#cause I don’t think we know how lucky we are to have such genuine expressions of self

[honeyedlashton]

“I don’t want to unsee. . .”

10 days of Superbloom (Day 8 of 10)

Ashton Irwin via Superbloom Album Trailer / Unknown Struck Match Photography / Amberlights Stock Photo via Etsy (not sponsored lmao) / Unknown Star Art / Unknown Graffiti Word Art / Unknown Bird Photography / Untitled Fluid Acrylic Art by Maria Brooks / Unknown Dilated Pupil Photography

[withonly-sweetheart]

Runoff

Right after your most recent breakup, you finally notice the guy that you know better than you know yourself.

a/n: for the anon who requested this one <333 hope u like my lovely!! the description doesn't do it justice but i hope i went along the same idea you were thinking <3 spellchecking and grammar died :))

tw: just fluff and best friend leon

wc: 2k

The sun warms your faces as you wander down the grassy path, a woven blanket and wicker basket in hand. Both of your timed footsteps are light, minds drifting on the breeze that carries faint haunts of fresh blooms through the air.

"The water looks beautiful," you say with a gesture toward the distant lake, its surface shimmering under the clear blue sky.

"It calls to the soul, this place." Leon replies, stopping to take in the quiet beauty surrounding you.

"It’s peaceful," you offer with a soft smile.

"Come on." He meets your eyes with a sly grin. "The perfect spot awaits."

You stroll a little further before coming to a strip of shore beneath an old willow's swaying branches. Laying out your blanket upon the grass, Leon begins unpacking your meal as you stretch out and relax, admiring the tranquility of the area.

“Much better than the neighborhood,” you comment, drawing a genuine laugh from him.

“That’s for sure. Aren’t you glad you came?” His voice, his question is uncharacteristically nervous, causing you to draw your wandering thoughts back in one place and look up at him.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just…” Leon sighs, dropping his hands into his lap, fidgeting with them. “Last time I asked, you said no.”

“And I told you I was out with my boyfriend,” you say gently. He doesn’t move. His fingers still and he slowly drags his gaze across your body, meeting your eyes as if for the first time. They look almost golden, slanted in the dying rays of the sun.

“How are you both, by the way?” he mumbles, not really sounding like he cares.

“We broke up a week ago.”

Even though you shouldn’t, you remember when your first boyfriend broke up with you in middle school, and Leon was there, rubbing your back in soothing circles and whispering consolations in your ear.

You suppose you’ve known him almost as long as you’ve known yourself. Finding yourself was something you couldn’t have done if it weren’t for his influence, pushing you away from what would’ve corrupted you and towards the angelic halo he wanted sitting on your head.

He protects you, and you protect him. That’s one part of your relationship.

"I always thought he cared for me, you know?" you say with a sigh. "I guess some things are just too good to be true."

Leon turns to face you, his dark eyes catching the fiery hues of the setting sun. "Don't say that. Any guy would be lucky to have your heart."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Perfect," you tease, nudging his ankle with your bare toes.

"I'm far from perfect," he says softly. A soft breeze ruffles his wavy locks, and for a moment you’re captured by the play of sunlight through his hair. How had you never noticed how beautiful he looked as the sunset lit up his features?

Shaking loose from your thoughts, you quip, "Could've fooled me. While I'm wallowing in self pity you sit there as calm as ever. Isn’t that stupid?" You nudge him again, hoping to evoke a smile - but his expression remains tender.

Leon tilts his head curiously. “No. Why would you say that?”

“I guess some part of me knew that if I didn’t have him, no one else would ever love me.”

Leon picks at the blanket, coaxing strands to peel away from the tightly woven fabric. “That part’s stupid. You’ll find the one.”

“Don’t get philosophical on me,” you tease. “I need someone to jar back to reality.”

“I’m not!” He protests, flushing. He turns back to the lake, to the ripples steadily running towards us. “He didn’t… like… after prom?”

“Leon!” You nudge him with your foot, exasperated. “He’s not that bad.”

“I know,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound like he’s convinced. “Watch the food for me?”

“Why?” The corner of your lip twitches. “Are you swimming?”

“Maybe.” Leon leans back on his palms, as if only considering this idea now, even when you know he only came here with the idea of a quick dip. 

Nothing got him relaxed like floating, weightless, drifting along in dense water, consuming his thoughts as if absorbing his troubled mind, disappearing into the abyss below. You knew that from the absurd amount of times you’d seen him at the pool.

“I know you want to.” 

His neck turns a light shade of pink. “That obvious?” 

You nudge him forward. “Just go already. It’s already getting dark.”

Leon glances toward the setting sun, gauging how much time remains in the long summer dusk. Then, with a playful grin, he rises and pulls his t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. 

You watch, fascinated, as lithe muscles shift beneath golden skin. His shirt lands in a warm heap next to you as he stretches his arms upward, arching his back like a cat awakening. Shadows accentuate his slender form while soft rays limn each contour, making poetry of lean lines that tell of wiry strength.   

Gazing out over the waiting water, Leon takes a deep breath of anticipation. You see the subtle relaxation steal through taut limbs and tense shoulders. Then he turns, catching you looking, and laughter glints in rapt eyes before he shifts his stance back to the lake.

You settle back on your palms to watch Leon glide into the waiting water. His form cuts smoothly through the glassy surface, barely a disturbance in his wake. 

Under the fading rose glow of sunset, Leon's pale skin takes on a luminous sheen you never quite noticed before. Ripples kiss the shore as he submerges fully, rolling beneath the water, only to emerge seconds later, shaking droplets from his disheveled hair. 

You trace each bead's downward path, longing to feel their chill evaporate under searing fingers. But you stay put, watching from afar as Leon floats languidly, gazing up at the colors fading fast across the sky.

A sigh escapes you, matching the gentle swaying of reeds along the bank. You envy the placid waters bearing him, lapping coolness across his skin and easing all tensions. To have someone sink into such a soothing embrace - but your place is here, drinking in the poetry of his fluid motions beneath the dying glow of dusk.

<><><><>

“You’re not getting in my car dripping like that,” you deadpan. Leon kicks the gravel of the parking lot, outlined by the fierce sun, looking just like a guilty little boy.

“I didn’t bring a towel,” he mumbles. “Just this once?”

“I just- no!” 

“Then how do I get home?” he asks softly. 

You watch his eyes, blinking down at you, guilt steadily spreading across your expression as you switch your gaze between the boy standing in front of you and your car. 

Equally steady is the childlike grin that Leon sports while he soaks  the poor, newly refurbished passenger seat. You manage to at least throw down your picnic blanket before he sits back down, eyes narrowed at you. 

“Either this or I stuff you in my trunk,” you reply smugly. 

“No, no, it’s not that…” he says, trailing off. He shakes his head and twists to look out the window, holding his face in the middle of his palm. His shoulders are drawn back, as if protecting something.

After a few minutes of silence, you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“That won’t work on me.”

A quiet huff. “It’s nothing.”

You pull up in your driveway but you don’t move to unlock the car. Leon's fingers freeze on the handle, terror flashing across his face. In an instant, you see all the emotions he'd kept bottled inside leak out like spilled ink. 

Your questioning gaze pins him as surely as if you'd seen through flesh to the secrets of his heart beneath. For a long moment, the only sounds are crickets replacing daylight's song outside. 

Then Leon snatches his hand back as if burned, stammering, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to–the door got stuck, that's all." 

“That might be because I locked it.” You smile and cross your arms, waiting.

After several long moments, his shoulders slump in defeat. You look at Leon steadily, at his hands still resting on the locked door. His panicked gaze darts everywhere but at you.

"Leon," you say softly. "Talk to me. Why did you grab the handle like that?" 

He swallowed hard, fingers twisting together in his lap. When he speaks, his voice is barely a murmur, like a preschooler admitting something wrong he did. "I just… wanted to get out, I guess."

You tilt your head, waiting for more. But you don’t expect a tear to slip from his eyes as he takes a wavering breath.

"Please don't make me say it," he whispers. More confused than intrigued, you rest a hand on his trembling arm, trying to ease his discomfort. When he flinches, you recoil, tilting your head as a sign for him to continue.

If it were anyone else, they would’ve missed the growing expectation spread plainly on your face. And it’s for that reason that Leon doesn’t persist. He knows there’s no use. He had to get to this point at some point.

He collapses against the seat, face crumpling. "I'm sorry, I-I have feelings for you, okay? I've tried so hard not to but I can't help it. And now you'll hate me and I've ruined everything-"

Gently, you lay a hand on his knee. "Leon. Look at me." 

Reluctantly he meets your gaze, eyes brimming with unshed tears. You give him a reassuring smile. "You don’t have to be nervous with me. You needed that, didn’t you?"

Leon shakes his head vigorously, tears escaping down his cheeks. "No, y-you don't understand. You were with him, you...you loved him." 

His voice breaks on the last word. You take his face gently between your hands, gazing intently into his watery eyes. 

"Leon, listen to me. We weren’t real. Nothing between us was real, hm?” He tries to look away but you hold him fast. "Why do you think we broke up, huh?” Your voice sounds dry with amusement but you can’t seem to make it sound any other way right now. “Because every time I was with him, all I could think about was you. Your smile, your laugh, how you make me feel."

Leon lets out a soft sob, pressing his eyes closed, spindly, dew-dropped eyelashes brushing against his raised cheekbones. You press your forehead to his, wiping away a falling tear with your thumb, feeling like you’ll never need anything else. Just him.

"It's always been you, dumbass. I'm in love with you." 

