...

Steve Rogers Masterlist Anon's Birthday Celebration Inspired by Taylor Swift Series

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[nalyra-dreaming]

I have a question because I don't remember what actually happened in the books, just what impression it left on me. But I keep seeing people talking about Armand and Lestat like it was this grand passionate MUTUAL love affair and I always saw it as pretty one-sided on Armand's side. Lestat came to love him eventually, but to me it was never passionate or romantic. More like the way you have love for someone who has been around most of your big life moments so that history creates connection and love. More of a platonic, familial type of thing. But then I just saw someone describe them as "feral for each other" and I'm confused. Am I remembering wrong? Or are people creating headcanons?

Wellllllllll.... It depends a bit on how you want to see it I guess.

I do think that Lestat is mightily attracted to Armand. And Armand to him. And in the "Cinderella scene" (I'll post it below), there is a lot of talk about love and desire.

But it also becomes clear through the scene that Armand is spell-binding Lestat, in order to (force-) feed on him. And thereby blows it - ultimately forever.

And against the far wall, a backdrop of satin and filigree, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, like something imagined, Armand. Armand. If there had been a summons, I never heard it. If there was a greeting, I didn't sense it now. He was merely looking at me, a radiant creature in jewels and scalloped lace. And it was Cinderella revealed at the ball, this vision, Sleeping Beauty opening her eyes under a mesh of cobwebs and wiping them all away with one sweep of her warm hand. The sheer pitch of incarnate beauty made me gasp. Yes, perfect mortal raiment, and yet he seemed all the more supernatural, his face too dazzling, his dark eyes fathomless and just for a split second glinting as if they were windows to the fires of hell. And when his voice came it was low and almost teasing, forcing me to concentrate to hear it: All night you've been searching for me, he said, and here I am, waiting for you. I have been waiting for you all along. I think I sensed even then, as I stood unable to look away, that never in my years of wandering this earth would I ever have such a rich revelation of the true horror that we are. Heartbreakingly innocent he seemed in the midst of the crowd.

Yet I saw crypts when I looked at him, and I heard the beat of the kettledrums. I saw torchlit fields where I had never been, heard vague incantations, felt the heat of raging fires on my face. And they didn't come out of him, these visions. Rather I drew them out on my own. Yet never had Nicolas, mortal or immortal, been so alluring. Never had Gabrielle held me so in thrall. Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but the shadow of this. And it seemed in a murmuring pulse of thought he gave me to know that I had been very foolish to think it would not be so. Who can love us, you and I, as we can love each other, he whispered and it seemed his lips actually moved. Others looked at him. I saw them drifting with a ludicrous slowness; I saw their eyes pass over him, I saw the light fall on him at a rich new angle as he lowered his head. I was moving towards him. It seemed he raised his right hand and beckoned and then he didn't, and he had turned and I saw the figure of a young boy ahead of me, with narrow waist and straight shoulders and high firm calves under silk stockings, a boy who turned as he opened a door and beckoned again. A mad thought came to me. I was moving after him, and it seemed that none of the other things had happened. There was no crypt under les Innocents, and he had not been that ancient fearful fiend. We were somehow safe. We were the sum of our desires and this was saving us, and the vast untasted horror of my own immortality did not lie before me, and we were navigating calm seas with familiar beacons, and it was time to be in each other's arms. A dark room surrounded us, private, cold. The noise of the ball was far away. He was heated with the blood he'd drunk and I could hear the strong force of his heart.

He drew me closer to him, and beyond the high windows there flashed the passing lights of the carriages, with dim incessant sounds that spoke of safety and comfort, and all the things that Paris was. I had never died. The world was beginning again. I put out my arms and felt his heart against me, and calling out to my Nicolas, I tried to warn him, to tell him we were all of us doomed. Our life was slipping inch by inch from us, and seeing the apple trees in the orchard, drenched in green sunlight, I felt I would go mad. "No, no, my dearest one, " he was whispering, "nothing but peace and sweetness and your arms in mine. "

"You know it was the damnedest luck! " I whispered suddenly. "I am an unwilling devil. I cry like some vagrant child. I want to go home. " Yes, yes, his lips tasted like blood, but it was not human blood. It was that elixir that Magnus had given me, and I felt myself recoil. I could get away this time. I had another chance. The wheel had turned full round. I was crying out that I wouldn't drink; I wouldn't, and then I felt the two hot shafts driven hard through my neck and down to my soul. I couldn't move. It was coming as it had come that night, the rapture, a thousandfold what it was when I held mortals in my arms. And I knew what he was doing! He was feeding upon me! He was draining me. And going down on my knees, I felt myself held by him, the blood pouring out of me with a monstrous volition I couldn't stop.

"Devil! " I tried to scream. I forced the word up and up until it broke from my lips and the paralysis broke from my limbs. "Devil! " I roared again and I caught him in his swoon and hurled him backwards to the floor.

Now, Lestat fights Armand off after this, but I think this is what a lot of the passion stems from - and also the reason why it will never come to pass.

Because Lestat does desire Armand. But Armand forced him, just after Magnus forced him. And that ended it, before it could really start, until time changed it into a more gentle love.

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 2 - Le premier bonheur du jour

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: What happened while you were blackout drunk? What is your actual job on the crew? Why is there a lion on this pirate ship? These questions and more are left unanswered as you stumble your way through your first day on Captain Buggy's crew.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse

Word Count: 6.8k

“The first delight of the day Is a ribbon of sunlight It's the fresh breath of the sea And it’s the beach that awaits The first sorrow of the day Is the door that closes shut But soon after you come back And my life resumes its course."

x

Waking up, all you knew was that you were cold. Freezing, really, shivering so hard that you felt your bones tremble. It was because you weren’t dressed properly. You never slept in your underwear. You forced your bleary eye open and looked off the side of the bed, spotting your bag haphazardly abandoned alongside your boots and bandana. Bracing yourself for the chilly air, you pulled the blanket along like a cape to grab your bag, quickly retreating. Even that small movement left your head spinning painfully, a headache pounding twice into your skull, once at the base and again at the left temple. At least all of your clothes were clean, even if they had been mushed into a wrinkled ball. Moving as fast as possible you put on leggings and a sweater, tugging your fingers through your hair before pulling the bandana over your eye. After that, you huddled back under the blanket, staring at nothing and waiting for the shivers to stop. 

Between the headache and the cold, the only thing you wanted was to go back to sleep. That was the best way to deal with pain, or chills, or hunger, or whatever else you felt. If you were asleep, those things became automatic, you didn’t have to deal with them. 

You were halfway under when somebody knocked. 

At first, you hoped it was in your head. A dream. They knocked again, louder, calling your name. That was the thing to wake up the part of your mind that had been sleeping so soundly, that made you realize how wrong the situation was. 

Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You had slept in a bed that did not belong to you, wearing nothing except your underwear, in a room you had never seen before. The bed itself was set into the wall and hung with thick, velvety curtains. Windows lined the far wall, but they were covered enough to let in only the barest amount of light with more curtains and a familiar Jolly Roger, one with a red clown nose. After you recognized that, everything else fit into place. The desk littered with shiny clutter, the red and white theming, the odd mixture of grunge and opulence. You were on a ship. 

The person knocked again. Growing nervous, you threw off the blankets and pulled on your boots, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You had to cross through an anteroom to get to the door. It exchanged a desk and bed for couches, but was fundamentally the same. The air was cold. You opened enough so you could peer through the crack. Crina stood there, looking impatient. 

“So you are alive,” she said, giving you a once over with smokey dark eyes. “Barely.”

You opened the door a little further, blinking against the light. “What time is it?” you asked, your voice hoarse. 

“Nearly noon. Some ships were spotted so we had to leave earlier than expected, I’m surprised you slept through it all.”

You blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Everything was blurry, bleary, a puzzle with a picture so worn you couldn’t make sense of it. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Crina asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I… I guess…” you said, confused. You remembered the drinking, and talking, and laughing, but the specifics were lost in a blurry whirl. “What time is it?” 

Crina rolled her eyes. “Okay, come on. You shouldn’t be in there.” She didn’t wait to see if you complied before turning around. You followed, stumbling a bit before getting your balance and shutting the door behind you. “Those were the captain’s quarters, and these are the officer’s rooms,” she said as you passed a few more doors. 

“That was Captain Buggy’s room?” you asked, your brain chugging to play catch up. The headache was awful. 

She shot you a frown over her shoulder. “You don’t remember?” 

“No.”

She shook her head, although you couldn’t see her expression. “We’re going down to the officer’s mess. Careful on the ladder.” 

She turned from the narrow hall to an equally narrow drop of steps, easily descending. Dizzy and a little sick, you didn’t match her grace, but you managed to avoid falling. 

With your recollection of the ships you had been on when you were young, you expected the officer’s mess to be fitted with elegant yet utilitarian finishings. Modest, but not so much that it forgot civilization. And, in another life, perhaps it had been. Now it was a pirate vessel, and they did what pirates always did. Various props lined the walls, batons and boxes and fabric and wheels and all kinds of other things. Red and white striped banners hung across support beams as if to mimic a big top tent. Signs of age and destruction were everywhere, indication of the tumultuous seizure, but it had once been a fine vessel. Crina didn’t pause to let you gawk, indifferent to the decor as she led you to another narrow hall and turned. You got an odd sense of deja vu there, pausing. 

“Are we going to the infirmary?” you asked, steadying yourself against the wall. 

“Yes,” Crina said as she unlocked the door. “You’ve sailed before?” 

“When I was young,” you said. “My dad was-” You cut yourself off there, realizing that the end of that statement wasn’t something you should reveal. Marines were the enemies of pirates. It wouldn’t look very good if you suddenly revealed that you were the daughter of a Marine Captain, retired or not. “That was a long time ago.” 

“I see,” she responded impassively, opening the door for you.  

The smell hit you hard, like a brick to the face. Scent formed a sort of endless memory, one so ingrained into your mind that you didn’t know exactly where it came from, that you couldn’t remember independently but never forgot. Your body locked up, arrested by the familiarity. Perhaps it was what every ship infirmary smelled of, even masked with the sweet aroma of incense and smoke.

“What are you doing?” Crina asked. 

You shook your head quickly, holding your breath as you hurried in. It wasn’t like it was actually the same. The room looked far more like a place of mysticism than medicine, with a rainbow of glass bottles lining the far wall, herbs hanging to dry, and scarfs draped to hide the stark wall. It wasn’t even slightly the same. Slowly, you released your held breath. It was fine. 

“Sit,” Crina told you, shutting the door and immediately busying herself at the sideboard. You sat down on the table-like bed set into the wall, your shoulders and head immediately drooping. The surface was hard, meant for surgery rather than sleeping, but you didn’t care. With the weight of your head, you would have happily drooped down onto the floor. “Have you ever been drunk before last night?” 

“No.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“Tired,” you answered. “My head really hurts.” 

“Of course it does, you’re dehydrated,” she said, pouring water into a tin cup. The sound alone perked you up, made your parched tongue that much more dry. She added a spoon of powder before turning and offering it to you.

“Thank you,” you said, taking the cup. You intended to take it slow, but the second you got a taste of water, you couldn’t stop until it was gone.

“That’s two times,” Crina said when you were done and wiping your lips. “Two times that I could have poisoned you.” 

You frowned, looking down at the cup and back up at her. “That was medicine, wasn’t it? Like before.” 

“It’s already in your body, it doesn’t matter if you know what it was.” 

You averted your gaze, flushing. “I’m sorry.” 

Crina didn’t respond to that, approaching you instead. “How’s the bump on your head?” 

“It’s fine,” you said reflexively. It hurt, of course. It would hurt for a while. 

“May I check?” Crina asked. You hesitated, but eventually nodded, turning to give her access. The second she prodded the sore spot, you yelped, tears springing into your eye. “Ice will help with the pain and swelling.” She paused, smoothing your hair back into place. “Did you and Buggy have sex last night?”

“What?” you asked, whirling around. The quick movement did not help your sore head, sending little sparks of pain down your spine, your left temple thumping in protest. 

“You slept in his bed after a night alone on the ship, it’s not an unreasonable question. Everybody will assume, but I’m asking you. Did you and Buggy have sex.” 

“No!” you said, blushing furiously. “No. Captain Buggy wouldn’t… I can’t… There’s no way.”

“Earlier, you didn’t even know it was his bed. Could something have happened and you don’t remember?” Crina asked, her tone softening. You stared at her, stricken, your heart racing with sheer panic. “I’ll ask you another question—Is there any chance that you could get pregnant?”

“No,” you said, rubbing your face to hide the blush, feeling a little sick. Surely you would remember if something happened between the two of you. You didn’t even remember how you got into his bed. What you remembered was the warmth, and the saccharine sweet desire, and… Nothing. “He wouldn’t… do that. I wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not here to judge you,” Crina said. “And I don’t want to embarass you. Do you remember when I warned you about consequences? This is one. Sex is fine, but if you get pregnant, you either get rid of it, or he gets rid of you. It’s better to avoid pregnancy in the first place—safer too. I can help you with that.” 

She let that hang in the small room, waiting for your response. You had none, unable to so much as look at her. The thought of having sex was enough to make you wish the world itself would open up and swallow you whole. More than that, it was absurd to think that any man, let alone Captain Buggy, would bother with a one-eyed midget. It was disgusting to even entertain the notion. You were disgusting. 

Eventually, Crina sighed. “When you need contraception, tell me. You have to look after yourself, god knows that no man will. But that’s all I’ll say on the subject. Do you want more water?” 

You opened your eye. She held out the jug like it was a peace offering, which you accepted after a moment. There was no added powder this time. You wouldn’t have cared anyway, you emptied nearly half the cup before your sloshing stomach uneasily warned you to stop. 

“Those bruises on your wrists are impressive,” Crina said. “May I take a look at them?”

You winced, fixing your sleeve to cover the discoloring and wrapping your hands around the cup to keep them from shaking. “They’re fine.” 

“They look painful,” Crina said, leaning against the sideboard with her arms crossed, fixing you with a stare you didn’t like. It hadn’t been a question, but her silence made you want to answer. 