Before he can protest further, you kiss him intensely, and under your lips, you feel him melt, molding into your hands. Gently, you caress his cheek again, your thumb gliding soft as a veil of rain across his trembling lips. 

His eyes flicker shut at the ghost of your fingertips on his skin. Beneath your hands' worshipful mapping, Leon's trembling fades, body loosening like the reeds sinking into the peace of the lake. 

His lips, yet tingling from your kiss's imprint, curl softly at their edges - the whisper of a private smile meant for you alone. He pulls away from you, sniffling, running a hand under his nose, chuckling softly. 

“So…” Leon’s fingers lace with yours, breathing life back into the twilight air. “Guess we’re finally figuring things out, huh?”

“Took us long enough.” You brush your hair back behind your ear, eyes glinting mischievously up at him. “Who would’ve thought all it’d take was trapping you in a car?”

Leon groans and buries his flushed face in your shoulder. “Please don’t remind me. I still look insane, don’t I?”

You tap his chin until his shy eyes meet your gaze. “You could never look anything but beautiful to me.”

“Such a charmer. No wonder I never stood a chance.” Leon’s blush deepens, crimson against the pale hues of his skin, teeth clicking together softly. He’s shivering, you realize.

“I think you’re the only one who ever stands a chance, love.” You drum his nose before grinning. “You’re cold. Come inside, I’ll get a bath started.”

And on the way inside, fingers intertwined with his, you make a promise to yourself.

Never let him go.

[im-not-a-joke]

please write the noel x mischa they vote for each other to live but in the end only one of them can au it’s so ashjfkwnd

Me when I finally get around to finishing requests

Read it on ao3

Fic also included after the cut !!

Inside the dimly lit warehouse, the St. Cassian’s chamber choir sat, paired off, each duo quietly conversing. Constance was half-listening, sitting on the stage, while Ocean rambled on about something, again. Ricky and Jane sat at the accordion, having a conversation that must have caused a realization for Ricky, he sat, straight-backed, giving a soft look to Jane, as she stared longingly at the space behind Ricky.

Noel sat, leaning against his boyfriend, quietly watching everything unfold. Mischa would occasionally lift his other arm, taking a drink from the bottle the two of them had been sharing. They took the chance they had to just be together, something they didn’t have often in life.

Mischa tilted his head, resting it on top of Noel’s, closing his eyes and speaking lowly, “I meant it, you know, the world does need more poets,”

Noel huffed, “don’t even think about it. We both know I’m not the one that deserves it most,”

Mischa took a moment to think, trying to phrase what he wanted to say correctly. Noel took the silence as an opportunity to grab his boyfriend’s free hand, resting them on their pressed-together knees.

“Besides, I would rather stay here with you,” Noel squeezed their entwined hands.

“My darling, I cannot give you everything you want here,” Mischa sounded genuinely distressed, Noel felt him straighten, peering down at him.

Noel sat himself up, looking at the other boy with all the love in his heart.

“That’s not true, in just the last like- hour- I’ve gotten to live out my dreams of being Monique, we got to kiss, in front of the choir, you sang me the most passionate love song I’ve ever heard, and now we’re sharing a bottle of vodka,” he used his free hand to cup Mischa’s face, “I’ve gotten to do everything I wanted to do in life, because of you,” the taller boy closed his eyes, leaning into the touch and resting his forehead against Noel’s, “I want to stay here with you,”

Mischa opened his mouth to reply, the words getting caught in his throat. He crumbled, falling into the chest of the boy next to him. He felt Noel wrap his arms around him, surrounding him in the comforting scent of vanilla and Noel’s cat, Marlene. Noel started to rock them gently, swaying back and forth, doing his best to comfort the boy in his arms. He started to hum the tune of the song Mischa had sung earlier, hoping it would express the words that were rapidly building up within his brain.

Upon recognizing the tune, Mischa lifted his head, pressing a sweet kiss into his lips. Noel smiled into the kiss, not caring who was around to see them. He was already dead, there was no use in stopping himself from being happy.

Mischa pulled away, resting his head back against his chest. Noel admired his boyfriend, face hidden in his sweater, smiling into his chest. He had no idea how he had gotten so lucky to not only get to meet someone as sweet as the boy resting on him, but to be dating that boy.

He moved his hand to said boy’s hair, earning a contented hum and feeling him melt somehow closer, until neither of them could tell where Noel ended and Mischa began.

They sat there, Noel softly humming while his boyfriend clung to him, finally at peace.

Then, came the shrill noise of Ocean’s scream.

–

“Final Vote,” Karnak’s robotic voice sounded, “it is time you decide, who lives, who dies,”

Noel saw Mischa quietly talking to Ricky and Jane, gesturing as if he were desperate for them to agree with whatever he was saying. A jolt of fear coursed through his body, there was no way the taller boy could be serious, there was no way he was trying to convince the other two to vote for him.

The two gave Mischa affirmative nods, and he clapped his hands in front of him in excitement. He turned his head, catching Noel’s eyes, who gave him a tight shake of the head. I’m not leaving without you! The other boy just smiled at him.

“So, how are we starting this-” Constance started to speak, only to be interrupted.

“I vote for Noel,” he said decisively, crossing the room to hold his hands, looking directly through his eyes and into his soul.

DING.

“Mischa Bachinski has cast his vote.” the robotic voice boomed.

“Misch- no- I told you, I don’t want to be alive without you,” Noel pleaded, begging him to change his answer. He only squeezed his hands and gave him a hopeful smile in response.

“I, also, vote for Noel,” Ricky spoke up, looking lovingly at Jane, who nodded in agreement.

DING. DING.

“Richard Potts and Jane Doe have casted their votes.”

“Woah woah woah woah- guys- what are we doing!?” Ocean burst in, she looked like she had just watched someone tear up her collection of first-place certificates for the St. Cassian’s Annual Spelling Bee.

“Me, guys, you were supposed to vote for me!” she was crazed, fighting for whatever sanity she had left, “and, if not me, then her,” she gestured wildly at Jane.

“Do not fret, friend, I am happy here,” she attempted to reassure, leaning her head on Ricky’s shoulder.

“I just- I- why him?” she turned, this time, on Mischa.

“Must I always repeat myself with you,” he looked away from Noel only for a moment, “the world needs more poets. Poets like Noel,” once again making eye contact with said poet.

“But- but-”

“Listen, Ocean, think about it,” Constance attempted to calm her friend, reaching for her still wildly flailing hands, “if none of us get out of this, what’s the lesson? At least this way, someone gets to live on,” she turned to look at the subject of Ocean’s outburst, “I vote for Noel too,” she smiled.

DING.

“Constance Blackwood has cast her vote.”

Noel was growing panicked. He couldn’t live, not without his friends, not without Mischa. His life would be a tragedy, and not the fun kind. He didn’t think he could bear the thought of waking up, the lone survivor of a crash that should have- and did- kill him. He didn’t want to go to school, only to see the choir room empty, void of the noise of Ocean’s incessant rambling, the monotone of Ricky’s AAC device, the quiet shuffle of Constance’s uniform skirt as she swayed in place, the sharp ding of Mischa’s phone. He didn’t want to work another shift at that stupid Taco Bell, only to find himself alone, walking home at night, instead of warm and safe, venting to Mischa in his beat up Honda Civic. He didn’t want to walk into the Blackwood Cafe and not hear Constance’s cheery greeting, he didn’t want to live in a world where he never got to eat another homemade cupcake of hers. He didn’t want to live in a world in which Ocean didn’t show up, cold and hungry, at his door past nightfall, a world in which he had no one to have a silent bond with, a world without his sister. He didn’t want to go back to being the Gay Kid in school, alone and scared and with no one to look out for him. He didn’t want to have to hold himself on the hard nights, trying to convince his brain that his boyfriend was next to him, holding him tight. He didn’t want to live in a world without dumb autotuned rap songs, and texts blowing up his phone, and snuck kisses while no one was looking. He didn’t want to be alone.

So, for once, he hoped. Hoped Ocean would come through, hoped she would convince them all to change their votes, to vote for Jane or her, anyone besides Noel or Mischa. He, for the first time in his life, wanted Ocean to be Ocean.

And, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t.

She seemed almost defeated, her confident stride lacking as she made her way to Noel, placing a hand on his shoulder, and giving him the same look he gave her everytime she knocked on his door late at night, care.

“I vote for Noel.”

DING.

“Ocean O’Connell-Rosenberg has cast her vote.”

He began to cry.

Mischa wrapped his arms around him, offering his warmth to comfort him.

“Do not cry, my poet, the world will love you,” he whispered, like a secret, into his hair. The romantic almost believed him, had it not been for the crushing reality that he had to vote for himself, or let his friends’ votes go to waste.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he sobbed into his boyfriend’s chest.

“Is all going to be okay, I promise,” he gave Noel a squeeze, and held him back, at arms length, to give him a good look.

“Please don’t make me,” the other boy pleaded, searching his face for any form of doubt. All he saw looking back at him was love, hope that Noel would go back out and share his words with the world.

“Noel, it is time you move forward,” Karnak boomed.

Noel turned toward where the elevated part of the warehouse had been, and saw the portal. He had been chosen, the only one left to decide was himself.

He had to admit, the brilliant light opening up was intoxicating. He wanted to bathe himself in it, get lost in the warmth forever, it drew him closer, he felt himself leave Mischa’s arms, walking towards the swirling light, seeing himself on the other side, safe and alive.

“Just don’t look back,” Karnak instructed. The interruption broke his focus, drawing him back to his surroundings. Just as he was about to step in, he caught himself, wanting to say a final goodbye.