“I’m fine,” you insisted. She still said nothing, just looking at you. It made you squirm uncomfortably, the table creaking. “I was sick a lot when I was little,” you explained. “I’m better now, but I still bruise easily and… It’s fine, my dad says it’s normal.” He said it was expected for a child, especially a girl, to be a little more breakable. You were weak. Frail. That was why you got hurt so often, got hurt by things that shouldn’t have hurt you. 

“He says that it’s normal for you to have bruises? Did he tell you that broken bones and fat lips are normal too?”

“No… No, that was all my fault,” you said. “Because I’m not careful, I don’t ever think about how weak I am—because I was sick.” 

“What kind of sickness was it?” Crina asked.

You shook your head quickly. “I-I don’t know.” 

“What were your symptoms?”

“I was… sick.” 

“Dizziness, headaches, fatigue, chills, anything like that?” 

“I don't… Maybe. Some of those are because of the accident too.” You touched your bandana, tugging it down to ensure it was covering as much of the scar as possible.

“So you still have symptoms?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” you told her, flustered by the relentless questions. “I’m fine.”

“Why did that man, Randall, claim you were mentally unwell?” 

“I’m not,” you said, shaking your head, searching for the right answer, the one that she wanted. “He only thinks that because my dad… My dad worries about me. After everything that happened, he worries a lot.”

“Is that why you ran away?” 

You shook your head, staring down at your lap. Crying now was embarrassing, you focused your entire self on fighting the sting of tears in your eye. Trying to cover it up, you adjusted the bandana again, desperately forcing your thoughts onto something, anything else. 

“If it were up to me, I would not have medically cleared you to be here,” Crina said. “Asking you to perform any physical labor is out of the question, and you’re frail. It is more than likely that you’ll suffer severe injury by the end of the year.”

“I’m not weak anymore,” you said through clenched teeth, soft enough that she couldn’t hear that you were crying. “I’m okay, really. I’ll get stronger.”

“You can’t fix stunted development,” Crina told you. “But it’s not up to me. I’ll do what I can to help you as long as the captain insists upon keeping you around.”   

Your shoulders heaved with a dry, pathetic sob. 

“Finish that water and we’ll go to the galley to see about getting something to eat,” Crina told you. “Cry now, if you need to. After that, you’re going to have to be someone else’s problem for a while.” 

Crina’s medicine and some food had helped you feel better. The headache remained, a stinging, painful reminder of the past night, but you ignored that as you emerged onto the main deck. Sunlight blinded you and the wind whipped your hair into an unruly mess, the oppressively humid salty ocean air staggeringly familiar. Not all memories were bad. Really, some were good. Since your dad was a surgeon, he was allowed to bring you along to help. Fetching things, bringing meals, cleaning up, running messages, helping tend to the wounded. Back then, you were his sweet little girl.

You shook your head clear of those thoughts, squinting through the sunlight to look around. You were looking for Cabaji, Captain Buggy’s Chief of Staff. A man with green striped dark hair and a blue checkered scarf and, according to her, a sour expression. From the description, you would have thought he’d stand out, but it seemed like Buggy’s entire crew could be described with equally colorful traits. Most of them were busy with some task or another. Those who noticed you watched with expressions ranging from unimpressed to hostile. To your great relief, you didn’t see the blunt-featured Ivo anywhere.   

Assuming you would find the man by the quarter deck, you headed in that direction, trying very hard to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Strangely, your unassuming sweater and leggings made you the odd one out instead of helping you blend in. Eyes made your skin crawl as you passed. Did they all think you had slept with the captain? Crina’s words bothered you. They bothered you a lot. But if the two of you had done something, there would be evidence. More than just a missing dress. 

Hesitating at the steps, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate to approach the quarter deck without invitation, you stalled out. People were still looking at you, likely wondering what you were doing. You didn’t know either. There, caught in a cycle of anxious uncertainty, someone passed right by you. At first, it didn’t register, but then you blinked and turned. Dark hair, checkered scarf. 

You rushed to follow him, relieved. 

“Excuse me,” you called. Nothing, although the deck was terribly noisy. You had to rush to keep up. “Excuse me, sir?” 

Nothing. He was walking so fast too, with a grace and balance you couldn’t hope to match. 

“Excuse me!” you called, reaching out to touch his arm. Your hand missed the first time, catching air. The second attempt connected, and that finally got a reaction, albeit a slightly violent one. You pulled back, narrowly avoiding his elbow. He turned around, searching at eye level before looking down at you. “You’re Cabaji?” you asked. 

“I am,” he said. 

“Um… I’m-” 

“I know who you are,” he said, cutting you off. “We met last night when you were boarding the ship.”

“Really?” you asked, taken aback. The entire previous day was blurry. Except where it wasn’t, but you couldn’t think about that. “I’m sorry I don’t… remember.” 

His eyes narrowed. “What do you need?” 

“I was hoping to talk to you. If you’re not busy, sir.” 

“I am,” he said, clearly irritated.

“Oh. Right. Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked. “I’m not busy.” 

Cabaji looked at you critically. “Do you know where the kitchen is?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Go down and pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch then wait for me on the bridge. I have to take care of something first. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded, eager to have something to do. “I’ll be quick.”

“Just don’t mess it up.” 

With that, he turned and stalked away. 

Having a task reinvigorated you. You probably drew just as many eyes, but now it didn’t matter as much. How many times had you been tasked to serve meals when you sailed with your dad? Countless. It was something you could do, a way you could contribute. 

Descending back down into the dark belly of the beast, you had to be careful. Last time you were on a ship, you had both eyes. Although you had gotten used to it in so many ways, you had even been able to scale the southside buildings, the sea required a different type of balance. 

“Back for more?” The cook asked when he saw you, his round cheeks ruddy from working in such a small, hot space. “I haven’t got any scraps, you’ll have to beg somewhere else.” 

“Cabaji asked me to pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch,” you told him, unsure if you should be offended by the comment. 

He looked you up and down, his mouth twisting. It was the same look Cabaji had given you, even similar to the way Buggy had sized you up. Nobody lingered on your bandana like the people in town, far more concerned with your size. “If you drop it,” he told you, grabbing a silver tray to put into your hands, “I’ll be frying up your skinny rump instead.” 

“I won’t, I promise,” you said. 

“When the captain’s done, you bring that back to me. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better hurry then.”

With a final awkward nod, you made your way back up, extra careful with the tray. It was already getting easier to find your balance. You didn’t care if anybody was watching you as you crossed the main deck, all of your attention on not dropping the tray. If you messed up your first task as a part of Buggy’s crew, you’d be better off tossing yourself into the water. 

Unfortunately, Cabaji wasn’t on the quarter deck. The door into what you assumed would be the navigation and office was closed, but that was probably where Buggy would be dining. 

Standing there quickly became awkward, the sun piercingly bright and the tray getting heavier and heavier. You looked around for Cabaji a final time before going into the map room. It was empty, but on the other side of the sliding doors, you heard voices. Cautiously, you circled the large center table, intending to knock. The map, however, drew your attention. You knew it. You had seen it before. Your town was a burgeoning center of trade traffic, and so new routes needed to be mapped for merchant vessels to facilitate that growth. As a retired Marine, dad was always willing to help out with that sort of thing. He was well connected. Respected.  

One of the pirates had stolen the map right out of your own home. 

Before you could figure out how to feel about that, the door into the captain’s office slid open. You jumped, nearly dropping the tray as you turned around. A man with a white fur vest stopped at the threshold, his eyes immediately narrowing.

“Who are you?” he asked, his tone unnervingly accusatory.

“I… Um…” 

“Well, well, would you look at that,” Buggy called. You looked around the man to see Captain Buggy at the other side of the office, sitting behind a big desk with his feet up on its top. “She’s standing and everything, I’m impressed. After how wasted you got last night, I thought you’d be out for the whole day.”

“I brought your lunch, sir,” you said faintly, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s about time,” Buggy said. “I’m starving. Bring that over here.” You entered his office, nervously skirting around the man who was still glaring at you. 

Just as you set the tray on Buggy’s desk, avoiding meeting his eye, the other door opened. You looked over your shoulder to see a very displeased Cabaji come in. 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” Cabaji said as he crossed the map room. “I told her to wait for me out there.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was meaning to get you two in here anyway. Mohji, Cabaji, this is my new cabin boy—er, girl. Woman?” Buggy looked at you inquisitively. “How old are you?” He shrugged it off just as quickly, taking the top off of the tray. “Whatever. I had one, but that didn’t work out. An artist of my caliber doesn’t need a spineless yes-man to run my errands, I need a protégé that I can mold into something really special. I knew you were just the girl from the minute I saw you… Wait, no… No, I knew it from the moment you said that you would happily serve me for the rest of your life.” He grinned, cutting off a chunk of meat. “Yeah, that was it.”

You shuffled awkwardly, trying very hard to avoid looking at any of the men. It was true, but when he said it like that, it took on a far different tone. They had to be drawing the worst conclusions. 

“So, you two,” Buggy continued, talking at Cabaji and Mohji through a mouthful of food, “make it clear to everyone that she’s a part of the crew. I don’t want to hear shit about special treatment or whatever. Except for, you know, if anybody messes with her I’ll feed ‘em to the lion. Maybe that’ll perk him up, eh Mohji?” 

“Yes, sir,” Mohji said.

“Great,” Buggy said. “Cabaji, you can take the afternoon to show her the ropes. Make sure she’s up to snuff.”

“What about crew inspection?” Cabaji asked. 

“I’ll be here to help Captain Buggy with that. Your presence isn’t necessary,” Mohji said, looking at Cabaji with what you thought was a hint of animosity.

“I don’t need either of you to judge talent, that’s my business,” Buggy said irritably.

Neither man responded to that, but Buggy’s annoyance dissipated quickly.

“One last thing. Be careful with her,” Buggy said with a wink, his mood shifting yet again. “Don’t get fooled by the whole one-eyed innocent thing, she’s a real freak.”

“Understood,” Cabaji said, deadpan. 

“Great. Now get out of here. She starts tonight.” 

“Yes, sir,” Cabaji said, grabbing your elbow and pushing you in front of him so he could basically herd you out of the room, past the uncomfortably familiar map, and back into the sunlight. 

He shut the door and pulled you to the side, shooting it a wary glance before looking back at you. “Next time,” he said, “do what I tell you. I don’t care about whatever relationship you think you have with Captain Buggy, you will follow the orders that are given to you.” The implied or else was obvious from his intense stare. Part of you wondered what the or else would be, although the other part didn’t want to know. 

“I understand,” you said, bowing your head. “I’m sorry, sir. And I don’t… Captain Buggy and I don’t have any kind of relationship. Last night, we didn’t do… Didn’t do anything. I swear.” 

“That’s not my business,” Cabaji said. 

“I really mean it,” you muttered, although you could tell he didn’t believe you, and you thought about what Crina said, and waking up in your underwear, and you felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with a hangover. 

“We should get started,” Cabaji said, ignoring your weak objection. You swallowed hard and nodded. You had a job now, you needed to focus on that.

The first thing you learned about being a pirate was that you had next to no idea what you were doing. There were hundreds of things you needed to learn simply about living on the ship before you could begin learning your job, whatever that entailed. The biggest problem was how quickly you wore out. Cabaji was accustomed to being on a ship and athletic, you were neither. Having such a bad headache didn’t help. As the afternoon passed, Crina’s medicine wore off. If it were only the one hammering your temple, you could handle it, but the lump on the back of your head pulsed with every heartbeat, sending fresh sparks of pain down your spine every time you moved your head. 

Like a wind-up doll slowly running down, you fell behind. It was only a matter of time before you collapsed, his voice fading out and the world blackening on the edges. You didn’t do something as dramatic as fall, but you distantly felt your legs fold beneath you, too rubbery to support you anymore. 

“What are you doing?” Cabaji asked, stopping. 

“‘m fine,” you said automatically, your voice faint. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just need a second.”  

“Are you sick?” 

“No, jus’ dizzy,” you said, trying to get your bearings.

Cabaji knelt in front of you, tilting your head up with a hand beneath your chin. Your eye spun, his face blurring.   

“Let’s take a break,” he said, dropping your chin and standing up. 

You might have protested, but the truth was that you very badly needed a break. It was embarrassing, but it would be worse to pass out. So you accepted Cabaji’s help getting your feet, the world blackening on the edges. Fortunately, the officer’s mess wasn’t a long walk, and you gratefully dropped into one of the chairs. Cabaji sat opposite you, his dark gaze unwavering. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but his stoic intensity made you squirm. 

“I’m really sorry, sir,” you said. “This won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” Cabaji told you. “There are things we should discuss. About your role on this ship, and about your duty to the captain.” 

That made you bristle, but you forced yourself to relax. He was your senior officer, this conversation was necessary. “Okay.” 

“Captain Buggy is a very unique man. He demands a lot of his crew, especially those who serve him directly. As his Chief of Staff, it is my responsibility to ensure you’re able to meet those demands. Your failure would reflect very poorly on me.”

“I won’t fail,” you told him sincerely, if a little defensively. “I promise. I-I know what a cabin boy does. I’ve sailed before, sir.”

Cabaji leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes narrowing at you like you were stupid. “Were you listening to what he said? Captain Buggy didn’t hire you to be his gopher or attendant. He gave you an official job to acknowledge you as a member of the crew so the others don’t mess with you, that’s it.” 

“Oh, um,” you said slowly, frowning, “maybe I misunderstood. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“We all know why you’re actually here,” Cabaji told you. “I’ll teach you how to perform basic duties, but your only concern is serving Captain Buggy. You will provide him with whatever he wants—will do anything he asks of you. You do not tell him no, or question his judgment.”

There was an implication bubbling beneath his directions that made you skin crawl, thinking again of what Crina said before, but you forced yourself to ignore it. Cabaji said earlier that it wasn’t his business, and it wasn’t. 

“I understand, sir,” you told him instead. “I really do.”

Cabaji’s demeanor softened slightly, his head tilting to the side. “No, you don’t. I’ve known people like you. Children who grew up on the streets, or malnourished ship slaves. Small. Frail. Weak.” He spoke bluntly, though without malice. “Add in your lack of skill and experience, and you’ve got no idea what you’re in for.” He sighed, leaning back. “I’ll do what I can to help you. As I said, your failure would inevitably become mine as well.”

“I won’t fail,” you muttered softly, staring at your knees, your headache hammering at the back of your skull, down your spine. 

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

When you thought about being on a ship, it was with the experience you had on Marine vessels. Strict order, stricter schedules, and militant discipline. What you didn’t think about was exiting the hatch from the lower deck to see a circle of pirates loosely gathered around a nearly empty spot in the middle of the deck. Nearly empty, except for a lone man beneath a makeshift spotlight. Music crackled out of a speaker, providing him a beat to follow for his routine. It looked like a dance, although not one you had ever seen.

“What’s going on?” you asked Cabaji as he came up behind you.

“Crew inspection,” he told you. “These are the new recruits.” 

You watched the man for a moment before your eyes strayed past the spotlight. Captain Buggy wasn’t hard to find. He leaned against the railing with crossed arms, his dark silhouette cutting through the sunset. Although his scowl was only barely visible, tense displeasure underscored every aspect of his posture. 

Following the flourishing swell in the music, the pirate ran from one corner of the emptied area, using his momentum to do a flip. To you, it was one of the most impressive things you had ever seen, but he landed wrong. A sharp intake of breath rippled over the gathered crew as he stumbled, unable to save it and falling down onto one knee. 

“Stop,” Buggy said, pushing away from the railing, waving his hand to stop the music. “Just stop. I’ve seen more than enough.” 

The pirate got to his feet, his head bowed in deference as Buggy approached him. 

“Was that a joke?” Buggy asked. The man didn’t respond. Without the music, a very loud hush had settled over the entire deck, even the flapping sails and creaking wood quieting down in the face of Buggy’s temper. “You’re all in on it, right? Because if you performed like this in front of an audience, the only thing they would do is laugh.”

The pirate muttered something you couldn’t hear. Buggy leaned in with wide eyes to listen.

“You’re hungry?” he repeated. The man spoke again and Buggy nodded sympathetically, his anger suddenly gone. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you were hungry.” He grabbed the man by the shoulder, smiling. “You shoulda said something sooner.” 

Without any warning, he struck the man in the stomach, using the grip on his shoulder to push him to the side. 

“How about some food for thought,” Buggy said, raising his voice as he strolled into the center of the impromptu stage. “I hired you, all of you, because I need talent worthy of my show. That’s what you signed up for. So where is that talent? All I’ve seen today is shit so bad it’s stinking up the deck. I oughta let every single one of you good for nothing nobodies starve until you can give me something—anything—that I can work with.” 

Everybody in the circle shuffled uncomfortably, most of them bowing their heads rather than meet Buggy’s eyes as he looked at each one in turn. 

“We’re done here, go get some grub,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll try this again after you’ve had time to reflect on your failure.” With that, Buggy stalked out of the circle towards the quarter deck.   

“Go get the captain’s supper,” Cabaji told you. “Bring it to his office.” 

“Oh, um. Yes, sir,” you said, nodding.

Cabaji left to follow the captain, and you joined the flow of people going down. It was a solemn group, full of stormy expressions and whispered dissent. You felt a bit of that yourself. Captain Buggy seemed amused by your lack of talent last night, but would that hold? You didn’t have any unique skills, and especially not anything even approaching as impressive as the acrobat from earlier. The only answer that came to mind was Crina and Cabaji’s sickening assumptions. But if that was true, Buggy would have said something. 

It had to be more simple than any of that. He wanted somebody who would be loyal, obedient, and could perform the boring quality of life tasks that captains were too busy for. You just had to prove that you really were the best person for that role. 

Food was already being served to crew members who were not among the new recruits, taken from the kitchen to the mess by other younger pirates. Nobody paid you any mind while you nervously hovered, unsure if you were meant to wait in line or not. You didn’t want to keep Buggy waiting, but you didn’t want to cut in front of anybody and draw attention to yourself. Your indecision was ended by the ruddy-faced cook recognizing you from earlier, giving you the captain’s tray without any further comment. Your skin crawled with the weight of the eyes that tracked you, watching you quickly take the tray and hurry out of the kitchen. 

Working against the flow of people was more difficult than following it, and you had to stop twice to catch your breath, the dizziness from earlier returning. 

The main deck had returned to something like normalcy when you returned. The spotlight had been exchanged for lanterns and crew members had returned to their duties. By now the sun had fallen very low, casting the ship in a smoky haze of near dark. You crossed the deck with your head down, watching your feet to make sure you didn’t trip on anything. 

There were no lights in the map room, just an illuminated line between the doors into Buggy’s office. As you got closer, you could hear Cabaji’s low, calm voice. You had taken too long, and you were a little winded, and Buggy was already unhappy, and part of you wanted to stay in the dark until you could calm your breathing and think of a good reason for making him wait. Instead, you knocked. 

“Come in,” Buggy called, and you opened the door, blinking as you entered his well-lit office. “Took you long enough.” 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, hurrying to his desk to set down the tray. 

You half expected him to berate you, but he only rolled his eyes, looking back to Cabaji. “You were saying?” 

“Once we seize another ship, we can remain in that area. Those waters are thick with smaller supply vessels and that-” 

“Boring,” Buggy said, cutting him off with a loud enough voice to make you wince as you pulled the lid off the tray. “All of this. It’s all completely uninspired. I’m not gonna drum up any buzz by doing the same tired act as everybody else. People don’t give a shit about small fry supply vessels and shithole villages in the middle of nowhere. You know what makes people pay attention? Giving them something they’ve never seen before. Artistic vision—does anybody else on the ship understand that?” 

Cabaji didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You knew the flint-like look in Buggy’s eyes, in the tone of his raised voice. Any response could be the steel to start a fire.  You didn’t dare draw any attention to yourself, trying to remain as small as possible in the tense silence. A silence that was broken by the door opening loudly. Mohji walked in without knocking, a leatherbound book under his arm. He seemed to realize that he was interrupting something too late, nervously looking from Cabaji to Buggy. 

“I’m sorry to-”

“Did you get what I asked?” Buggy cut in brusquely, his mood shifting yet again to business. 

“Of course, Captain Buggy,” Mohji said. You took that as your cue to leave, passing Mohji with your head down to catch the door from fully closing. 

When you raised your eye to watch where you were going in the dark map room, a pair of eyes reflected back at you. It took a second for your brain to process that what you were seeing was real, but then you yelped in fear, stumbling back into the office and landing hard on your butt. 

“What was that?” Buggy asked from the other side of the room, amused.

“There’s… something in there,” you said, scrambling to get to your feet. “An animal.” 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Buggy said, nonplussed. “Why’d you let him in there? Everything’s gonna smell like wet dog.” 

“Richie doesn’t stink,” Mohji said. Realizing how his clipped tone might come across, he lowered his head respectfully. “Captain.”

“That was a dog?” you asked. 

“A lion,” Mohji corrected.

“A lion?” you repeated, your voice thin. 

“He won’t hurt you,” Mohji said dismissively. 

You nodded as though you understood. Even Cabaji looked more exasperated than concerned. They made it seem like it was no big deal, like lions weren’t terrifying wild animals that you would never want to meet without a set of bars between you. Even if circuses generally had animal acts, allowing one of them to wander around freely couldn’t have been safe. 

“Don’t look so scared,” Buggy said. “Not even Richie would bother trying to eat you. Not nearly enough meat.” 

That was obviously your prompt to leave. Between the embarrassment of staying out of fear and getting eaten by a lion, you decided that the second was at least more dignified. Still, you could feel the cold sweat on the back of your neck when you slipped out of his office and into the dark room. Hidden in shadow, the only thing you could really make out about the creature was its size. How could it even live on the ship? 

Slowly, you circled the table opposite where Richie laid, keeping your eye on him to ensure he didn’t move. You were nearly to the door when you heard the lion growl. Jumping in fear, you stumbled the last few steps to wrench the door open with shaking hands, practically slamming it shut out of terror that the beast would follow. 

Several seconds of silence from within convinced you that you were safe, scurrying away with only a few backwards glances to ensure you weren’t being followed. 

When you reached the bottom of the steps on the main deck, you stopped to breathe. Maybe from wearing yourself out physically, and definitely from being afraid, your head ached with an agonizing pulse, as if the pain were generating a heartbeat of its own. All at once, an overwhelming sense of alienation froze you inside. You were surrounded by strangers, stuck on an unfamiliar ship, there was a lion on the loose, and your only tether to a life you weren’t physically cut out for was a man you barely knew. And the day wasn’t even over. 

The wave of exhaustion that rolled over you at the thought of all you had left to do was almost enough to knock you over.

Squeezing your eye shut and rubbing your temple, you forced all of those thoughts away. It didn’t matter if nothing made sense, or if you were making a mistake, or that you were afraid, or that you were in pain. Those things never mattered, not when you had things to do. During all those dark months after the accident, that’s what dad said. Submitting yourself to service was the best way to deal with unwanted feelings, to express your grief in a way that could benefit others, and therefore be a salve to your wounded heart. 

All that mattered now was proving your own worth to Captain Buggy through service. You could do that. 

[swee7dream]

i love ur works sm 😭😭 they always make me feel so safe 🥲🥲 esp the chenle ones like hellooooo 🫨🫨💓 (my way of discretely requesting more cg!chenle 😥)

letting go cg!zhong chenle x f!regressor!reader

genre agere content, established relationship, comfort, slice of life warnings petnames ( doll, baby ), nonsexual usage of ‘daddy’, indirect mentions of half-regression dni if you sexualize age regression . i WILL shoot you in between the eyes ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა wc 1574

summary you find yourself traveling down memory lane at the airport . ( can be read as a loose prequel to whatever you want ! )

le 🏀: i’m gonna be hanging out with the guys for a bit. text me when you’re flight lands princess 👑: *your le 🏀: will i ever be good enough for you

You chuckle as you lock your phone, placing it back in your bag.

The harsh lights overhead make the TSA line look like a hospital; like it’s the final safety check-in before you can move on to the afterlife. You look down at the charm hanging from your bag, trying to distract yourself from the sudden and unexpectedly dark thought that popped into your head.

The green material of your Hangyodon plush feels soft under your fingers, and focusing on it lets you ground yourself. You remember how much you cried when you lost your original keychain, a My Melody plush with a little pink dress on. You were inconsolable for days, Chenle thought that you had experienced the loss of a loved one before he finally asked.

“Lost Melo…”

“Melo?”

“My dolly, Daddy. The one on my bag…”

Honestly, Chenle never even landed eyes on that keychain plush. He had no reason to look at your bag for longer than 5 seconds. He knew it existed but had it in a far corner of his mind most of the time. He feels like it would be better to tell you when you’re Big rather than Little that all he’s ever focused on is you, not your bag. Big you would curl up into a ball and shy away, pushing his shoulder bashedly but Little you would begin to frown, poking and prodding wondering how he could ever say he loves you if he doesn’t love ‘Melo’ like you do.

“Do you remember where you left it?” he asked, crouched on the floor as you lay across the couch with your bag to your chest.

“Think… the mall?”

Chenle pulled a face at the mental image of the tiny plush within the huge building but tried calling the lost and found anyway.

With his bottom to the floor, back to the couch, Chenle held his phone up to his ear in one hand while the other caressed the back of your own hand as you continued to hold your bag like a lifeline.

The dreaded, expected news came out of the speaker of his phone, loud enough for you to have also heard thanks to the lack of distance between you two. Chenle felt as you began to shiver and shake like a Coke bottle full of Mentos.

“Stole it…!” you sniffled. “Someone stole her.”

“Hey, no.” Chenle tugged at your bag for you to show your face, eyes growing red already. “No one stole her. She probably slipped off. Maybe Melo just wanted to see more of the world.”

“So, Melo abandoned me?!”

Nice move, Zhong.

“No, Babygirl. No! That’s not what I’m saying at all, I don’t think,” he backtracked. “What I’m trying to say is: how long have you had Melo?”

“I dunno...” you mumbled.

“Was it before you had Daddy?”

“…yeah.”

“Then maybe-” he twisted himself in a way that let you meet eye to eye. “Maybe she felt that could go on a little trip. ‘cause she knew that you would be taken care of now that I’m here.”

“…”

“Melo didn’t abandon you, doll. She still loves you so much. Like this much.” He holds up his arms, opening his chest as wide as he can to get as much distance between his hands as possible. “But just between you and me, Melo and I had a little chat. She said she wants to explore the world! Her plan is to explore the world from the bags of cute little girls like you, and then hitch another ride once she’s maxed out their Melo-meter!”

“Millimeter?”

“Melo-meter.” Chenle repeated, finally deciding to turn fully to you with his lower back poking at him for help. “You know how Daddy has to go to work every day?”

“Every. Day.” You grumble.

“I know. It’s not fun for me either, doll. But Melo has a job to do too. She’s in charge of helping lonely little girls be brave in the big wild world out there. She made you feel safe, yeah? Like you’re not alone?”

“Mhm…” You nod.

“Every time you get a little bit of more confidence, Melo’s Melo-meter gets fuller. That shows that her mission of making you feel braver is succeeding! You’re so brave now, Melo’s gotta go help out another shy baby like you once were.”

“Am braver?”

Chenle’s eyes grow wide, his head vibrating in shock that you can’t tell is playful, genuine, or both.

“You don’t see it, baby? You’re super brave. Look, today you lost an important friend you had for a long time and sure, you felt sad, that’s normal, but you didn’t cry. You didn’t cry at the mall or even when you came home. Do you think you could’ve done that before?”

You tried to think back, but your memory when Little is so short that even yesterday’s breakfast is a hazy memory. You felt your Big self tickle your ear, whispering a forgotten memory back to life. The feelings of empathy you have for your past self ghost along your skin.