He turned, looking at his friends, unsure of what to say.

Ocean ran up to him, throwing her arms around him in a hug.

“Take care of the choir room for me- please,”

“Of course, I know just how you like it,” he gave her a final squeeze, “don’t let it go to your head but- I’m going to miss losing my beauty sleep to comfort you every other night,”

She laughed into his shoulder, “I’ll find a way to keep you up, don’t you worry,”

With that, she pulled away, and Noel saw the rest of the choir, lined up to give him a farewell hug.

Constance nearly lifted him off of his feet, spinning him in hug and wishing him luck. Jane gave a surprisingly warm hug, assuring him she wanted to stay behind. Ricky nearly tackled him, thanking him for being his first friend.

Then came Mischa. This was, by far, the hardest goodbye he could face. The two collided, nearly sending them both tumbling backwards into the portal. Noel felt his face wet with tears once again.

“I will never love anyone else,” he sobbed into his boyfriend's shoulder.

“Poet, do not limit yourself because of me. I want you to be happy,”

“You make me happy,”

Mischa pulled back, looking him in the eyes one final time, before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I love you,”

“I love you, too,”

And with those final words, Mischa turned the love of his life around, and gave him a firm push, forcing him into the light.

Noel’s world went white.

[cloudbattrolls]

Might Makes Wrong

Gliese Benral | Benral Hedge Maze | Present Night

Gliese, for all her tendency to snarl and slash at anything that threatened her, could be patient.

The blueblood could send her new necromantic constructs - far more hardy and mobile than her first ones, which had come apart with one good kick and and moved at a snail’s pace - out to patrol the corners of her hedge maze and report back to her. Creations of bone, magically improved dead flesh, and plants, they served her well.

She could have them trap a zombie, entangling her in thorny vines.

Gliese rode up to the struggling, flailing undead on her lusus, the psychic wearing a hard and satisfied grin.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here. The world’s shittiest undead. Any last words, chickie?”

Zeller looked at her with genuine fear in her mismatched eyes, her large ears pinned back.

“I don’t - I haven’t come close in weeks, love, what’s this about? I’ve hardly even seen Shedir lately…”

She sounded sad about it. Boo fucking hoo.

“Who cares?” Drawled the cuspy cerulean. “You’re here now, this is still my territory. I knew if I just waited a few weeks, your ugly mug would pop up again. Anyway, time to die, unless you do have some last words.”

“Wait!” said the woman, panicked. “I - I promise I was coming to tell you something helpful. About the mannequins.”

The hare troll’s eyebrows raised and she shifted her position on her lusus. The giant saber-toothed hare, despite his more limited expressions, looked just as dismissive as his charge. One lapine ear flicked idly as his daughter considered her captive’s words.

“Why?” Asked Gliese bluntly. “Why would you fucking bother? You know I want to kill you, and now I can, no matter what regeneration you have. As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing everyone a favor, especially me.” Her nose wrinkled as she recalled the undead’s attempts to flirt with her. Fucking gross.

“Please.” begged Zeller, some trace of an almost-familiar accent creeping back into her voice instead of the apparently false one she’d been using. What a dipshit poser.

“Please, the mannequins…you don’t understand how bad it is…you haven’t even been looking into it, have you? That other undead you were so busy with, oh my…I could feel him. Feel his power. A beacon…well, they’re like the hands of a beacon, but I scarce understand why or how.”

“Fuck’s sake, don’t be so cryptic.” Said the blueblood impatiently. “I don’t have all night. Really doing a shit job of convincing me to spare you.”

The plant zombies’ thorny vines gripped the lanky woman tighter and she cried out in pain.

“I’m not - not trying to be!” She said, almost sobbing. “It’s all terribly - augh - terribly tangled! I have trouble following it m-myself! P-please, just loosen…ack…l-loosen them a little…there’s a good girl…”

“Barf.” Said Gliese in disdain, but did so with a flick of her magic, a few blue lights swirling with the usual steady orange glow of her eyes.

“Thank you.” wheezed the zombie, her fancy clothing now mangled and shredded. “You really are…quite the stunner! Ha ha…I don’t mean that like I used to…no, you remind me of him…except better to look at, hahaha…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re crazy, I get it, now get to the point.” Snapped the highblood. 

“Am I so daft? I guess I am…well, who wouldn’t be…I think I’ve earned a little daftness, for little old me. Little old Zeller had to see trolls dragged away…learned the hard way it was nearly her, for once it was lucky I got my kill stolen! Oh, they like suffering, I think…suffering without cause…screaming and struggling. They remind me of him too…” She trailed off, staring into the hedges.

“Maybe if I had been more like him, I’d have lived! Hm. Or maybe I’d have died…there must have been others who died, it’s been so long, and Tuuya is so much older than me, I hear…”

Zeller said the worm swarm’s name in a strange way; half longing, half jealousy, with a craving that had an ache to it. 

Gliese’s glowing eyes narrowed.

“Okay, I really shouldn’t give a fuck, and I will probably regret asking, but what the hell is your deal with them? You don’t seem to have met them but you’re fucking obsessed. Why?”

The stitched-up undead gave a strange and terrible sad needle smile broken only by a small pair of buckteeth. Her short wavy hair was all askew from her rough treatment.

“Well, dearie, you could say we’re connected.”

Wait. She had teeth like - ears like - hair like - regenerated from fire like -

“Oh holy fuck.” Breathed the blueblood. “No way.” 

Zeller nodded as enthusiastically as she could while trapped by vines.

“God.” Gliese groaned. “I knew I’d regret asking because now I want to know. Now I have to let your dumb ass live a little longer.”

“Ehehehehee…” Zeller laughed giddily and slightly hysterically. “Hooked, hm? Like a little fish? Yes, yes, you’re right…but don’t think I’m the first. No, not me. I was the second…worse luck. The first was him.” She said, and her voice became dead and grim. 

“Him…I won’t speak his name. Maybe Tuuya has said it…let it grime their lips and tongue…I never will again. I didn’t want the face he gave me either, so I changed it, changed the horns too…oh, it helped not an ounce, it didn’t…not when he came calling.” Her voice wobbled with fear and weariness.

“Yeah that’s super sad.” Drawled Gliese uncaringly. “I’m guessing that was your ancestor? Tuuya’s never mentioned anything about theirs, so I’m still in the dark.”

“Good.” Murmured the undead. “Good…let his name die, like he must have if they are free…yes, my ancestor and theirs. The Lifeweaver. Ha! Should have called him Deathbringer…but he failed after all, because I came back! I came back…” her voice trailed off and she scratched at her neck stitches.

“Yaaaaaaay.” Said Gliese in the most sarcastic deadpan. “Hey, question. How come you’re not worms like they are?”

“Because I was a failure, love.” Said Zeller with a croaky little laugh. “The genetics all wrong…the integration a cock-eyed mess…I lived! I ran away…I had never really wanted it.” She gave a hiccupy little laugh, then shivered.

“He dragged me back to finish it anyway…that’s when it happened. Slept so long, no one was left when I woke…no one except the empire nosing around my cavern. Well, they weren’t nosing for long.”

She had a gleeful, hungry look in her eyes that reminded Gliese why she had to kill this piece of trash.

“Cool story! You won’t get to tell it again.” Commented the blueblood, commanding her own zombies to crush the disgusting undead.

Zeller screamed and begged, but it wasn’t the jadeblood’s pleas that stopped the vines from further tearing her body apart.

Gliese simply hesitated to throw away a potentially useful tool.

Yes, she could make good constructs now, but she wasn’t quite at the level of making sapient ones. Plus, it would be shitty to ask someone alive, someone who actually mattered, to endanger themself trying to investigate this thing. 

If anything happened to Zeller, who gave a damn?

“Okay, here’s how it’s going to go, so listen the fuck up.” She said, intent. 

The zombie swallowed and nodded. Many of her stitches had burst or ripped and were oozing grayish jade blood, her limbs holding on by shreds that were slowly beginning to weave back together. 

Not nearly as fast as Tuuya could, the psychic noted. Zeller really was just a clumsy prototype. No wonder the flamethrower had stopped her for weeks, though sadly not killed her. 

“You’re going to only feed on whatever dead people you can find. No killing to eat. I’ll be putting a sensor on you so I’ll know if you do.” She said, eyes narrowed. 

“You’re going to find out as much as you can about these mannequins and report back to me. I want it written up, too. We’re keeping records, we’re doing this right. Put a single fucking toe out of line, say any more gross shit to me, and I’m going to find out just how good your regeneration is.” Said the hare troll, soft and deadly. 

“O-of course, miss.” Croaked the zombie, ears fully down and flattened against her head.

“Cool, glad we got that sorted out.” Said the psychic casually, almost pleasantly. 

The spiky vines slowly released the undead, retracting into the constructs who had captured and held her.

Gliese snorted in amusement at the bedraggled, woebegone zombie trying to put herself back together with shaking limbs as she hopped off her lusus. 

She took a few steps toward Zeller and prepared to cast the sensor spell.

The constructs’ vines reached in again with a cerulean haze of magic and the jadeblood flinched, but they didn’t wrap around her this time. Instead a pair of them wrapped around her mangled wrist, their ends weaving something together, and then withdrew.

A blue flower - a forget-me-not on its own slender vine - now circled the undead’s flesh.

“Don’t think you can destroy it.” Said Gliese with a dark chuckle. “Or take it off. That thing’s magic and it’ll outlast even you. It feeds on the remains of your own meals, that’s how I’ll know if you try any shit. And if you do…” 

She looked meaningfully at the zombie’s slowly regenerating arms, riddled with puncture wounds.