“Mmm, don’t think so.”

“That’s okay, though. Because now you can and I’m so so proud of you for it, doll.” Chenle gave you a goofy grin. “Kiss?”

“Kiss.” You allow, pulling your keychain-less bag away from your face and turning your cheek for your caregiver to peck warmly.

“It’s time to let go now, baby.” He grabs your hand and squeezes it for only a second. “Wanna say bye bye to Melo?”

“Mmm, yeah.” You lay your back flat back on the couch and sigh contentedly. “Thank you, Melo.”

“Thank you, Melo. Thank you for helping my babygirl be so brave on her own. I’ll try and keep her as safe as you did.” Chenle speaks up, beyond the ceilings and clouds and into the nebula, wherever Melo’s next mission was destined to be.

“But Daddy, I don’t like being alone.” You roll back to your side, cheek squished against the cushion. 

“I don’t like you being alone either.” He dropped his eyes down to you. “But we can’t avoid it, doll. On the bright side, it’s not like it was before. You’re not going to be alone in one place to be still alone in another. You could come to me, or I could come to you. Doesn’t that make those little transtitionary periods where we’re alone feel a lot better? To know I’m waiting for you. Always.”

“I’m always waiting for you too,” you replied. “…I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he hummed.

“Daddy, don’t.” You frowned, annoyed that your monologue was interrupted.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry. Go ahead, baby.”

“I’m not 'fraid of being alone. ‘cause I know that they’re just teeny tiny moments to reach the finish line to where I know the people I love are.”

“Like me.”

“…Yeah, I guess, you.” Your eyes drifted away, intrigued by the corner of your ceiling all of a sudden.

“Hey- You know wh-” Chenle’s fingers attacked your sides, making squeals and laughter erupt out of you as you failed to squirm like a worm out of his tickling torture.

“This isn’t a replacement for Melo,” Chenle warned, holding up the blue-green keychain plush in his hand. “it’s just a little fidget doll. And maybe a reminder that I’ll always be waiting for you.”

“Chenle, this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” You take it from his hand, dangling it on your finger as you hold it up. “What is it even supposed to be?”

“Hello? I just said the most sweetest, kindest, thing in the world and you have the audacity to say it’s ugly?”

“What is it?”

“It’s-!” He gestures at it vaguely, then licks his lips. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it is. Listen, if you hate it, then give it back.”

“No!” You pull it away from his outstretched hand. “It’s mine. You gave it to me. No take-backs.”

“Kiss?”

“Ew, no. I’m all gross from work.” You scrunch your face, turning away from Chenle. “Later, though. Yes. All the kisses you want.” Your hands got busy trying to hang your new gift on the bag you packed for your flight the next day.

“What about a thank you kiss? Now?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, trying to get within your eyesight once more.

“Thank you, Chenle.” You pushed his chest away with your pointer finger once the Hangyodon doll officially clung to your bag. “Move. I need to shower.”

“Just one!”

“Quit following me!”

Your phone buzzed on the way to your gate. You figured you looked ridiculous unzipping your bag across your chest while trying to keep walking, but you couldn’t find it within you to care about the possible looks of onlookers. You would have in the past, but that was before Chenle, before Melo.

Your screen displayed a message notification from your boyfriend. Your eyes rolled on their own at his clinginess, but your fingers already were moving to read it.

le 🏀: can you hurry up princess 👑: i don’t control the plane chenle le 🏀: WHY NOT le 🏀: COME HOME FASTER I MISS YOU le 🏀: i'm holding my breath until your back le 🏀: if you even care princess 👑: *you're

a/n hello ! it's vix ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ thank you so much for the requests lately ! they really make me feel that the work i pour so much effort is being received well and loved, motivating me to work harder ! i hope this is an enjoyable read as well ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡ hopefully the next release is the non-agere spidermark fic i've been working for the past couple months.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // Female Narrator

Part Five

After a blinding light eradicates mankind, you're left in a desolate and empty world. A year of solitude eliminates all belief that anyone else was left behind. Until a chance encounter on the side of the road. Jake is injured and fighting for his life, but his presence brings a renewed sense of hope. Touch starved and lonely, you need him. And undoubtedly, he needs you too.

"It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

Explicit sexual content Sex (penetrative & oral) /Foreplay /Blood / Injury / Hunting. / Intense emotions / Death.

Day 469 ~ Jake

The house sat at the top of a steep incline, up a winding driveway that had begun to be reclaimed by nature. Cracks in the cement where little shrubs had started to grow and leaves that were never blown away. Neglected and abandoned.

It reminded me a little of Josh's house. With pristine edges and white walls, coveted by obscure works of art. Book shelves that were gathering dust and kitchen utensils left out on the surfaces as if the owners had just stepped out of the room.

Amelia seemed to know where she was going. "I found this place a couple of months after I moved into Grandma's cabin."

She led me down a narrow corridor, flanked by a bank of full length windows overlooking a sweeping back yard that was shrouded by trees. Photo's of the family who once lived there sitting on the wall opposite, happy faces forever immortalised for no one else to ever see.

"I hit every house within a 10 mile radius. Looking for supplies, anything that I could use. Food, toiletries. And I was about to leave when I noticed this..."

She stopped at the end of the corridor, leaning against a nondescript door. Her face sincere as she ran hands up my arms, coming to rest around my shoulders.

"We have to take whatever joy we can find in this world." She said, "And if we're lucky, we'll take back some of the joys we had before."

I'd known nothing but joy since I'd almost died. There wasn't a single moment I'd had with her that hadn't made me question whether I would take any of it back to have the world filled with every other person I'd ever loved again.

It was something I'd wrestled with. The notion that I could happily exist in a world I'd come to hate simply because she was in it with me. I was thinking about Josh again when she opened the door, simply because I'd been reminded of him. And the certainty within which I knew I wouldn't take any of it back, even if it meant having him back, drew a conflict within the likes of which I'd never known before.

But it was all for nothing. As I stepped into the room she'd been eager to show me, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I loved her enough to never want the old world back.

"Amelia..." I gasped. "What in the...fuck."

Mounted on an oak panelled wall were an array of vintage guitars. A brazilian board 1959 Gibson Les Paul. Shining in the last rays of the afternoon sun. I reached out and touched it, trembling as my fingers remembered what it felt like to know strings. A custom Fender strat in dark red with a black mottled pattern that looked like spilled paint if you looked too closely. A plain red stratocaster and an acoustic Martin dreadnought with a mahogany neck.

"I know that you said you didn't play anymore. Not without your brothers. But I think you should play again. For them. To them. And maybe somehow, I don't know how insane it might be, but maybe they'll hear you. Wherever they are..."

She was nervous. Biting her lip and wringing her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. Anticipating that I'd reject the sweetness of her idea, of this perfect gift.

"You brought me here because you knew that I would love it, didn't you?" I asked, although it wasn't really a question.

"Is that so bad?" She replied, opening her arms as if I would somehow be mad at her.

The room was decked out with framed vinyls. Some were so old I'd never seen them before. There were a few more guitars leaned up against the opposite wall and a beaten up drum kit in the window. It looked as if it had been played to death, with the cymbals hanging off and the kick drum looked as if one more pound on it would tear it right in half.

"It's not bad at all, why would you think that?" I pulled her into me, her little body slotting into my embrace like it had always meant to be there. "Just because I said I didn't play anymore doesn't mean I wouldn't love this."

She rested her head against my shoulder. Let me sway her back and forth a little. Everything was so eerily quiet. Up here the wind howled a little more than it did around the cabin. It sounded like ghosts were singing to us, begging me to pick up one of those fine old ladies.

"Maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I just wanted to hear you for myself." She looked up at me, resting her lips on my jawline.

"Plenty have paid for the privilege." I replied, "What will you pay me for a private show?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I saved your life. This is you paying me, sweet thing."

She laughed and buried her face into my neck, kissing me there and holding me tight around my waist. Familiar and wholesome. Like she hadn't tried to push me away at all in the beginning.

She was the most incredible woman I had ever known. Her fears were like shadows now, she had this uncanny ability to turn them into her most beloved passions. Once she had been afraid to love me. And now, the ways in which she loved me were making me feel unworthy of it.

"Sometimes I don't think you realise how much you saved me." I told her, casting my eye on the acoustic. "Not just from that car wreck. But from a life of misery."

Of course I would play for her. If not her, then nobody. She made herself comfortable on a shaggy looking bean bag, folding herself into it and resting her head against her curled fist as she regarded me. I pulled the mahogany acoustic down from the wall, not wanting to tend to wires and amps just yet.

I considered coming up with something on the fly, but it had been so long since I had tinkered with strings that my mind began to wander so far away I couldn't make them work. I strummed a little, hearing the notes play out and something weird happened. I thought I'd never feel this ever again, this visceral wave that washed over me to the point of almost growing hard as I felt the back of the guitar against my groin.

Her eyes widened. She wasn't prepared.

"How does it make you feel, to have an audience again?" She asked softly, seductively.

The strings needed tuning a little. I turned the keys at the top of the neck, plucking out chords until they sounded pitch perfect.

"Sexy." I replied, "I always felt sexy whenever I went out on stage. They made me feel sexy. Kinda the same way you are now. Knowing they want to fuck you every time you play for them."

I didn't realise how much I missed the adrenaline. The feral cries of a crowd. Their voices rising in unison. Lights and screaming and the feeling that I might ascend with their love. I'd been someone in my life before. I'd known what it felt like to open my eyes and know I was doing something I loved completely. I hadn't felt like this in what felt like a life time.

"This is who you are, Jake." She uttered, sliding her hand down the curve of her hips. "You can't run from who you are forever."

I felt as if I didn't deserve her. For all she had done for me, for how incredible she was. There was no crowd that could ever compare to the way I felt in that moment playing for her.

"I can't sing our songs like Josh could." I confessed, "I'd be a poor imitation. But I'll try."

I couldn't hold the same power with my voice that my brother could. The part of me that had promised never to play again still sat in the shadows whispering to me that it would never be the same. But louder than that was Amelia's face watching me strum out the first chords of a song that meant everything to me.

"What's it called?" She asked.

Day 469 ~ Amelia

I knew he would love it. I'd all but forgotten about the little music room at the back of the big house on the corner of the road that led into Lafayette. It had meant nothing to me the first time I'd ventured in there. There was nothing in there that was of any use to me.

But today, it was like seeing the sun peek out from a grey cloud. I'd gone from doing everything in my power to ensure that he was never necessary to me, to doing everything in my power just to see him smile.

"It's called Broken Bells." He replied, "Josh used to say that it was about seeing that when things sometimes feel broken most of the time they're just lessons sent to help us see that everything will be alright in the end. I really wish he could be here to see that he was so fucking right."

What would I have done if he hadn't felt the same? I could feel myself dying a little inside at the melancholy way he played. His face expressing his grief. He played so hauntingly beautifully, in a way I hadn't really been prepared for. He closed his eyes and didn't even need to look at the way his fingers moved across the strings. He knew them, and they responded to him so lovingly. Almost as if they were an entity all of their own, able to come when he called.

If he hadn't have loved me in return I'd have been driven mad by it. Every rational bone in my body broken if I'd been forced to live beside him unrequited. I began to understand how lucky and fortunate I was as he began to sing. That he and I were somehow fated. And it wasn't just a coincidence that he was driving past me that day. He was creation and I was necessity. He'd made music for a world that needed to hear it and I'd treated them when they were sick. And for some unfathomable reason, we'd been left behind to exist together in this empty world.

But empty didn't have to mean broken. There was nothing but love in the world again. Nothing but this painful song that made tears spill from my eyes as I watched him and listened. What if this song was the only one being played? And the only one being listened to? I had hope that if anyone else had been left behind that they had somehow managed to find each other and find love within it.

"That was...beautiful." I sobbed, laughing at myself for crying at it.

He put down the guitar and came to me. Launching himself into the bean bag, the scrunchy sound of tiny styrofoam balls moving around as he wiggled into the space beside me.

"It always got an emotional reaction whenever we played it." He sighed, trailing soft palms down the side of my face. "It felt like people resonated with our songs for all different kinds of reasons. But with Broken Bells it always felt we were all on the same page. All of us feeling the same thing at the same time."

How could I have ever doubted him? This beautiful man with his beautiful music?

"I was just thinking, while you were playing it, that I hoped that somewhere out there that other people were listening to songs for the first time. That they'd found each other and found love, even in a world seemingly broken." I countered, feeling the heat of that familiar rush when I knew he was about to make love to me.

"If they aren't, then we have to love for all of those who can't." He said, trailing kisses down my jaw line.

Sometimes it felt silly. The things we said to each other. Things in the dead of night. In the cold light of day. In the middle of the afternoon when he was at his most sleepy, when he would linger in the kitchen looking to score a bowl of stew or soup before curling up on the couch with a book before he would fall asleep.

Even now, I could feel him nuzzle in. Our bodies entwined on the bean bag lazily tracing his thumb over my nipple as he sucked the flesh on my neck into perfect little shapes of his mouth.

"So, you really do like it?" I checked, just wanting to hear him say it one more time.

"Oh, yeah." He yawned, "That Les Paul is coming home with us for sure. And maybe I'll come back for the Strat, too."

I was wearing the black yoga pants I saved for hiking. The ones that I wore to collect fire wood. To muck out the horses and clear out the chicken coop. I never felt particularly sexy in them, or desirable. It felt almost like we'd become accustomed to seeing each other in our most desolate states.

But when he slipped them down around the curve of my ass and hitched me around so I was facing away from him, I was glad that I'd worn them. The way he pressed his hard on into my back and continued to roll my nipple around between his fingers as he breathed harder into my ear was the blessing I'd needed to know that I'd done the right thing.

We were both tired from the hike. Our bodies crying out for rest. The afternoon sun began to slip away, making room for cloud and darkness. I was acutely aware that there was no power in this house. No electricity. No running water. No heat. It was in my mind to interrupt his ministrations with these facts, but as his hand slipped below, coming up into my entrance from behind, I lost all manner of speech.

"You gonna let me thank you properly?" He asked, slaking two fingers inside me slowly. "Be my good girl and let me show you how much I love you?"

I was in no mood to protest. I watched the light outside fade as he ran stripes up my slit and into my clit. Whispering obscenities and freeing himself one handedly as he played with me. Letting his cock rest between his stomach and the curve of my ass, leaking a little against our flesh.

"Can you feel it?" He breathed, "How much I love you?"

It was all I could feel. There was no house. No darkness. No eerie silence as the wind rushed through the trees. Howling like there was someone out there to hear it. Only Jakes breath, the bean bag as it shuffled beneath us, and the sound of my untamed scream as he penetrated me.

He didn't try to quieten me. Buffeting my wild moans with deep thrusts that came like chasms to break me in half. Each time he bottomed out, he savoured it. Taking the briefest of moments to feel me clenched around him before pulling back slowly. The need to fuck and the need to sleep battling it out for supremacy.

"Pretty fucking grateful, aren't you?" I replied, leaning my head back into his waiting mouth.

When he was like this, all in need and eager to satisfy any way that he could, I often thought back to how it had been that first time. On the ground in the mud, knees caked in it and the earth beating in time with us. And how in the time since, we'd leisurely made love on the kitchen floor some mornings. In the shower, just stroking each other to pass the time. Him, on top of me, in the bed we now shared. And me, arms around the trunk of a tree whilst he fucked me from behind out in the woods even though it was still a little cold out there.

"For this pussy? Always." He purred into my ear, like he was serenading me.

I knew that I'd never tire of it. The way he felt inside me. The way he fit so perfectly. I never felt so full, like something had been made just for me. He wasn't just rhythm and blues, he was equipped to make me quiver with the mere mention that he might take me right there and then.

I'd lament it later on. How all my lovers before him had been lacking. How I'd swiped left and right, attended blind dates and settled when I shouldn't have. For men that couldn't make me cum or men who couldn't text me back.

"Mmmmm..." I murmured softly, arching against his quickening pace. "It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

The gentle laughter that expelled from his mouth against the shell of my ear was like summer rain. Teasing my senses, touch taste and scent. His hair was sweat drenched at his temples, as it often was when he fucked me, and I could taste the salt of it in his kiss.

"She speaks so highly of me." He breathed, "Now let her know no other man will ever have her..."

He would claim me. Over and over again. Even when there was no other to counter his claim. I let his hand wrap around my throat, edging me to the distance it would take to push me over the edge of the world. Thrusting into me so hard my entire body shook. I knew the bean bag had ripped at some point, sending the tiny little white foam balls scattered across the room. But I didn't care.

I'd keep finding them in strange places for weeks afterwards. As he rolled me onto the floor and continued to pound me, vicious and unrelenting. He'd never silenced my mewling cries before, content to let them ring out into the ether.

But not this time. It was like his gratitude couldn't be satisfied until he could hear the one sound he desired. His body raged on top of mine, our clothes half on and half off. His sweaty palm came to rest over my open mouth. Muffling my cries to a dull humm. His eyes silently pleading with me to let them die. And to just listen...

"Hush." He encouraged, resting his mouth against the back of his hand as he continued.

There it was. Against the backdrop of the breeze outside. The sound of how wet I was. His cock hitting my satiated pussy. Moist flesh against moist flesh. The most inconceivable feeling washed over me. This man, the only man that ever was, wanted to silence my mouth only to better hear the sound of my pussy being fucked.

And the drop of his eyelids as he listened had me in another state of being. Half closed and fucked with desire for the way it slipped in and out, wet and completely his.

"Thankyou, my love." He whispered, before he allowed himself to cum.

I was never certain if it was for the music, or the way I let him fuck me. I didn't really care. I let my own orgasm rise moments later, the two of us breathless and spent on the gutted belly of that old bean bag.

Day 470 ~ Amelia

We hunkered down for the night. Choosing to make our way back at first light, gathering all the blankets we could find and sleeping on the couches that were, quite simply, more luxurious than any couch we could have gotten in the cabin.

Jake took the one opposite me, falling asleep first. His gentle snores lulling me into my own dreams. It felt like no time had passed at all before my eyes sprang open, the red of morning creeping in.

I rubbed my eyes and stretched. Taking a moment to recall where I was. This place was eerie, even in daylight. And I wished that there were something, anything...that would remind me that people had once lived here. The ticking of a clock, perhaps. Or the grass being cut outside. I could have laid there a little longer, still tired and drowsy, but I was eager to be gone.

I kicked off the blankets and expected Jake to be laying there, ever the one to wake up last, but my heart fell into my stomach at the sight of the empty couch. Blankets still left precisely where he had kicked them off.

"Jake?!" I called, expecting his voice to filter down the hall from the music room.

Silence.

"Jake?!" I called again, pulling on my pants and shoes as I made my way through the house.

I expected to find him gathering up all the instruments he wanted to take. Agonising over which ones to take now and which ones to come back for. But there was nothing but the aftermath of what we'd done. And all the guitars were accounted for.

"Jake, this isn't funny." I cried, checking behind the curtains like a child playing hide and seek. "Jake, I'm being serious now!!!"

Panic began to rise in my chest. My heart soaring, making me dizzy as I flew through the house. Room after room coming up empty.

"Jake!!!" I screamed, running now. "Jake please!!!"

Had I ever given myself permission to imagine this, I would have driven myself mad. That one day he would simply vanish, like everyone else had, and truly I would have walked to my death in that moment. I had no desire to live in a world void of the man I loved.

"JACOB!!!" My voice broke on his name as I fell out of the door and into the back yard. "PLEASE!!!!"

I fell to my knees on gravel. Crying. Racking sobs expelled from me as I took fists full of tiny pebbles that cut into my flesh as I squeezed. I felt as if I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight, all the horror of him disappearing coursing through my veins as tears spilled down my flushed cheeks.

"Jake, I can't do this...you have to come back..." I begged, broken and beyond redemption.

In a matter of moments I'd gone from waking up, to screaming on my knees. I'd have thought it a nightmare had I not already endured one. The reality of this feeling was one I knew. Only this time, intensified by a love that had known no bounds. I could live in an empty world before I'd ever known him.

Not anymore.

To be Continued...

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@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

[ash-and-starlight]

Books of 2023

the list nobody asked for <3

My reading habits had gone a bit stagnant in the past couple of years so this year i made the effort to engage in reading again and wow books really are good!! who would have thought! Sharing this year's book log with the small reviews i did while reading yeah i am That kind of list lover if u feel like being nosy, (and maybe even help mi crowdsource reading recs based on my likes 👀🤲?)

The left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin Ursula i Need to know your thoughts on omegaver- [gunshot] THAT ASIDE yeah. mrs Le Guin you've done it again. I can see why everyone got their brain chemistry altered by this book.

The Membranes - Chi Ta-Wei another brain chemistry altering book. would love to discuss it with a gender studies major lmao

Satanic Verses - Salman Rushdie its a v atmospheric and poignant story, I know I would have loved it more if I was familiar with the rich religious/cultural background it draws from

The Masquerade Series - Seth Dickinson Crazy insane in the membrane about this series. one of the most compelling worldbuildings I've ever seen, and most importantly it features one of the most crazy wet pathetic scrunkly meow meow protagonists i've ever had the pleasure of reading about.

Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides i liked the writing style of this book a lot! idk how well it holds up re: intersexuality topic, but its a very engaging read.

Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers: Monstrosity, Patriarchy, and the Fear of Female Power - Jude Ellison, Sady Doyle The title says it all honestly, its a beautiful, thought provoking and engaging essay, spanning eras, pop culture phenomenons, and real life events on the topic of women and horror.

The cat who saved books - Sōsuke Natsukawa this was so cute and heartfelt, it will really make you go Ah Yes, this is Why we Love Books <333

The Locked Tomb Series - Tamsyn Muir now when people say there is a girl who is the cursed sacrifice of 2000 infants who falls in love with the sleeping embodiment of the soul of the Earth (barbie) and also another girl who is the only survivor of the aforementioned sacrifice and is. a Jesus metaphor? and also the two girls become one at some point. and every book is a different genre. and god is bisexual. and memes survived the nuclear apocalypse. I can just nod and say so true.

The Area X Trilogy - Jeff VanderMeer Rotating this series in the microwave of my mind at the speed of light it's soSO GOOD!! the movie doesn't even come close honestly u NEED to read the books. and then go touch grass and be aware of every strand in a completely new way.

The Dawn of Yangchen - F. C. Yee nice read! I was more invested in the worldbuilding crumbs than in the actual story lmao, I will forever think about the HEATED airball rivalry between the air temples and about the swt greetings / bethrotal armbands.

Inuit Stories of Being and Rebirth: Gender, Shamanism, and the Third Sex - Bernard Saladin d'Anglure starting w a disclaimer bc I feel like the topic of native colonization was ignored when it should have been way more prominent when talking about the context of where and when these testimonies were collected?? That aside it was very interesting and well put together, with first account testimonies of Inuit elders about their myths, lifestyles and beliefs.

Pachinko - Min Jin Lee i read the book after having seen the tv series (which i also rlly recommend). Very moving story about a family and its generations, from Korea under Japanese colonization to modern day America.

Her body and other parties - Carmen Maria Marchado sometimes I go about my day then I remember this book exists and stare at the wall for 30 minutes.

Dictionnaire de l'impossible - Didier Van Cauwelaert big miss. this collection of articles about "strange impossible phenomenons" sounded so quirky and interesting but i sure would have loved if the author hadnt so clearly picked a side. and also way too much church for my tastes.

He who Drowned the World - Shelley Parker Chan Im not even gonna speak about this one if you've followed me since july you know what pits of insanity and despair i'm in

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow - Gabrielle Zevin Sometimes!! the book with pretty covers put in the "famous on socials" bookstore section!! are good!! It's about being othered it's about connection it's about diaspora it's about love and friendship and most of all it's about viddy games.

Station Eleven - Emily St. John Mandel reading this post-covid and learning it was written in 2017 was A TRIP. Psychic damage at every page. still feeling very normla.

The Mask of Apollo - Mary Renault Ugh i desperately wanted to like this book because the setup is so interesting and full of potential, but the end result was just. flat. flat story flat characters the plot focusing on the wrong things at the wrong times i was so DONE when i reached the end otz.

Babel - R. F. Kuang LOVED the worldbuilding in this, the "lost in translation" system of magic is one of the most interesting things ive ever read. I think theres something about the writing in general that didn't win me over completely?? but all in all a very good

Red Ocean - Han Song This sure is a Book. That i've Read. its so profundly strange and unlike anything ive come across that i dont even know what to feel about it. i think 90% of my confusion comes from Not Getting Cultural References so if someone has a "red ocean explained" essay plz send it my way bc i couldnt find one.

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Not Like Others -P.G (2)

Not me ending this as soon as I got home and did all my homework a bit rushed at 1:35am knowing I had to wake up early today✌🏻😌✨😁 But still I fell asleep with my phone in hand, so I didn't posted it on the time I had finished😭🥴 and now I'm off of work and decided to take a little breather from Uni work. Anyways... I hope you enjoy it! Please, let me know what you think of this! And I want to hear/read you guys out, what do you think it'll happen in the series?!

|Chapter I| |Chapter III|

Summary: When you get the chance of meeting Pablo Gavi, you don't seem to react as the rest of people would do and that attracts him to you

Two Weeks Later

Being the new girl was absolutely awful, everyone is looking at you, talking, whispering about you, judging the way your looks without getting to know anything from you first. You hated it and you hated being in the spotlight.

You had a week going at the Universitat de Barcelona and you were still pretty much alone since no one has got closer to you for anything. You now remember why you hated the thought of moving to a new country, this was exactly what you imaginated and exactly what you disliked.

Walking into the cafeteria, everyone turned to look at you once more, you sighed grabbing your lunch and going towards the table that was in the back, ready to eat. Have you said you hated being in this kind of spotlight?

Because you had done a revalidation and equivalence of your recent college studies in Canada for the transfer, you were now in your third semester (two semesters behind of what you actually were), where the UB had been the first one interested in you and opened their doors, accepting you into their university family. You were currently sat at one of the tables eating your lunch and enjoying some words of Colleen Hoover “Regretting You” when two girls and three boys stood in front of you

"¿Les puedo ayudar en algo?" (Can I help you with anything?) You said

"Yes, ¿Podemos sentarnos contigo?" (Can we sit with you?) The red haired girl said with a small smile

"Hemos estado queriendo acercarnos desde que llegaste pero no sabíamos como" (We've been wanting get closer to you ever since you came here but we didn't know how) The sunkissed skin boy said showing his dimples as you nod witth a light smile

"Sure" You made space for them to fill the table

"Anastasia Rodríguez but everyone calls me Ana" A dark haired girl with glasses said

"I'm Olivia Montero" The red haired girl said doing a peace sign with her fingers

"Jonathan Ontero" A blonde guy smiled

"Eric Wolf" A dark haired boy with deep blue eyes said

"Antonio Figueroa" The sunkissed boy said

"Nice to meet you guys, I'm Y/N Santos" You smiled softly

"Have you got any other friends? What do you think of the Uni?" Jonathan asked as you shake your head laughing

"You guys are the first ones to come by" You admit shyly "And it's huge, I keep on getting lost" They laugh "but it's really pretty"

"Is that why you came late to Paint II?" You nod shyly

"I think the professor doesn't like me though, he keeps on putting this bitchy face whenever I appear on his vision" They laugh

"No, that's his face. I promise" Eric chuckled as you nod laughing quietly

"I'm sorry if this may sound a bit out of place, but it's so cool and at the same time so weird to have a Canadian between us"

"I'm not" You shook your head "I'm Spaniard"

"You're even cooler then!" Ana exclaimed making a few heads come to where you were sitting, Jonathan sushed her as she softly pushed her finger up to her lip in a quiet motion. You couldn't help but laugh

"Lo siento" You said as they waved you off with a smile.