Zeller nodded, still shaky. 

Gliese didn’t bother with a final remark. The psychic merely climbed back on her lusus, and urged the saber-toothed hare to turn around and take her hive.

[that-is-just-so-typically-me]

This concept that this is available or allowed is something I’m really working on in therapy, but it is so difficult. It took me up until I think maybe six months ago to realize it, but the way I was treated and the way everything went down in my last relationship left me with this core belief that it is burdensome and unattractive for me to express my wants and needs in relationships. Basically, for the past couple of years I have accepted as truth that me asking for any amount of attention under any circumstances outside of what my partner independently decides to give to me is unfair, demanding, and will cause them to (in my head, rightfully) love me less and eventually leave me if I don’t stop asking for this attention. My partner was emotionally distant on the best days we had, and on the worst days she withdrew entirely, rejecting my requests and being clearly frustrated about trying to collaborate to find solutions. All while I witnessed her clearly genuine desire to make her other partner happy, to make her feel comfortable and supported. I know now that it was all because she was deeply falling in love with this other partner, and she was not even a little bit in love with me. When you love someone, putting in effort to make them happy makes you happy. It comes with ease and eagerness. You’re excited to prioritize it and relish showering them with love. If not, it builds resentment. And I know there was no hope for us. It wasn’t her fault. She was abused and traumatized by the first person who came into our polyam situation, and all of the true damage done between us was directly because of that. I don’t blame her for not being able to see me and not be reminded of her pain and regret. I forgive her, and I hope so badly that she can heal and find peace with all of that now. Someone tore us apart and salted the earth where our relationship grew and could not grow again. And at the same time, that forgiveness and that knowledge has really done jack-all to repair the absolute disfiguration - practically terraforming - of my emotional landscape. It’s like I think about sharing what would make me smile with a theoretical new partner and I think the best case scenario is that they would simply forget and never act on it. The worst case - and most likely - scenario is that they’ll get annoyed that I’m asking for excessive attention or to be spoiled or something, like I am some kind of amazing catch when I am clearly not, and they’ll like me less and their interest will wander. It sounds so dramatic to write it down (I guess that’s a sign that journaling this is important?), but it feels so horribly and inescapably real to me. It’s gotten so bad that I actually scold myself for liking or wanting things. It feels terrifying to like or want something passionately. The voice in my head is like, “Who do you think you are that you deserve this? How dare you wish someone would buy you flowers just because? You think you’re important enough that you can ask your partner to listen to you share about your pain when you are suffering, and they’ll be happy to be there for you instead of feeling unjustly imposed upon? How dare you want this frivolous trinket when you should be spending only on practical items? How dare you even want a partner that would write you love notes and send you good morning texts every day? You’ll be lucky if you find someone who isn’t repulsed by your body and texts a few times a week and doesn’t cheat on you. Your happiness isn’t a necessity. You don’t deserve it and you are so spoiled to think that you do.” Again, dramatic - and it isn’t always exactly such vivid, verbatim thoughts. But it’s very true. I believe every word of it. I’ll be lucky at this point to find someone who simply wouldn’t mind dating me, and who do I think I am, some kind of princess wanting them to be romantic and enthusiastic about me? Like I’m something to cherish, something someone would be lucky to have, something to be proud of?

The pain is loud and like a knife today. I know it’s partly because I had such a disappointing experience last night. My friend and I were going to attend a fundraiser at a lesbian bar last night, but they couldn’t attend last minute due to pain, and it was just me. And it ended up being a bingo night??? Not a dance party. So I was definitely out of my comfort zone. And not only was everyone there about 21-23 with the exception of a few women in their 50s, a stark reminder that my dating pool just probably doesn’t exist, I was unfortunately and embarrassingly triggered by sight of the happy butch/femme couples. I know that’s a thing for me now because I just don’t have frequent enough exposure to have been numbed to it by now - so on the rare occasion I see them, of course my awful, masochistic brain flashes back to me and her, in a better time.

They say it takes two years to get over someone. Sometimes it hardly feels like I’ve made any progress. The pain is so familiar now but it never just goes away.

I feel in so many ways I never got up from the tile on the other side of the door as she drove away from me that night. And she’s light years away in her new (not even new anymore) life with the person she chose, the one who actually deserves to be treated well, maybe not perfectly happy (who is?) but happy enough, with her true love, settled. Moving forward and upward always. Together with her dream girl. And I know I don’t want them to break up. My ex deserves to be happy, and that’s where her happiness is now. But for me, it is always May 18th 2021, and I am still here, alone, petrifying where she left me.

It’s truly embarrassing, like utterly humbling in the worst possible way, to feel like I am still at this point after two years, when we have lived without each other for so long, when she has undoubtedly changed so much from my memory. I know there is nothing to go back to. She hasn’t missed me or wanted me in years, and we don’t even know each other any more. But I know it’s not even about that. It’s that how I was treated and what happened was so unlike how I’d ever been treated, and was so traumatic, that it radically changed how I see my world, in a way I never even considered could exist before. The agonizing lessons it taught me - about myself, my worth, how safe I am in this world and how this world will respond to me - despite perhaps not being true, are so vivid, so palpable, that they live on in seeming immortality. I’d give anything to not feel like this anymore. I want to believe I am worth being loved well, and that I’ll find that someone who wants to love me well some day. On my worst days - and when I say worst days, I mean, I never had these lows before in my life - I truly believe I deserve to be with someone who treats me badly. I’m a femme sub who was never pretty but now isn’t even young. There has never been anything special about me. And now I have trust issues that won’t be a picnic for anyone to deal with even despite how much work I’ve done and still do to heal. There aren’t many good people around and they of course end up with the people who have the most to offer, the ones people can be proud to be with - certainly not me. People like the person I was left for. On my worst days I’d rather have someone who treats me terribly if I can get a scrap of something that feels like love from them sometimes. The loneliness makes it physically hard to breathe at times, at night. I haven’t gone more than a week without crying myself to sleep for two years. I have thoughts about myself that I have never had the courage even to tell my therapist. Maybe I’ll write about it some day.

But I’m surviving. Grasping onto the tendrils of life and joy to keep pushing myself to keep trying. But it is so hard. And it’s all an inside job, with no outside experiences to strengthen me. No one filling the space she left in me to make me think that isn’t how everyone will always feel about me. No one coming to kiss me everywhere it hurts and promise me I’m worth so much more than how I was treated, that I am lovable and a treasure that they’ll cherish and never want to let go of. To reflect my true value back at me while I keep trying to hold onto the belief that I am valuable; while I heal and save myself (because I don’t want someone to save me, but goddamn if you can properly heal relational trauma outside of a new, positive relational experience). No one is coming to save me, and I don’t want them to - I want to save myself. But god, I wish it wasn’t just such a lonely, uphill battle every day of my life that I have to fight solely with internal validation. It’s exhausting and the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know where all this time is that is supposed to heal me, but I’d just love to find it.

[smallestapplin]

I know everyone basically agrees Emmet is "down bad" 24/7 and Ingo has a breeding kink, but how would they feel if they had a s/o that was demisexual? The love and strong bond is there but they cant guarantee that they will ever have the desire for that kind of intimacy. And how would they react when its made clear that their s/o has started to feel that attraction? (I noticed in your about section you mentioned being demi!! I too fall somewhere under that umbrella but Im still learning how to talk about it so im sorry if the phrasing of this is weird. Also if you wanted to write more of this for more characters in the future i would eat that shit up)

Yes! I’m happy to help, I remember when I was first trying to explain it, I don’t have a sex drive at all, even in a long term relationship it’s still not a guarantee, but am I the asexual friend who humor is 90% sex jokes? Absolutely.

I’m happy to write this for you! Also this is why all the smut I write has character and reader in a relationship, fwb’s and one night stands are just not it for me.

🔞18+🔞 (I’ll put under keep reading once we get there.)

-

-

🔲Ingo🔲

- I’m going to be honest with you I also see Ingo as a fellow demisexual.

- Genuinely to him your personality and how well it meshes with him is all that matters.

- I see him not really knowing and thinking ‘most people must feel the same.’

- So when you started telling him and explaining it a light bulb just just clicks in his head.

- Accidentally yells in the middle of your talking with “THATS WHAT ITS CALLED!? DOESNT EVERYONE FEEL OR THINK LIKE THIS!?”

- “No Ingo, but I’m glad we are both on the same page!”

- Once you get done explaining it he is looking up definitions and other peoples stories to help get a better understanding.

- And asks you questions.

- Which you’re happy to answer.

- He didn’t really have a sex drive until much later in your relationship.

- Even then he’d never tell you because he never puts his needs first and mainly cause he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

- You two have amazing romantic attraction, and a wonderful love life, he is happy where it is.

🔞NSFW🔞

- But Ingo gets so bashful the day you made it clear you started feeling such a way towards him.

- Oh his face gets so red when he sees you looking at him with lust filled eyes.

- He doesn’t even know what he did to get you looking at him like that.

- But it was doing things for him.

- You two had been making dinner together.

- It was such a sweet domestic moment he couldn’t help but lean in to kiss you. It was so gentle and tender.

- You pulled in right back in when he started pulling away.

- Pressing yourself against him.

- His hands around your waist.

- Ingo can feel himself trembling from such a heated kiss.

- When you two finally do pull away his face is bright pink.

- “You’re addicting, I want more.”

- Oh and he is happy to provide.

🔳Emmet🔳

- You once explain to him you’re more demi, and even that that’s not a promise you’ll ever have a sex drive.