They kept on talking and it was safe to say you liked them, they were really funny. You don’t know how or when but after the lunch they had spent the rest of the day with you. Anastasia claiming you as one of them now, you smiled and accepted. You had enjoyed the day with their jokes, occurrences and got a hold of the whole system at college because of them.

They reminded you a little bit of your old friend group but instead of being five (six including you), your old group consisted of four, two and two. However these guys were chattier than ever and you loved that too seeing that you also loved to talk.

“Oh, Y/N! One of my friends is doing this party this Saturday, you should come!” Jonathan said as you all were meeting after the last class of the day.

"Party?" You ask "It's their birthday?" He shook his head

"More like a celebration" He added "He's in a team and wants to do a celebration for this big win" You nod processing

“Oh gosh! Yes, that’s such a good idea! You can socialize more, get to know people and even Barcelona!” Olivia said as you shook your head lightly

"I don't know" You said doubtly "I know nobody in there and I'm sure you guys will do your thing" You waved your hands around "The last thing I want is one of you stop spending a good time to practically babysit me and no, señor. That's not happening" You shook your head and also shook your finger side to side as they all smiled

"You're cute if you think we won't spend THE greatest time over there" You smiled blushing lightly at Eric

"Also, you're cute thinking we'll give up on the first try" Ana wrapped her arm around your shoulder "You just have to wait, you'll be crazy for the party"

And three days later you were tired of waiting. The persuasive method of these guys was extremely annoying and you were already guessing the words that could come out of their mouths, each one, taking turns on who was the one speaking next.

You could even say you had dreamed with the: 'You have/gotta/should come to my/Jonathan's friend party! It'll be awesome and we'll all be there, pretty please' words.

And when Antonio opened his mouth you instantly shushed him off.

"I'll be there" You said to him as he smiled nodding fist bumping the air

"I knew it!" He exclaimed a little bit too loud

"If you already knew the various artistic movements, Mr. Figueroa, I ask you to come up here and explain some of them" Miss Alba, the professor of Modern Art, told him in a monotone voice and her facial expression was up in interest as everyone turned around to look at you both. You looked down in shame and blushed hard as Antonio stuttered

"I-I...mmm"

"The most seen, used and that we can qualify as importants are cubism, futurism, surrealism, impressionism, expressionism, art brut and a few more" You spoke up with determination, you had already seen this curse back in Canada and you had nailed every test, quiz, popquiz, presentation and essays.

"Well done, señorita Santos. Now, señor Figueroa, le aconsejo que preste un poco más de atención a la clase y deje de hablar con Y/N, entendemos que es una chica muy bonita, inteligente y es nueva aquí, pero por favor, para los chats existen las horas de descanso" (Mr. Figueroa, I suggest you to pay a little more of attention to the class and stop talking with Y/N, we understand she's pretty, smart and new girl here, but, please, you can do that bit of chatting on your resting times) If you had blushed you were now rainbow coloured, Antonio had murmured a quiet "Sure, professor" and sank back on his seat as you heard the laughs of the whole class came in embarrassing the two of you

"Happy?" You whisper ask "You embarrassed us!"

"No, I embarrassed myself. You saved your ass answering to that question" He said with a light smile on

You shook your head and smiled lightly

"Good thing is" Antonio said softly leaning over you "... You'll go to the party" You smile nodding

"You did it, guys. I'm going to the damn party" He fist bumped the air again

"¡Joder que si!" He says as you sush him once more

"Stop that!"

...

You wonder how you got in this position.

Antonio said he was going to give you the lift but his car suddenly broke down and he was coming later because of it. Jonathan and Ana were already there since the evening helping Jonathan's friend out, Olivia was going with her boyfriend and he was driving her. And Eric had a last minute issue with his grandmother so he couldn't go, nothing too big though.

You didn't trusted going in cabs alone, you never liked it, ever since you were little and saw that a man had kidnapped a woman like that you had hated it, and on really weird ocassions you were going into one but you always had to be on the phine with someone or messaging.

Your parents were busy at the traffic and you were stuck, you thought of pulling out from the party but you also hated it, giving your word and then not fulfilling in what you said.

So, with a call to your mom letting her know you'll go there walking and a google map direction from Jonathan you decided to grab your keys and walked all the way there. It was 4:30pm so the sun was still visible and when you realized the walk was 25 minutes away, it got better and didn't think to much of it.

But how the hell did you decided to get to the party on foot was the best option if you only had two weeks and three days moved in the Catalan streets?

...Guess who ended up lost?

You sighed once more, the map only confusing you even more, you were supposed to be at El Camino street but you saw around you and you were at the Las Palmas street. You sighed in defeat.

"I'll die today" You murmured sighing

You tried to go up to people and ask them directions but you were either too shy or they didn't stopped not even to give you the time.

You were about to call desperate to any of the guys or even your parents to take you either back home or towards the party when you saw three boys across you eating a cup of ice cream.

This was your chance to get all sorted out and hopefully go to the right way towards the house.

"Hola" You touched one of the guys shoulder when he turned around his expression was full on scrunched up, it seemed like he was bothered by your presence and you smiled at him "Lamento molestarles" (Sorry to bother you, guys) You said softly to direct yourself towards the guy who's shoulder you touched and face was scrunched up "¿Quería preguntarte si tu podrías...?" (I wanted to ask you if you could...?) He cut you off harshly

"No estoy disponible para fotos o autógrafos ahorita, lo siento. Estoy con mis amigos en una salida y queremos pasarla bien" (I'm not up for pics or autographs right now, sorry. I'm with my friends and we just wanna have a great time) He said and you furrowed your eyebrows before laughing lightly

"¿Okay? Eso está perfecto. I wanted to-" (That's perfect)

"Please, no autographs nor pics"

"¿Autógrafos? ¿Fotos? I'm sorry, who do you think you are?" (Autographs? Pics?) You asked laughing lightly

"Like you don't know who I am" He said not believing it

"I don't know actually! Are you that important for me to ask for a pic or something?" He stood there without saying anything

"I don't believe it. Just go please, I'm not in the mood right now" He said and you sighed shaking your head

"Ay, hermano. ¿Sabes? Olvídalo. Was going to ask you to give me this address because I'm new here and most likely, lost; but nevermind" (Oh, bro. You know what? Just forget it) You shook your head watching his face fall a bit once you showed him your phone with Google maps on "Gracias de todas maneras" (Thank you either way) You said "Lamento arruinarles la tarde" (Sorry to ruin your evening) You said once more before turning around

"Oye, no. Lo siento, déjame-" This time you cut him off by showing your palm

"Don't worry, have a nice day" You smiled politely "Try not to be an arrogant asshole next time, maybe" You left them hearing the calls from the guy but you didn't paid attention to him too busy looking at your phone trying to guess if it's right or left

"Hola" Someone said behind you, you turned around seeing one of the guys that were along with the arrogant brunette "Disculpa a mi amigo. Es un poco quisquilloso" (Hi. Excuse my friend. He's a little peaky)

"Un poco arrogante, diría yo" (A little arrogant, I'd say) He laughed nodding

"Only sometimes" You hummed

"That's not nice at all, then" You say crossing your arms across your chest "So...?" You ask hinting on him to tell you the reason why he had come up to you

"I'm willing to help you out find the address" He said and you nodded taking out your phone, showing it to him "You're close, five minutes away tops"

"Really?" You ask impressed watching as he laughs nodding

"This is Las Palmas street, the next one is El Camino. It says here you take a turn on the left and at the end of the street there's this residence, it's in there" He smiles as you nod smiling too

"Okay okay, cool. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for ruining your evening"

"You didn't ruined anything in fact, I'm sorry for Gavi's behaviour" You smile shaking your head

"Is he really known? Or he was just taking the piss out of me?" The guy stays quiet for a bit as you shook your head "Well, nevermind... Just tell him to come down from that cloud of his, please. Arrogancy doesn't look nice at all" You said as he nods pointing gunfingers at you

"Got it" He smiled "I'm Diego, by the way. I hope Barcelona is of your liking"

"Thanks, it's really gorgeous... I just have to learn the streets" He laughed as you smiled waving at him "Gotta go, bye! And thanks once again"

"No problem at all!" That's the last thing you heard from the guy before you're walking away.

As you followed instructions from him, you indeed realized you were a block away from El Camino street, you smiled once you saw the big white house as Jonathan had described. You texted him letting him know you were outside, music was being heard from the inside and you smiled grew when you saw Jonathan came out opening the door for you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you are here!"

"I know, I'm glad too! I came here walking and got 'lost' and then there were these guys, one of them was an incredible hijo e'puta but the other helped me out"

"First going out, first party, first fight, first lost and first almost everything today... Checked from the list" You smiled shaking your head "C'mon, let's introduce you to Alejandro, my childhood best friend" Once you got inside, Jonathan's eyes were dancing across the people inside here "¡Balde!" He yelled across the upbeat song "There he is"

You walked next to him until you stopped in front of two guys who were talking and laughing in their world

"Guys! This is Y/N, the newest member into the Uni club" All four guys smiled

"Soy Alejandro" A black skin boy said hugging and giving you two kisses as you did the same "Alejandro Balde, es un placer conocerte. And this is a friend of mine, Ferran Torres"

You greeted the short haired boy just like you did with Alejandro

"¡Bienvenida a Barcelona!" Ferran said as you smile

"¡Gracias!"

"Y/N, mi casa, tú casa" Alejandro said "The kitchen is over there with the drinks and food, the backyard" He was pointing to everywhere he talked "And if you need the bathrooms, let me know, going to the downstairs bath in a party is a bit awful" You laugh nodding and agreeing with him

"¡Gracias!" You said once more

"Don't worry, hope you have a nice time!"

Yeah. You hoped that too.

After a long while drinking some Coca-Cola, dancing, eating a few snacks and overall having a nice time with your friends and Jonathan's buddies, you all sat down outside to enjoy the starry night

"Oh! I just remembered!" You said "Jonathan told me you guys were doing some celebration. I really don't know what you guys have achieved but congratulations" Ferran, Alejandro, Eric and Pablo Torre laughed lightly

"We're football players"

"That's nice!" You open your eyes lightly "And what did you guys won?"

"La Supercopa España" Pablo said as if nothing and you nodded once again "We're first team players"

"Really?"

"You don't watch football?" You shook your head a bit ashamed

"I don't really like it that much" They faked hurt "Sorry!" You all laugh "I rather hockey tho"

"Nice sport" You nod

"It truly is" You smile remembering your team "And which club you guys are in?"

"FC Barcelona" You smile got bigger.

Yes, you didn't liked football but that doesn't meant you don't know the game or the different leagues of it and Barça was a really good and skilled team. You knew your rookies about it, not many but enough to defend yourself.

"Really cool" You said "Well, then... Congratulations on the win guys"

"Gracias" Ferran said "Let me just say... Having us a friends, you'll end up falling in love with football"

"And most important, terminarás siendo una Culé" (You'll end up being a Culé) You shook your head smiling softly

"I don't think so... Gotta stay loyal to my hockey and my Mapple Leafs" They laugh

"Nah, ya verás" (you'll see) Alejandro said shaking his head

"Lo veré" (I'll see) you all laughed

"Let's see that now, then. We'll be waiting for you" Ale said

"Waiting for me when and where?" You asked

"You're invited to the next game at Camp Nou, Y/N" Torre said as you nod

That sounds good... I mean, what could possibly happen? It's just a game with your new friends.

"Deal"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @anastasia-nova @pixwls @footballerficsposts @dessxoxsworld @berriesarenice @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @mystic-aquarius @bisexualbith @sideeblogsstuff @http-isabela

I'm doing a taglist for Not Like Others, if you want to be there, comment a little "NLO taglist, please" and I will know that you wanna be included in it and you will be. Like I said in the beggining, I truly hope you guys like it, let me know what you think. Please, feedback is really important to me because it lets me know you like my works, it helps me with writing and makes me feel nice knowing all the effort I put in these little stories is worth it. With this being said, I read you guys, take care!

[dellalyra]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ - nanami kento x reader, suguru geto x reader.

pixie says: mdni rly this is nsfw (not like explicitly just mentions of sexy times) hurt/comfort, angst but happy ending and i wrote this in a moment of sheer inspiration that consumed my body.

You loved him, truly. You really did love him. You can imagine yourself growing old by his side, hairs going grey and kids growing tall - you wanted that, and you wanted it with him.

But that didn’t mean that you didn’t miss it.

Didn’t miss him.

Your very first official date he picked you up in his car, coming around to open your door and press a chaste kiss to you cheek whispering how beautiful you looked.

He’s never made you cry, he’s never made you hurt, never made you scream or throw photo frames at the wall.

If you’re upset, he’s beside you with a comforting word. If you’re angry, he’s coming up with solutions to the problem. If you’re stressed, he asks how he can help and then fucks away the tension in your shared room.

He’s perfect.

The perfect man, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect husband. He was ready built for a long term relationship and you fell for him quite easily.

You love him, you desire him, you can’t wait to marry him.

But he’s not him.

And a part of you is infinitely grateful for that.

Because he made you cry, he made you hurt, he made you scream and throw photo frames at the wall.

But sometimes, when he’s asleep beside you, the lights are switched off and you’re staring at the ceiling you miss the way those lips would curve into that devilish trademark languid smirk and the mirth you could see in those dark, dark eyes.

You miss the rain - the screaming and crying that was always fueled by emotions so large they felt uncontrollable and burst out of both of your bodies in anger and fear and sadness and love and lust and joy. The highs were higher with him, it felt like winning - that you two did something special.

The adrenaline is something untidy, unhealthy too but oh so worth it when your hands tangled in his long dark hair and he cradled your cheek in his large palms and kissed away every worry and every tear that he had caused. It felt so good when the sight of someone from the Kyoto school flirting with you had set him off so badly he had punched the poor kid and after you shouted at him to let you live he slammed you up against the dorm room wall and filled you time and time again, growling a hymn of ‘mine, mine, mine.’ into the crook of your neck where dark purple bites would linger for days to match the lines your nails had sliced down his back as you tried to get him closer, closer, closer.