- You’re surprised to learn this down bad horn dog doesn’t really mind.

- “Darling, to me at least sex isn’t THE most important thing, I love you and our relationship, after all I have a hand and some toys upstairs, I don’t care, I’m just happy to be with you.”

- Sir please you’re making them emotional.

- Your comfort is Emmet’s top priority.

- He loves you, and is just happy to have in his life, he feels lucky to be with you.

- Sure to him sex is a nice another way to express his love and be vulnerable with you. But he knows not everyone is the same so he doesn’t mind.

- He is still bad with words.

- But he gets to cuddle you! And kiss you! And hug you! And you love him!

- He makes it clear that he is with you for you.

🔞NSFW🔞

- the day you made it clear is the day his brain implodes.

- Emmet and you were just laying in a pillow fort you two made to watch a movie.

- For a pillow fort on the ground it was stable and very comfortable on the inside, he made sure of that!

- By the end of the movie you two were cuddling facing each other. Speaking in almost whispers.

- Then he kissed you.

- How could he not? You’re his love.

- And then in the midst of the kiss you gripped his shirt with both hands and rolled so he was on his back with you resting completely on his chest.

- His gasp of surprise gave you the perfect opening to move your tongue in.

- His hands grasp your hips trying his hardest to stay calm cool and collected.

- And when you pulled away with a string of saliva connecting you two. You grinds your hips against his hardening dick that he hoped you didn’t notice.

- “I want to fuck you so badly.”

- And you did NOT need to tell him twice!

[barbiewritesstuff]

Sleepy

-- A little silly oneshot with our favourite pilot

Also, a prime example to show that titling fics is much harder than actually writing them imo

Taglist: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dempy --

 

Top Gun was a great institute, truly wonderful at making the best valal pilots in the United States. But the priviledge of attending came with a few downsides. It upheld strict standards and rules for the whole of the student body : the uniform must be on at all waking hours, students of opposite genders cannot sleep in the same room, and no bunk sharing to name a few.  

It was a mystery, then how the accomodation office had managed to break two of those rules with a simple computer error, and with it being the 4rth of July weekend, there was no way to get it fixed before Monday.  

You stared at the single person bunk, duffel bag in hand. Your new roommate did the same.  

« Did you tell Cy— « He asked 

« Yes » You cut him off 

You both sighed 

« I’m not sleeping on the floor » You both said at the same time. 

You could guess why the error had occurred. Your parents had gazed upon you as a newborn baby and decided that they would name you after your grandfather, you were just happy he had a fairly feminine sounding name. But that didn’t explain how the office clerc had missed the damn picture on your file.  

« I guess we could share » Your roommate says and you scoff, of course he would say that. A ladies-man with a great body and piercing green eyes, Jake Seresin rarely had anything other than sex on the brain. But when you looked at him, he seemed to genuinely be looking for a solution. He was staring at the bed with a perplexed expression that mirrored your own.  

« I mean… I guess… Or we ask someone for a spare mattress » 

« I told you, I’m not sleeping on the floor » 

« And I’m not sharing a bed !��» 

« Why don’t you sleep on the floor, then ? » 

« Because I want to be able to fly tomorrow. Without a painful back » 

« Yeah me too »  

« Why ? You already fly like an ass, surely it won’t change much… » 

Seresin stomps off to take a shower, leaving you with a bed, your bags and a pile of his clothes on the floor as he makes his way down the corridor in his underwear.  

Conversations with Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin tended to devolve into arguments quickly. He wasn’t necessarily mean to you, but you were both the youngest from big families, and causing chaos was a second nature. Putting you both together was a recipe for constant bickering. Despite that, you were counting your lucky starts you had been put in this situation with him. It could have been worse, you could have had to bunk with Phoenix who was both a kicker and a snorer, something you had found out during a quick hotel stay while visiting mutual friends.  

You had had to share a bed then due to a computer error too, which now you thought about it, was a really weird coincidence.  

 

You met up with Phoenix in the women’s showers like you did most evenings. Finding a private moment to catch up with her and Halo was nigh on impossible with the horde of boys you worked with constantly interrupting you, and you were never really keen on saying anything in public anyway, so the white noise of the shower provided enough of a distraction so you could open up.  

When you came back from the showers, hair still wet and dripping onto your oversized pijama shirt, Jake was standing in his underwear. He had done some rearranging of the room while you were gone. The bed that had previously been in the middle of the room was now flush against a wall. Both of your bags had been pushed underneath the tiny desk, leaving a large open space of dusty carpet.  

« I think I know where they keep the spare mattresses, I just need to find someine to open the supply closet for me » 

« No, don’t bother. We can share for two nights, it’s not that big a deal… Right ? » 

« Right. Can I sleep next to the wall ? » He asked and you let him. The idea of being squeezed between Hangman and a wall had seemed very claustrophobic. He towered over you by at least a foot, and although you worked out just as much, Jake was a bulky man.  

You regretted the decision to share almost as soon as he fell asleep.  

 

Hangman didn’t snore, or kick. He was worse. He was a cuddler.  

Human heater Jake Seresin was holding onto you for dear life as you drifted off to sleep. One arm over your waist, his left leg covering your right one as you lay on your side in a comfortable figure-4 position, he was pressing your close to him. He shifted slightly and his breath hit the back of your neck.  

He mumbled something and you could have sworn it sounded a lot like « You’re comfy ».  

You weren’t sure why you were finding this so distracting. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, his hands weren’t anywhere they shouldn’t have been, and you had cuddled with friends before. But the gentle squeeze he was giving your body was making your brain work overtime. You tried to move but when you readjusted your position so he was no longer so close to you, Hangman moved too. His hand was still on your stomach, but your movement had made your shirt ride up a little and his fingers were now touching your bare skin. It felt like you had stuck by lightning.  

It was all a little too much for you so you got out of bed, eliciting a groan from Jake (When did you start calling him Jake ?) and made your way to the dorm recreation room for a coffee. The rec room had a bookshelf stocked by students, it was manly aviation manuals but every once in a while a novel appears. It was always snatched up quickly, especially when it was a romance but you were lucky tonight because the shiny, uncracked spine of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society stared back at you. You filled your cup about halfway up with coffee and the rest with milk and a pack of sugar (It tasted like ass but it kept you up) and found yourself a booth to sit on.  

You were barely finished with page three when someone pitter pattered down the hall and pushed the door open.  

« You okay ? » It was Jake. 

« Just fine, thanks » You said too quickly. You’re embarassed but you weren’t quite sure why. He immediately picks up on it. 

« Did I – Oh god – Jesus, I’m sorry if I like… Poked you… » He says, a blush running from his neck to the tip of his ears.  

You hadn’t even thought of that. But the idea of it was doing things to you you would rather not admit.  

« No, no, nothing like that… I don’t think I like sharing a bed, to be honest » You lie. You liked sharing a bed just fine, especially when the other person was nice and warm but you wouldn’t allow yourself to think the second part of that thought or you might have admitted that you liked sharing a bed with him and that you might have liked it a little too much. 

You looked at him. Hair discheveled, stubble showing and sleepy eyes, he stood in front of you in black boxer shorts and a tight white shirt depicting an outline of a bullrider. He looked even better like that, you thought and sipped your cup of coffee to distract yourself from staring any more.  

« What are you reading ? » 

« The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, it’s about a woman writing a book about a literary society in Guernsey after the second world war. She falls in love with one of the members and has to decide whether to go back to London or stay there. » 

« I think I’ve heard of it » 

« It’s fairly popular » 

« I’m not much of a reader… » He admits 

« Wouldn’t have pegged you as one » 

« What would you peg me as, then ? » He asked, one sleepy eyebrow raised 

« I think that behind that tough facade, you are secretly a nerd. I bet you play video games and you’ve played Dungeons and Dragons before. Oh, and I think you’re secretly into cringey 80s movies… » 

« Okay. First off, miss Romance novels, there is nothing secret about me being a nerd. I will gladly talk someone’s ear off about the Uncharted Series or my current campaign as a mage. And there’s absolutely nothing cringey about Indiana Jones, babe » He said, pointing one finger at you like he was telling you off. 

You laughed 

« I can’t believe I got them all right » 

« You’re missing something though » 

« What’s that ? » 

« I am also a massive musicals fan. I go to Broadway every year for my birthday. » 

You laugh again 

« Anything else I don’t know about you ? » 

« I’m in love with you » He says in a dead-pan voice.  

« Excuse me ? » You wanted to ask but nothing came out of your mouth. You just stared at him. He looked straight into your eyes, a serious expression on his face. You put your book down on the table and lowered your arms onto your thighs to lean towards him.  

« Prove it » You said, knowing what comes next. He walked over, still sleepy, squatted down to your level and kissed you gently, one hand on your chin while the other caressed your arm.  

« We don’t need to sleep, you know… There are other ways to share a bed » He said, eyes lowered and almost shy. You probably shouldn’t but you don’t think you could ever refuse the gruff edge of his sleepy voice. 

[biceratops7]

Why Calico Jack is even worse than we thought:

I am in no way saying Jack is a badly written character. As a matter of fact, this man is a fucking diabolical master class of story telling.

I think one of the writers’ greatest strengths is laying exactly the correct amount of cards on the table. The only information we’re ever verbally given about Ed and Jack’s past is that they had a sexual relationship. Everything else we must glean from historical context (yes ofmd actually does stick to some), what we know about Ed, and how we see Jack treat people.

Let’s kick off with how Jack treats people cause that’s the key idea, mainly the fact that he sees them as objects. He treats the crew as mere accessories to his games, whether they’re on board or not has absolutely no effect on whether or not he’ll involve them. Ed is not an exception to this mindset. He’s a pretty hyper person so he’s mostly down for Jack’s antics, but as soon as Ed very visibly expresses discomfort at breakfast when Jack will not shut tf up about his past, it’s clear he couldn’t give two shits.

There’s also, of course, the way he uses Stede as a punching bag to both drive Ed away from him and just for his own amusement. This is made even worse by the fact that Stede has trouble expressing his needs and Ed has pretty significant trouble reading “between the lines” in social situations. What really breaks my heart and puts up massive red flags for me is that Ed cannot seem to tell the difference between Stede’s genuine love and care for him vs Jack being ✨passive aggressive✨ and manipulative. When Jack is uncomfortablely homophobic to Stede and uncaring of the crew’s feelings or safety, unless it is extremely obvious the vibe has been killed beyond repair, Ed seems to think it’s all in good fun.

(And in case anyone’s gonna say this is insulting Ed’s intelligence or infantilizing him, no. Droves of incredibly smart and capable people have issues with social cues that cause tangible problems. I am one of these people. So don’t insult my intelligence.)

Right now let’s take a detour out of universe, bare with me here. If you’re gonna be trying to gain an understanding of homophobia throughout history, there are two very important things to know.

1. It often wasn’t an all or nothing thing

2. Homophobia is deeply rooted in, if not a direct descendant of sexism.

Society’s relationship with sex in general was pretty shit until recent history (and honestly we’re still not quite there yet). If you were really lucky then yes, it was a fun activity you did with someone you love. But just as marriage for Stede had to mean a transaction, sex for a lot of people meant achievement in conquest, winning the commodity of women. Remember when I said homophobia was deeply rooted in sexism? Well basically gay sex was not exempt from these constructs. Mixed with the generations old irrational fear that society will fall if men and women “forget their places”, there were worse social consequences for those who, well, did “the woman’s” part. In some times and places there were even legal consequences specifically for them but not the other person.

(This is part of the reason why I get so frustrated when people say “ofmd doesn’t have homophobia, it just has people hating effeminacy” because y’all it’s the same damn thing. You wanna know where the hell discrimination against gay men even comes from?? It’s most likely the damn belief that the “natural order” will be upset by men taking on an effeminate role! Ofmd doesn’t just showcase homophobia, it does so in its purest form.)

Alright then, back to Jack (fuck this is long-)

Jack clearly isn't ashamed of his homosexuality, in fact he's boasting about it. Because to him and clearly most people at the time (gay or straight), sex isn't about love, it's about conquest. And if that handy dandy sword fight allegory tells us anything, then the way Jack sees it he's more than earned bragging rights. Yet another way Jack and Stede obviously contrast. Stede sees Ed as a person he loves and respects, Jack sees him as not only Blackbeard but a spoil he's won.

So he isn’t just trying to make Stede jealous by revealing he’s Ed’s ex. He’s made an educated guess and inferred that Stede probably… well to put it bluntly “buggered” Ed. (As in topped with Ed’s consent, I realized my prudishness accidentally makes it look like I’m talking about non-con. I’m not talking about non-con during any of this.) Jack’s assuming Stede may be using this fact to boost his ego and wants to knock him down a peg.

But of course Stede is not a piece of shit and therefore Jack’s attempt to drag him into this bullshit falls on its face, so he does the next best thing and pees on his boots. You know, as you do /s. If Stede refuses to participate in a literal pissing contest that objectifies and degrades his friend, then Jack will adjust in no time flat and throw his wait around some other way.

I’m willing to bet real money that Jack blabs of his “exploits” with the king of Pirates the exact same way he’d brag about any other feat of manhood to everyone and their mother. The only reason he’s not doing it in front of the crew is because be know’s Ed would hate it and feel cheated/ violated. And I don’t think getting his ass handed to him by Blackbeard was on his itinerary for the day.

[mimzy-writing-online]

You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[blackbat05]

Chicken & Waffles

Steven Grant x Reader (College AU)

A/N: Got the inspiration by listening to <Fly me to the moon> and images of an American Diner? Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Genre: PG-13

Notes: This can be seen as a continuation from <Peas outside the pod>. Mentions of Marc.

You blink the sleep out of your eyes, sitting up to stretch the knots that formed in your back. Shifting the laptop closer, you see a piece of paper fall to the floor.

Didn’t want to wake you. How about waffles and chicken at the diner?

You smile to yourself at the sight of Steven’s name signed at the bottom.

Food, was the way to the heart. It was also the way to plough through a three-thousand word essay.

The mere image of crispy chicken and waffles drizzled in honey was enough to make to salivate on the spot.

Hold that thought, as you spot Steven waiting in a brown coat. He doesn’t seem to have seen you, as his bespectacled face adorably scrunches up, most likely engrossed in the contents of his new novel.

‘Boo!’

Steven flinches, visibly relaxing upon seeing you. ‘Good to see that your up and awake, love.’

‘Mysterious isn’t it? The absence of work and the promise of good food makes me livelier.’ You take his hand. ‘Come on! Our feast awaits!’

The neon signboard had drew you in like a firefly. You were greeted with tunes from the 1950s as the expressive croons blended in nicely with the colourful milkshakes that were served to patrons sitting on retro bar stools. The checkered tiles completed the interior, making you feel as if that you travelled back in time with Steven.

Sliding into a pastel blue booth, you were thrilled to see a jukebox accompanying the condiments and cutleries.

‘Wow! This is fantastic! How did you even find this place?’

Steven pushes up his glasses, seeing Marc’s expression on the reflection behind you.

‘I’m choosing dinner Steven whether you like it or not!’

‘Alright, alright! Just don’t pick that beef ball noodle place again. I don’t want to end up throwing up half of my guts.’

Steven sees you still waiting for his answer. ‘Well… Marc told me about this place.’ He coughs. ‘He’s a sucker for the thick cut fries and Belgian waffles.’

Steven could feel Marc burning lasers into his forehead.

‘Cool,’ you were genuinely impressed at the hole-in-the-wall diner. ‘Marc seems to be a true connoisseur.’

‘More like a bloody tyrant.’ Steven mumbles loud enough causing both of you to burst into chuckles. Needless to say, Marc wasn’t amused.

Placing your orders with a jolly server named Andrea, the two of you were left to your devices. You absolutely wanted to try out the jukebox that was just waiting to be played.

‘Yes!’ You pulled out a coin from your wallet. It must have been your lucky day. Steven watches you in interest as you get the tiny machine going.

‘So, any song in mind?’

Steven thinks for a while, getting an idea. ‘May I?’

‘Sure, knock yourself out.’

Steven starts to fiddle with the jukebox, praying that they had what he wanted in mind.

‘There we go!’ Steven presses the button, letting the song play.

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a Jupiter and Mars

‘Frank Sinatra? Looks like there’s more to you I don’t know about yet.’ You bobbed your head to the classic, letting yourself loose.

Steven sees Marc staring at him on the pepper shaker with a what are you waiting for look. Gripping his thigh, Steven internally counts to three before standing up, hand stretched out towards you.

‘Steven?’

‘Food’s gonna take a while.’ He gently pulls you off the couch. ‘We should do something fun while we wait yeah?’

How could you say no?

Putting his other hand on your waist, Steven brings you close. It felt natural as everything fell into place.

The surge of confidence had definitely helped him as the two of you take synchronised steps to the music.

You wanted to take everything in, so you closed your eyes, leaning towards him. Steven sees you in cloud nine and decides to do the same, forehead coming to rest with yours.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

The two of you forget where you are, immersing yourselves into the solo play of the saxophone. Steven twirls you around, replaying the sound of your melodious laughter that filled the quiet diner.

A cough rings out. ‘Oh don’t mind me you two lovebirds. I’ll just set this down and be on my way.’

Andrea sets down two plates of mouth-watering waffles and chicken, giving Steven a wink before walking away.

Enjoying Steven’s company, the rest of the night flew by with laughter and chocolate milkshakes.

‘God! I remembered that! I had to hold Marc back from beating the creep.’ You wiped a tear away from your eye.

Steven sees the whipped cream floating on your milkshake and suddenly has a cheeky idea. Stealthily swiping some cream of his cup, he prepares to advance towards you.

Unfortunately for him, you launched your attack in lightning fast speed, smearing whipped cream on his nose.

‘You… sneaky little bugger! Come er’ you!’

Leaning forward, you kissed Steven on the lips, letting your nose get smudged with the same whipped cream.

‘There. Now we’re both even.’ You smiled at Steven’s slightly dazed reaction.

‘Oh for god sake.’ Marc grumbles from the reflection of the metal spoon. ‘Got to do everything myself huh?’

Taking over momentarily, Steven finds himself returning the kiss, tasting the sweet chocolate on his lips.

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

As you part reluctantly, you see Steven doing the same. He glances at you carefully, fearful that he may have overstepped. Still, he was here. He had to try.

‘Would it be too late to say that I love you?’

In other words, please be true

In other words, I love you

‘Coming from you? Never.’

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Shameless tags: @crazycookiecrumbles @tom-whore-dleston @tonystarksfavoritedaughter @wint3r-h3art

Other fic you can read: Peas outside the pod

[aerimomo-mellon]

Skz as Boyfriends!

Paring~ SKZ x Reader

Genre~ informative lol

A/N~ yep it was requested! Enjoy 친구 <3

warnings? none. (idk mention of bed related things haha)

SKZ M☁List II Main M☁List

시장……..

✿ Bangchan

We all know this guy and you all have read enough of him I think, to know what imma say. (But for special purposes why not..)