You realise you’re glad he’s not him one day, a crisp fall day. Your mother sat, hands curled around a coffee he had made her as she laughs at something he says and then your father asks him about his week - was he busy? how is the return treating him? is his daughter’s tall, white haired best friend a nightmare to work with?

He makes a joke about loving you enough that even Satoru is manageable, you mother coos and your father claps him on the back. He asks how the archiving of cursed tools is going for your father, asking how the workload is, whether he’s had any interesting finds?

The conversation continues. Your mother squeezes your shoulder with a kiss on your head. She knows. She was there for it all.

She knows you love him. Knows you adore the very ground he walks on. But she’s human too, she saw the passionate calamity of overwhelming young love that used to be, she knew that the pain would never go away - but she knew you were in love again. Even if it’s different this time.

She was happy it was different.

You’re happy it’s different.

Your heart wouldn’t have taken another crack.

He stays. He loves selflessly. He cherishes.

He adored. He loved completely.

He left.

He died.

You remember the day he left. Falling into your best friend who tried to do what was asked of him (the impossible) - but couldn’t. Screaming at him for doing this - for leaving you. For not trusting you to help. For doing what he did that day.

For the 112.

For his parents.

For Shoko.

For Satoru.

For you.

For him.

You remember healing.

Then falling apart when the school courtyard once again became a stage and the spotlight of your brain was occupied again by him. 7 years older, different.

Different but, the same.

Another man - but still him.

Still the man you loved first, still the man you would have given it all for, still the man who held your heart and crushed it, still the man you knew never did it from cruelty.

Still the man who loved you with every fibre of his very being.

Still Suguru.

He held you that night - and he held you the night he died. The night your best friend, his best friend has to end him. Had to finish the job asked of him all those years ago.

That night the best friend was curled up beside you, holding onto each other in the apartment you shared with him. The grief would never leave. The love would never leave. But you had each other. He had his students. You had him.

He who knew everything.

He who gave, and gave, and gave. Gave with hands, with tongue, with love and with sincerity, he who gave who himself every night leaving a delicious ache the next day.

He who held you tight every night.

He who wiped the tears when things were too much.

He who kissed you like a worshipper at a shrine.

He who helped you heal and he who showed you what healthy, loving, caring, compassionate love truly was.

Nanami Kento who eased your aching soul and taught you how to love again.

It would always be different. It would always feel different. But that’s the truth, one love is never the same as another. That love had lasted two years, had felt like an earthquake shook your soul and you felt that you would never love as strongly as you loved him.

But you did. You loved just as strongly, as purely, but this love - this was built to last.

You’d tell this tale to your daughter years later. Her fathers girl, all his blonde hair and his eyes. The throes of first heartbreak would scar forever.

But you can heal.

You did.

[dandenbo]

le temps des cerises

Written for the @bigplaceexchange for @pigeontheoneandonly <3

...J'aimerai toujours le temps des cerises C'est de ce temps-là que je garde au cœur Une plaie ouverte !

(I will always love the time of cherries From that time I keep in my heart an open wound)

"Le Temps des cerises", Jean-Baptiste Clément, 1866

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Control Ending Shepard Entity (formerly Female Shepard)/Kaidan Alenko

Words: 4,408

Tags: post-canon, death, depersonalisation, resurrection, drowning, angst, bittersweet ending

Summary:

Shepard barely remembers herself, but someone does.

Read on ao3

Excerpt:

There are some things you start to forget when you remember everything. Some things that are still there, buried in the crypts of information, intact and cold. Memory is a bond, she would later understand, one strained by untimeliness. In her first season of eternity, she learned that knowledge was the beginning of forgetting. She did not entirely forget herself, like she feared she might. For instance, she remembered her last human thought, spoken only in the chamber of her mind while it still belonged to her. Let me go. It was a plea, but to whom? There were no established pathways for emotions in her mental construct now. Her history of feeling remained only as superfluous electrical signals, much like garbage data. There had been so many feelings in those final moments and they surrounded the record like static. She had stepped onto the platform to signal her acceptance, the debris of battle floating above her head so dense she thought they might all be already dead. There had been a feeling there, she deduced it must have been fear, because she had steadied herself with breaths too long and too deep as the platform descended into a dark chamber lined with vats of liquid, and in that moment she nearly forgot her commitment when she realised that most contained Keepers. She had stepped into one and sank beneath the surface, holding her breath out of instinct until the bath became charged with electricity. She gasped out of shock and it filled her lungs, the charge stretched through her nervous system, spinning thread from her dying fibres. Light filled her vision and never receded. She had thought about someone in that last moment, as she said those last words, but the memory was so shrouded in feeling she could no longer make sense of it. Control_log: operator ping. > … > … > Return.

Read on ao3

[remapped-soul]

once again with an italian song, this time for charlos

"occhi diversi tutte le sere ma sempre il solito vecchio sorriso" >>> different eyes every single night but always the same old smile

i'm imagining something romantic and cheesy and charles' eyes changing with the light :)

once again, im so sorry how late this is. i had an idea for this ever since you sent me the ask but only now found the energy to write. i hope you like it <3 I tried making it cheesy and romantic. what's for sure, charles' eyes are definitely changing hehe. your prompts have been amazing and I had so much fun writing them

this is a companion piece to my charlos demon au. read it here

tw: mention of the lv incident, and charles is angry about it, but nothing too graphic.

This year was supposed to be different. This year was supposed to be their year. Prayers on his lips, the devil by his side, Carlos was supposed to win this year. Instead, he's barely scrapping in the top 5 as it is. To say he is frustrated is an understatement.

"I thought a deal with the devil meant glory," Carlos says the night after the race in Melbourne. "I thought the car would be strong. I thought--" the voice catches in his throat "--I thought I'd be strong."

Charles is motionless next to him, eyes a blue so dark and deep, no shadow disturbs them. Carlos is a little afraid to look at him.

"It will come." Charles presses his mouth against Carlos' shoulder, heat sipping through the shirt. He inhales, long and deep. He's just like a dog sometimes, Carlos thinks, a little amused, a little fond. Protective and possessive.

"Easy for you to talk." Carlos shakes Charles off. The artificial light of the hotel room slants in his eyes, and for a second, Charles' irises are not deep blue, but milky white. Carlos' heart seizes in his chest. He blinks. Charles' eyes are back to normal. "You were Senna in the past life."

Charles rolls his eyes. "I made a deal with you, not with Ferrari. I can't help them if they're not ready to pay the price."

"And I am? Paying the price?"

Charles smiles, crooked, lopsided, dimples popping, and kisses him into quietness.

*

It gets better until it doesn't and Carlos has to retire his car in Spa halfway in. It's Charles' turn to be on the podium, and Carlos is so angry he can barely stand to look at him.

"It's just a third place, Carlos. Nothing to stress over."

They go back to the hotel right after Charles finished his media duties, and Carlos wants nothing more than to be alone. He thinks slamming the door would have gotten the message across, but when he turns around, Charles is already there, by the bed, waiting, hands in his pockets, eyes a dull grey.

"A third place and three championships," Carlos sneers now, looking over Charles' shoulder. He can't stand the look in his eyes. "Nothing to stress over."

Charles sighs, exasperated. "I existed before you, Carlos. I will exist after you. My life now is nothing but a moment, painted in a different color. I don't choose my lives, the same way you didn't choose to be bound to me. If I could, I'd always be a king, a winner, but my life is defined by the contracts I make the same way yours is defined by things outside of your control." Charles stops, an angry breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He doesn't talk about his life, his existence as a being outside of the human realm, if he can help it. "You know what you got to do if you wish to never see me again."

Carlos finally looks at Charles. His eyes shine like marble in sunlight. Outside is dark, a starless night.

"And if I do? Will the old Charles be back?" Carlos still remembers the days before he made his pact. The sweet Charles, the shy Charles. The one that blushed around Sebastian Vettel.

"You drivers always think you're so different from one another, but you're all the same." The Charles in front of him gives him a sad smile. "There is no old Charles. It's always been me."

Carlos suddenly feels nauseous. He stares at Charles, at his eyes, at the grey melting into blue. "I think…I think I need to be alone." A pause. "Please."

Charles tilts his head to the side, watching Carlos. Carlos blinks. Charles is gone.

Later, they will be fine, as fine as a demon and human can be. They will fall into bed again, and Charles will let Carlos touch him, slide into him raw, make love to him. Charles will let Carlos wrap his hands around his throat, kiss him breathless, mark him. Charles will let Carlos believe he has power, and Carlos will let it happen, accept it. He will accept anything, everything as long as he gets to enjoy this for a little while longer.

*

The win in Singapore comes with a bang, and Carlos doesn't have time to think if Charles gave him this only to appease him. He is yelling over the coms, yelling as he gets out of the car, as he embraces the team. He sings every word of Fratelli d’Italia up on the podium. Fred pours champagne over his head, down his overalls. Carlos accepts everything with the biggest smile on his face. He won. He won for Ferrari. With Ferrari.

A tiny voice in his head tells him, you won before Charles this year, before Il Predestinato. It's delightfully mean. Carlos shoves it back where it came from.

He doesn't spot Charles anywhere until after his press conference, when Carlos is pulled into a desolate room, a hand on his mouth to silence him and a cheeky smile greeting him in the dark.

"Hi, champion."

Carlos grins against the fingers. "Hi back," he mumbles, pulling Charles into him by the waist.

Charles' eyes are a kaleidoscope of red-pink-purple, a sunset trapped in his irises. "My beautiful champion," he says and then he kisses Carlos hard on the mouth. Carlos parts his knees, Charles steps closer, pushes his hands underneath Carlos's shirt, fingers on his stomach, skin against skin. Carlos shudders.

"Bebe," Carlos mutters as Charles kisses down his neck. "Not here. Hgmm." Charles bites at a particular sensitive spot on Carlos' neck. "We don't have time."

Charles' eyes glimmer as he looks up at Carlos. "Is that a challenge?" He asks and drops to his knees before Carlos can get a word in.

Ten minutes later they're sliding into their chairs as the debrief starts, and if Carlos fixes his pants and Charles wipes the corner of his mouth, no one bats an eyelash. After all, they were only a few minutes late. No one scolds a Ferrari champion.

*

The manhole blows up underneath Carlos' car in Las Vegas. It brings the first practice to an end and rules him out of the second one. Because of the damage, he will most likely get a penalty on Sunday. It’s a mess. Charles is fuming.

Carlos watches as Charles paces the length of his hotel room, threat dripping from his tongue like a thunderstorm, and he speaks in French and sometimes in Spanish. Other times in languages that are not familiar at all. Carlos would laugh about it, would pull Charles into his arms, tell him not to worry, kiss the frown off his face. He’d do that and more if it weren’t for the shackles shining bloody red around Charles’ neck, around his wrists, eyes matching as they flare up with every new word.

Charles’ threats are not something to laugh at. They’re real, and if Carlos doesn’t do anything about it, Charles will level the city.

“It’s what they deserve,” Charles spits. “If there is something the humans have been constant about- it's money. It’s always about money. They’d risk everything for it. I should cut their fingers off, one by one. Make them choke on money. Teach them the consequence of greed.”

Carlos sighs. He doesn’t think too much about it and grabs Charles by the arm, pulling him into his lap.

“Cariño,” Carlos soothes, pressing a kiss underneath Charles’ right eye. He puts his fingers on Charles’ neck and doesn’t think about how it burns. “You’re older than mankind. Why are you still surprised?”

Charles growls low in his throat. “They messed with what’s mine.” Surprise and pleasure zip up Carlos’ spine. He drops his hands around Charles’ shoulders, pushes and pulls until Charles gives in and melts against his chest. “I am fine, really. I am here, aren’t I?”

Charles huffs. He grips the hem of Carlos’ shirt and presses his cold nose against Carlos’ neck.

“You could’ve lost your legs,” he mumbles.

“Not for long,” Carlos says as he draws lines on Charles’ back. Up and down, left to right, as soothing as he can make them. “I have you.”

“Yes,” Charles relents, finally, fight going out of him all at once, shackles fading until they leave only unmarred skin behind. “Yes, you do.”

He presses a kiss under Carlos’ ear. If Carlos senses a hit of teeth, too sharp to be human, he doesn’t mention it.

“Will you leave the city and its people alone?”

Charles smiles against his neck. “For now. For you. They owe you a life debt.”

“Yes, yes, my fearless demon,” Carlos says and then tightens his hold and flips them on the bed, Carlos on top, Charles splayed underneath him. For the next several hours Carlos makes sure Charles doesn’t have time to think about decimating the world. Charles lets him.

A pact with the devil is not so bad after all.

[lazyworksinprogress]

a very long post about hozier - unreal earth

Index:

Lyrical allusions

Visual imagery

Reading list

Interviews

Reviews

Lyrical allusions

The lyrics on Unreal Unearth are informed by texts such as Irish writer Flann O’Brien’s philosophical 1967 novel, The Third Policeman, Dante's Inferno, and Jonathon Swift.

De Selby (Part 1)

At last, when all of the world is asleep You take in the blackness of air The likes of a darkness so deep That God at the start couldn’t bear

"Human existence being an hallucination containing in itself the secondary hallucinations of day and night (the latter an insanitary condition of the atmosphere due to accretions of black air) it ill becomes any man of sense to be concerned at the illusory approach of the supreme hallucination known as death." The Third Policeman - Flann O'Brien

Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Trína chéile; le chéile Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Claochlaithe is claochlú an ealaín Is ealaín dubh í Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Trína chéilе; le chéile Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Claochlaithe is claochlú an еalaín Is ealaín dubh í

Although your bright and light […] You arrived to me like nightfall, you come like nightfall You and I sort of mixed together You and I metamorphosized So that same idea of you can’t see where one begins and where one ends that, that is some kind of metamorphosis of some kind

“a body with another body inside it in turn, thousands of such bodies within each other like the skins of an onion, receding to some unimaginable ultimum”

De Selby (Part 2)

What you're given, what you live in Darlin', it finds a way to live in you

"The gross and net result of it is that people who spent most of their natural lives riding iron bicycles over the rocky roadsteads of this parish get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bicycle as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who are nearly half people and half bicycles"

First Time

Remember once I told you about How before I heard it from your mouth My name would always hit my ears as such an awful sound

First Time refers to Beatrice Smiles: Canto XXXI - Dante's meeting with Beatrice after being left by Virgil, where she rebukes him for his sins. Dante does not remember his name but recognises Beatrice. He was dunked into the River of Forgetting by Matelda

“Respond, you of poor memory, confess. _Lethe awaits. Your thoughts are undeterred.”