This guy is really really serious about relationships and you are probably the one because he just can’t help loving everything about you.

The fact that he is yours even with all the responsibilities and work he has as a leader and idol is a miracle itself. Therefore consider yourself LUCKY to have the most caring and loving man anyone could have.

Dates- He likes movies hence movie nights and date to the theater are often. If not then he likes taking you to a sports event or the beach cause yeah. ( that vibesssssss you know? )

PDA = 3/10 why?, because as mentioned earlier he is responsible for many important things and he doesn’t want to have any misunderstandings about you and dislikes hate in general. That 30% I gave him was because he would only do PDA if really needed.

In Bed things? Umm not often actually but once in a while yes WHILE he would like it I’m sorry I mean LOVE it..

Con? Yep time! Sorry girl but that time you need, it’s hard for him to fulfill every time.

Cute extra info- Doesn’t mention it but secretly likes when you poke his dimple and say he’s cute.

✿ Minho

There are these majority conceptions, as I said majority but not all cause there are stays who know that he is a sweet guy deep deep down.😉

If you’re his s/o he will give every bit of him to you and expects the same for you. I would categorize him as a boyfriend wo acts like a mom lol. It maybe hard to digest that information but trust me this feeling I have from my gut I can say that he is also very caring. Although he might not say things like I will be there whenever you need me or even I miss you, care for you, but he doesn't need to say this anyway. As action speak more than words our Minho is the same.

Dates- He likes to balance it between what you like and what he likes as well. If you are a new couple he straight up asks what you prefer. Plus point he likes to take you to cat café if you like cats too.

PDA = 0.5/10 why? honestly speaking this guy literally hates to express his feelings. That .5 is literally him agreeing that he is yours and that's it. (when someone asks that is)

In Bed things? I personally think it depends on his mood and not yours. Yup. Somedays he wants you a lot and somedays he likes his space. I'm not saying he hates cuddling but more than that on days he is either tired or stressed he likes to keep that little limit to what happens next.

Con? Attention... you would literally take his cats away from him to get his attention.

Cute extra info- likes it when you call him and yourself Appa and Eomma to his cats.

✿ Changbin

Changbin being the puff/ strong guy(sorry that sounded disturbed lol) We all know how babied he likes to be.

Him as a boyfriend is just very natural, I mean from the way he takes you on a fancy date to even putting nail polish on your left hands. Everything is very genuine and he loves it. The Boyfriend to always apologize first.

I find him as someone to take attraction and the next step which is relationship very seriously. ( the person to be very calculative, it can beat Chan honestly..)Knowing that he is afraid to hurt people in any kind of way, to hurt you even as an accident breaks his heart.

Dates- Our Dwaekki loves taking you on dates with loads of food or snacks. A typical Korean restaurant or even food stalls, he loves seeing you eat than to be broken when you might have some kind of sickness due to eating problems.

PDA = 5/10 why? Because he likes your opinion. He is okay with either if you insist on a particular one but slightly leans on less public knowing. Holding hands and probably hugging you wouldn't be a huge problem for him.

In Bed things? he loves it anytime honestly... if he is horney he is getting what he wants and when you are same goes to you.. you'll get what you want..

Cons? Too much aegyo which makes you do things you don’t necessarily want to. (Stay blessed)

Cute extra info- Praise him! (x100) loves it when you say things like " my boyfriend is so strong.." or even " those arms mmm..."

✿ Hyunjin

I mean do I need to say how into he is with this??? Damn this man is the most prepared man a girl could have. The type to know everything about relationships... from trending couple fashion to even special not important but cute couple events..( that he probably found randomly scrolling through google)

He knows your anniversary, birthday, your moms birthday, dads and basically your whole family knows him too. He also keeps track of your monthly cycle too cause he likes being responsible for you..

He is the type to get jealous very easily BUT wont admit it when you ask. Likes to braid your hair while learning from YouTube.. Likes to buy you so many colorful cute hair accessories. (loves your hair..)

Dates- we all know this guy is fancy so he likes fancy dates but he can also be the complete opposite.. Fancy~ maybe to a art restaurant or even on a fancy boat cause why not.. Normally though~ likes to take you to an art museum or at night to take you on the roof for star gazing..

PDA = 2/10 why? I've probably given hints on my fictions with Hyunjin about this in particular. He prefers keeping this in private and that 20% is with his members (barely)

In Bed things? This guy couldn’t be more romantic lol. Loves being prepared for this buys every thing you both need… and yeah loves it.

Cons? He buys Kammi more hair clips than you sorry….

Cute extra info- likes when you get mad when he cut his hair lol. I apologize to all the stays I know he is cute every time but that long hair just hits different….

✿ Jisung

The craziest boyfriend you could have and will only have. You would low key love your relationship with this man I’m telling ya…

You two would have so much fun like toddlers. He is honestly the cutest, funniest, talented etc.. man you get all in one.. ahaha..

Likes to buy you the most stupid things that actually works for a daily living..( that thing he bought to watch on his phone while laying down 😵)

likes to joke around and talk to you a lot.. gurll listen to him he loves it. He likes to value your problems as well so listens to you too.

Dates- likes to watch anime so you two usually have this anime night cuddle sessions but if he were to plan something outside he would prefer to take you to the amusement part lol.

PDA = 8/10 why? honestly he likes showing you off cause he is fond of you. Basically doesn't care what others think... his parents know you, members, friends outside the group, and stays know you exist lol.. 20% i kept for a reason because he doesn't like it when things get out of handle so he wont do anything to the extent..

In bed things? yes he likes it but that turns up into a tickle fight or even a complete cringe but cute moment..

Cons? He might be very sensitive leading to him being upset and you having to apologize...

Cute extra info- loves it when you kiss his cheeks or just play with them in general..

✿ Felix

I had to bring this up at some point lol.. stays probably know the video where he says his clothes are boyfriend material lol...and yes i agree hands down!

A boyfriend material in his own way ahaha.. i mean we all know he loves to be cared for and loved. That Bangchan! spoiled little youngbok.. i personally feel or think two ways. Either he likes being cared for by you or he takes care for you since now he gets to be the older one..

Felix likes speaking in English so if you know English he would speak both languages as well. Likes to give you blowjobs cause he fell in love with you lol..

Dates- Shopping malls, window shopping, UNO on a picnic lol all these are his favs and so are yours .. Personally speaking he likes to take you to places where he can take lots of pictures of you..

PDA = 4/10 why? I don't know haha yup its just a feeling where I'm in between of two opposite thoughts.. I fell like he shows you to his members and family but not more than that.. (Olivia is most likely to love you)

In bed things? Likes being pampered and loves it when you lead.. happens pretty often actually..

Cons? yes! he like being touchy and so do you but he does it too much which beats ya.. and jealous really easily! and he lets you know that..

cute extra info- compliment him on his freckles and he will blush literally a tomato 🍅..

✿ Seungmin

Sweet really sweet.. he is the typical Korean boyfriend you'll get haha even better than that.

He just likes to talk to you or even look at you all day and keep that puppy smile on him.. The type to sing you a song to sleep or whenever you ask him to. likes to hear you sing too.. attempts to make you laugh but ends up, giving up.

He likes kissing your eyes when they are closed.. or when you just fell asleep after the song likes to give your eyes quick pecks..

Dates- He likes walks and that's why you go on evening walks and return when it's dark.. likes holding your hands. He likes grocery shopping with you, takes you to the rooftop to talk about life and its shitty problems.. Basically effortless things that make your relationship happy for what it is.

PDA = 1/10 why? I mean do I need to tell you this? he is like Minho but just a little bit more obvious.. Prefers to express his love when you two are alone..(that's it)

In bed things? umm yes but no.. i mean he gives in to your begs but I feel like Seungmin is just too into cute cuddling and these things are only when he is very desperate ..

Cons? not much but maybe ignoring you when you ask if he can buy you ice Cream for the fifty-sixth time..(but gives in anyway)

Cute extra info- He likes when he sees you in his clothes.. but doesn't say it and acts like he doesn't..

✿ Jeongin

Baby, baby, Baby..... he is our baby boyyyy but his savage ass towards his Hyungs just breaks it all hahaha…

Jk he is actually really cute, caring, sweet and likes to be protective. It may not suit him but yes he likes scolding people if done wrong to you..

You might be older or younger honestly he doesn’t care.. he is very respectful to you either way. He loves you and is very shy too which you find cute.

Dates- Asks you for your opinion or his Hyungs. He still is very inexperienced so he doesn’t know but sometimes likes it when you two spend time on the swings of some random park with fruit juice 🧃..

PDA = 0/10 why? Cause no no no no not even to his members haha he is just too shy and likes to keep his relationship in its own boundaries.

In bed things? Nope please! I’m sorry stays but I just can’t with Jeongin… (no further details he is just so precious to me)

Cons? He understands very late.. like you trying to say you want to cuddle, kiss etc.. without words he won’t get it. Just fucking be straight forward with our baby.

Cute extra info- honestly everything is cute about him so I can’t fit it here sorry… stays use your imagination here…

끝…

[harryspet]

painted with bruises | bucky barnes

[Warnings] severe domestic violence, bucky barnes x reader, dark!steve rogers x reader, mafia!bucky, officer!steve, oral sex (female recieving), kidnapping, bondage, extreme violence, torture, so much angst, steve is a suuuper bad person in this haha

[A/N] This is a super last minute entry into @tilltheendwilliwrite ‘s 7.7K Follower (Covid Sucks) Celebration! so I hope you enjoy.