These days I think I owe my life To flowers that were left here by my mother Ain't that like them, giftin' life to you again

Francesca

In Dante's Inferno, the character of Beatrice embodies love inspired by God - she is a religious object that should inspire faith, devotion, and salvation. By contrast, the character of Francesca da Rimini is encountered in the Terrace of Lust. She was a medieval noblewoman who was killed by her husband, Giovanni Malatesta upon discovering an affair between her and Paolo Malatesta (his brother). She represents love that leads one's soul to destruction.

I would not change it each time Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I I would not change it each time

"Love led us to one death, conjointly felled. __For him who slew us, Cäina waits below."

I Carrion (Icarian)

One deep breath out from the sky I've reached a rarer height now that I can confirm All our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

This song has a connection with Inferno 17. Phaeton, Icarus, Daedalus and Arachne: are symbolic of Ulysses, the embodiment of transgression in Dante’s personal mythography. Icarus is a figure of fear for because he was equipped by his father to alter the boundaries of man's physical nature. It is the sin of pride that leads one to folly.

Eat Your Young

“Eat Your Young”, a contemporary riff on the Irish writer Jonathan Swift’s 1729 satirical essay “A Modest Proposal” that suggests Irish people eat their children to alleviate their hunger and poverty.

Come and get some Skinnin' the children for a war drum Puttin' food on the table sellin' bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

The first verse also contains allusions to Canto 6 of Inferno - this level is related to "gluttony" but it's used by Dante to discuss the political landscape and moral failures of the City of Florence. Gluttony, in this case, is defined as excessive desire for dominion and power. So Hozier comments on inequality and poverty with a distinctly political air.

Damage Gets Done

Here Hozier refers to Canto 7 of Inferno and the concept of misura - a lack of moderation or self-control

And darlin', I haven't felt it since then I don't know how the feelin' ended But I know being reckless and young Is not how the damage gets done

In this Canto, Dante is discussing wealth management - hoarding and wasteful spending. While avarice is a traditionally Christian sin, Dante inserts the sin of prodigality by himself. This tells us that Dante's moral standard is not essentially Christian. Hozier also plays with the intentions of the texts he refers to and inserts his own takes on philosophy and biography. Very Dantean, if you ask me.

Who We Are

I think this is a narrative shift similar to Canto 8-9 where the fallibility of Virgil is explored and the tension between faith and fear.

You only feel it when it's lost Gettin' through still has a cost Quietly, it slips through your fingers, love Falling from you drop by drop What I had left here I just held it tight So someone with your eyes might come in time To hold me like water Or Christ, hold me like a knife

Son of Nyx

All Things End

The mystery at the heart of Inferno 10, the mystery that generates its enormous poetic power, is the connection of love to sin.

All Things End is superficially about the end of a relationship but it's also about heresy. The specific heresy in the canto is Epicureanism: materialism that suggests the soul dies with the body. It is a denial of the idea of an immortal soul and a "wilful separation of the soul from God". The Epicureans in Canto 10 are represented as eternally trapped in the temporary and ephemeral materialistic reality of the present. They are denied what is eternal and transcendent (ie divine)

And all things end All that we intend is scrawled in sand And slips right through our hands And just knowing That everything will end Should not change our plans When wе begin again

To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe)

‘Uiscefhuarithe’, as described by Hozier, is an irish word for ‘something that has been made cold by water’.

Butchered Tongue

The Genius annotation gives a lot of detail here: In “Butchered Tongue”, Hozier tackles the 7th Circle of Hell Canto XII to XVII, known as the ‘Circle of Violence or Hell of the Violent and Bestial’ which is one of the lower circles of Hell and is divided into three distinct rings, each punishing different types of violence. The track focuses mainly on the first ring called the ‘Outer Ring’ where those who commit violence against others and their property are punished by being submerged in a river of boiling blood called the Phlegethôn, and centaurs patrol the area, shooting arrows at those who emerge from the blood.

The song has a number of allusions to the horrors of colonial violence.

Anything But

I think this song refers to Canto 26 which establishes the critical metaphor that equates desire with flying. Here Dante encounters Ulysses - the embodiment of the epic wandering hero.

"But here one must fly, I mean with the swift wings and the pinions of great desire."

Canto 26 is critical of imperial ambitions and expansionism as Dante casts the city of Florence as a giant bird of prey whose wings beat over land and sea. This is thought as representing a specter of tyranny.

Dante presents Ulysses as the ultimate flawed hero that embodies the expression of desire as flight. Hozier expresses his desire for flight and wandering in Anything But.

I wanna be the shadow when my bright future's behind me I wanna be the last thing anybody ever sees I hear he touches your hand, and then you fly away together If I had his job, you would live forever

Abstract (Psychopomp)

Here Hozier references a childhood trauma of witnessing an animal being hit by a car and Canto 28. It's somewhat alike to the canto in a metatextual sense because it presents a gruesome picture. In Inferno 28 souls are mutilated by devils. The language is pretty clinical and graphic, like the song.

"Who, even with untrammeled words and many attempts at telling, ever could recount in full the blood and wounds that I now saw?."

The poor thing in the road, its eye still glistening The cold wet of your nose, the earth from a distance

Unknown / Nth

This one has a lot of references that have been discussed by Hozier for its allusions to the ninth circle of Hell and Cantos 34. The ninth circle is sometimes referred to as treachery but the sin is fraud.

betrayal is fraud committed against those who trust us

Hozier said he conceived of Satan/the Devil as the first prisoner of hell. I've got to link the Digital Dante article about this Canto because it's very relevant:

You know the distance never made a difference to me I swam a lake of fire, I'd have walked across the floor of any sea Ignored the vastness between all that can be seen And all that we believe So I thought you were like an angel to me

First Light

One bright morning changes all things Soft and easy as your breathing, you wake Your eyes open at first a thousand miles away But turning shoot a silver bullet point-blank range And I can scarce believe what I'm believing in Could this be how every day begins?

"Whichever day it was, it was a gentle day – mild, magical and innocent with great sailings of white cloud serene and impregnable in the high sky, moving along like kingly swans on quiet water. The sun was in the neighbourhood also, distributing his enchantment unobtrusively, colouring the sides of things that were unalive and livening the hearts of living things" - The Third Policeman

Visual imagery

"Down into the earth where dead men go I would go soon and maybe come out of it again in some healthy way, free and innocent of all human perplexity." - The Third Policeman

"Not everyone know how I killed old Phillip Mathers, smashing his jaw in with my spade." - The Third Policeman - Flann O'Brien

“If a man stands before a mirror and sees in it his reflection, what he sees is not a true reproduction of himself but a picture of himself when he was a younger man”

Reading list

“Eat Your Young”, a contemporary riff on the Irish writer Jonathan Swift’s 1729 essay “A Modest Proposal”

The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien: an expert investigation

Bestselling author Michael Foley celebrates a comic, Kafkaesque masterpiece and explores what makes it great. But why was it cannibalised

The Irish Times

The Icarian Community Nauvoo | Paul M. Angle

Re-admitted to France, Cabet made plans to move his ideal so­ciety from the printed page to reality. In December 1847, he an­nounced that Ic

fee.org|Paul M. Angle

An overview of the 1798 Irish rebellion

Interviews

“We betray ourselves in the act of opening up to somebody and believing so much,” Hozier says, passing a hand across his face. He looks weary, all of a sudden, voice cracking a little. “Our eyes betray us, our hearts betray us, our minds betray us. And that’s the ‘Nth’ reference: we open ourselves up to something, only to betray ourselves…”

Hell, at Least According to Hozier, Never Sounded Sweeter

On the eve of his return to the spotlight, the Irish crooner mulls over Ovid, 'Inferno,' and his status as the internet’s forest king.

Vanity Fair|Condé Nast

Hozier: ‘I think everyone goes through their version of hell’

The Irish artist is releasing his long-awaited third record ‘Unreal Unearth’, which was inspired by Dante’s Inferno. He speaks to Roisin O’C

The Independent

“There’s a subtle element and I wanted to be light and playful with it. The album can be taken as a collection of songs, but also as a little bit of a journey. It starts with a descent and I’ve arranged the songs according to their themes into nine circles, just playfully reflecting Dante’s nine circles and then an ascent at the end”

the album reflects upon two of the nine circles of hell: gluttony and heresy.

“There’s some moments that are a bit more old school and stuff that’s Nineties grunge sounding too. For other moments we were leaning into playing with a lot of synthesisers. But we’ve arranged the album into circles and the EP just represents two of those – those soul moments within it.” - Rolling Stone Interview

Divine Comedy explainers

Dante's 9 Circles of Hell: A Guide to the Structure of 'Inferno'

Here's a structural overview for the nine circles of hell in Book 1 (Inferno) of Dante Alighier's Divine Comedy.

ThoughtCo

Full Glossary for The Divine Comedy: Inferno

Absalom Bible. David's favorite son; killed after rebelling against his father: 2 Samuel 18.Acheron the River of Sorrow.Achilles Greek Mytho

cliffsnotes.com

Dante Alighieri: Mythology in the Divine Comedy

Mythology in the Divine Comedy  Throughout Dante’s work “The Divine Comedy”, the author uses Greek and Roman mythology to elevate and to pro

ITAL3550SLU - Medieval & Renaissance Italian Literature

Reviews

Hozier - 'Unreal Unearth' review: Epic, expansive and ethereal

On his third album, the Irish sing-songwriter utilizes simplicity and space while venturing into new sonic territory — Read the NME review

NME|Aliya Chaudhry

Hozier: Unreal Unearth album review — solitude, spirituality and a touch of Dante | Financial Times

The singer’s roar is as impressive as ever but he also deploys other vocal styles to fine effect in his third album

ft.com

On Unreal Unearth, Hozier Makes His Boldest Work Yet

On Unreal Unearth, Hozier works through biblical source material and Dante's Inferno to make sense of isolation and human sorrow.

Paste Magazine

Hozier – ‘Unreal Unearth’ album review: A beautiful, angst-filled journey through the nine circles of hell

'Unreal Unearth' dives into the concept of Dante's Inferno.

Far Out Magazine

Unreal Unearth review | Hozier merges pop with profound prose

From the haunting echoes of Irish folklore to the pulsating beats of indie pop, this is Hozier at his artistic peak. Read our Unreal Unearth

whynow

Album: Hozier - Unreal, Unearth

Only a few artists can be said to have exploded on to the scene like Hozier. The solo, Irish musician – full name Andrew John Hozier-Byrne –

theartsdesk.com

[julie-sufan]

The In-Depth Look at Julie-Su Part 7: Knuckles #24-28

The cover for issue 24 is a accurate portrayal of Julie's role in the issue. She hangs upside down then there's a explosion that frees her. There's a big plot hole due to the fact that when Knuckles & Julie-Su were kidnapped in issue 23 they were with the Chaotix. The Chaotix do not show up in issue 24 at all. They were just forgotten about again. Sigh.

Issue 25 takes place right after the events of the previous issue with Knuckles examining some robot head left over from the Dark Legion Headquarters.

Another plot hole I remembered while looking at this scene again is that Julie-Su has already met Knuckles's Dad back in issue 22. But according to this scene it seems like Knuckles didn't even know his dad was alive. Didn't Julie tell him? At all? It seems like a very important thing that she should have told him about.

Speaking of forgetting Knuckles leaves Julie behind. He doesn't rush back to tell her that something came up and they'll meet up later. He doesn't even bother to leave a note. Just walks away as if to say she's not of any importance to him overall. It's kind of similar to how Penders himself has treated Julie over various issues.

Needless to say she's enraged and I don't blame her one bit.

Issue 26 features Julie-Su on the cover drawn by Manny Galan. He does not draw the main story but the back up story instead for the next three issues.

The issue starts with Julie-Su still very angry at Knuckles for leaving her behind. (The editor's note on this two page spread explains what happened last issue.)

I went to look up to see if Julie's brown pouch with a strap was a actual product and it is.

Maybe it's just me but if Julie really wants to not think about Knuckles for a while perhaps walking into a city full of Knuckles knockoffs won't help.

Speaking of here's a Knuckles variant with a ugly green belt.

Ugghhh that summer hat does not go with her outfit at all. The colors clash too much. I would have picked this hat instead.

Awkward!

Onto to the back up someone who will become a important character in Ian Flynn's run reappears. She was last seen way back in 1995.

It's a little surprising that a character with such in a significant role in the main Archie Sonic comic emerged from a Knuckles back up story. Along with Julie-Su I miss Fiona so much.

A stealth type Knuckles certainly isn't.

Looks like the setup for a stage play production with that lighting and color choice.

End of issue 27. Issue 28 starts up with Lara-Le visiting Julie first thing in the morning.

I'm not going to lie in the summer when it's extremely hot & humid during the night I'll also wear a very long pajama shirt that goes past my knees. It's much more comfortable then wearing short shorts. Although it doesn't make sense that she's still wearing her gloves.

Lara-Le with miscolored red hair makes her look way to similar to Lien-Da in my opinion.

After their talk Julie-Su gets ready for her date with Knuckles. But what he doesn't know is that she's actually preparing to take him to a surprise birthday party.

The next scene would have made me so happy if it wasn't drawn the way it was. I remember back in the day fan artists redrawing this exact scene because while the idea behind it is sound the execution is not.

It looks like he's trying to eat her face. Nom nom nom.

Coming up: The end of the Knuckles comic & Julie-Su's backstory.