TRIGGERING AND ADULT CONTENT AHEAD

In which Bucky kidnaps you in order to get close to his enemy, Steve, but realizes that Steve isn’t the hero he used to be.

word count: 3.5k

taglist: @cherienymphe​ @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar  @nsfwsebbie  @mandiiblanche

main masterlist

He twirled his knife through his fingers, passing the time, as he waited for you to finally come to. He’d seen a million pictures of you but, seeing you so close in person, Bucky couldn’t help but think that your pictures didn’t do you justice. You were a mostly a ghost to society and, as someone who’s only family was Steve and someone who lived comfortably in his shadow, you had no one to truly gaze upon your beauty.

You were a hidden gem and Bucky understood a little more why Steve kept you so close to him. No matter how much you trained and proved your strength, you were still a prize. A very useful prize though. Bucky leaned back in the wooden chair, the furniture still wrapped in its protective plastic, knife still in hand as he watched your head start to move. The floor creaked beneath you, sound traveled eerily through the abandoned home. 

Motion traveled through your body as each of your limbs tried to free and stretch themselves. Bucky’s men informed him that you put up a good fight when they picked you up from the grocery store parking deck. Clint even came back with a broken pinky and a wounded ego. 

You sat in a chair only five feet away from him, your hands tightly handcuffed behind you, and your ankles cuffed to the legs of the chair. The home was beginning to smell like mildew and the smell invaded your senses as your eyes blinked open. Surprisingly, it wasn’t your restraints that triggered your initial sense of pain but your ribs.

When you finally gazed upon him, both of your faces were stoic. Two predators stared back at each other. You noted the two men standing a few feet behind him, their clothes dark and their faces hard. You recognized the one who’s pinky you’d roughly bent back when they had grabbed you. 

The room was illuminated by a flickering chandelier and you realized you were sitting in the dining room of some boarded-up house. By the furniture and wallpaper, you would’ve guessed it used to be a pretty, luxurious home. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Rogers.”

It took you a few short seconds but you placed who the man before you was. Brown leather jacket, dark beard, and a black glove covering up his left hand. You knew what was hidden beneath it, his arm being just as notorious as he was. 

“Bucky Barnes,” Your eyes narrowed at him, “You’ve … gotten old.”

Bucky didn’t smile but his slight amusement was evident, “Rikers Island will do that to you.”

His hands folded together and you tried to read the state of emotions. You imagined that he was doing the same to you, “Seems you’re lucky that you’re not there, rotting away right now.”

“Not so lucky for you or Steve though, right?”

“I guess not,” You spoke blankly.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, “You’re not going to ask why you’re here? No pleading? No threats of violence?”

You hadn’t realized that you hadn’t. Perhaps because you had experienced much worse than anything this mobster could ever inflict upon you, “I know this is because of Steve because he’s the one who put you in prison. I know you probably want to hurt me in order to get back at him.”

Bucky leaned forward, his eyes locked on yours, “And this doesn’t scare you?”

There was fear in your heart but you weren’t sure if it was from a fear that you’d be hurt, “I know he’s looking for me. Half of the NYPD is probably looking for me right now. They’ll find you …”

“That may be true but you probably know how much of a selfish bastard he is. If he ran to his colleagues, he’d get taken off the case because he’s too close to it. I think Steve would want to kill me himself … hunt me down himself,” Your heart began to race as you listened to his words. You trusted Steve or at least a fantasy of Steve that you created, but Bucky’s words had a brutal truth to them. “What do you think, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I think you end up dead either way,” You stated, trying to keep your lip from shaking. 

“And what about you?”

“Steve... Steve will find me.”

“Sure,” You watched the knife twist in his hands, “But does he find you before or after I kill you is the question? … I think I’d want to see his face when I take away what he loves the most. But if you die, it’ll probably only make the public give him more sympathy. Our mayor loves charity cases and Steve would get promoted to chief of police in no time.”

You swallowed, “But you won’t let that happen. You’d kill him before you let that happen.”

Bucky sighed, “You got me, Mrs. Rogers. You know, you would’ve made a great detective. It’s a shame that you left the force after only three years,” Your eyes widened at his statement. Though the information was a google click away, you hadn’t thought about your past in so long that it had startled you, “It makes me wonder what made you quick.”

“You’re trying to make small talk with me while I’m handcuffed to a chair?” You scowled but he chuckled. 

“Fine, no small talk. Clint,” Bucky lifted his knife up, the handle facing up. The older man, his light brown hair slicked up and shaved at the sides, moved forward and grabbed the knife from Bucky. He used the hand that wasn’t bandaged up and moved towards you, “How about a little photo shoot so we can keep Mr. Rogers updated.”

Uselessly, you started to pull at your restraint. The man kneeled down by your feet, taking the knife and starting to cut away at the fabric of your black leggings, “What are you doing?” Bucky found it strange that you were now finally panicking. You had managed to act like your life wasn’t in danger this entire time. 

Now your eyes were blinking fast and the discomfort in your face was evident. Bucky didn’t answer you, only stared as he watched the fabric rip away, “I-I left because of Steve!” You rushed out, “I didn’t have to work because Steve was going to take care of us.”

“Clint,” Bucky stopped the man from continuing, your bottom leg already exposed. Clint stood and stepped away from you causing you to let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding, “He was going to take care of you? But you spent so long getting your GED, training and you worked hard to get that job.”

“He was my fiance then and … I thought it would be good for us. If I didn’t have to work then I shouldn't have to. Besides, he didn’t want me to be stressed from work while we were trying for a baby.”

“How long have you been trying?” He seemed genuinely interested but you kept talking hoping it would keep the knife away. 

“Two years…” Your voice trembled as his question triggered bad memories.

“Steve always wanted a family,” Bucky said like your answer triggered his own memory, “He’d probably do anything to get that …”

Part of you felt like you were betraying Steve by revealing so much information. You knew that Bucky and Steve went back all the way to elementary school and that their path had divulged into two very different roads. 

“He will have it,” You said, suddenly growing angry. You felt anger at Bucky as well as yourself, “When he finds me and kills you. And you’ll never experience anything like that.”

Bucky’s facial expression darkened at your words. He raised a hand, gesturing to Clint to continue. Clint went back to tearing away at your clothes and you started to struggle wildly, almost tipping the chair over in the process. 

Bucky straightened his jacket, trying to seem phased by the tears welling in your eyes. Clint tore away at your leggings and Bucky gestured to Sam to start taking pictures. The goal was to get Steve to think that you were being tortured in more ways than one. 

“Don’t. P-Please, don’t!”

All the men seemed to hesitate at the same time. Clint had paused as he watched the front of your shirt slip away to the sides and Sam’s finger hovered over the camera button. The beauty of your face was still there, tears in all, but your body told a completely different story. 

Bucky had never seen someone so purple and blue. The bruises covered your stomach, your thighs, and your arms which had been covered by long sleeves. There was a huge bandage on your stomach, bloody gauze stuck behind it. Bucky stood. 

Even in all his time in the most brutal jail in the world, he hadn’t seen anything like this, especially not done to a woman. Your knees snapped together and you turned your head, trying to hide away. 

“Who did this?” Bucky asked, his voice smaller than it had been during the entire encounter. 

You breathed heavily like you were being suffocated by the attention, “Y-Your men manhandled me!” You forced out, “What do you mean? Did you forget that you kidnapped me?”

Bucky looked to Clint and Sam, “Get out.”

As they left the room, Bucky removed his jacket, exposing the protruding biceps beneath his black shirt. He placed the jacket over as he began to undo your restraints one by one, “I gave them strict orders not to hurt you. And these … these bruises … some look much older than others,” You were a rainbow of color, signifying that each mark had a different date of impact. Bucky looked up at you, from his place kneeling at your feet, and something remarkable had changed in his face, “Don’t tell me …”

As your wrists were free, you brought your hands together, rubbing them together as they began to shake, “I had an accident … “

“Steve did this,” His voice had gone from strong and commanding to what is what now, weak and unsure. You shook your head, shutting your eyes tight, “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry about all of this.”

“You think you’re different from him?” You spoke, your tone venomous. 

“I know I am,” This time he was sure of his words yet he seemed a bit hurt, “And he’s going to pay for what he’s done.”

“He won’t,” That much you did know, “And you’re a fool just like me.”

+

“Ma’am,” You looked up from the bubbles, your bruised figure beneath the warm water, as you heard a maid call for you, “I left a robe for you on the counter and some clothes for you on the bed. Mr. Barnes wants you to join him for breakfast but he understands if you’d still like your time alone. He’ll send up your food if that’s what you wish.”

You didn’t respond, though she sounded like a kind lady, you had resorted to silence ever since your world came crashing down around you yesterday. 

You refused to see a Doctor which Bucky respected, probably knowing how much he had violated you yesterday and wanting to continue to play the good guy. 

When you heard her footsteps pitter-patter away, you sunk back down into the bubbles. It had been a long while since you “relaxed” in this way. Despite the fact that you were home most of the day, you never felt peace or relaxation living with Steve. 

Even when you organized his clothes perfectly, cooked his favorite dinner, or wore that red lingerie thing he liked, he was never really satisfied. Even when he pretended he was happy and you fell for his charm, his tone always changed.  

And now it felt like the relationship you had worked so hard to maintain was more useless than you originally thought. You had no baby and no happy family to show for it. You were behind enemy lines probably destined to die because of Steve. 

Though it did cross your mind that you were being abnormally pampered for a hostage. Bucky’s penthouse was high up, looking over the darker side of the city. A view of luxury from the wrong side of the tracks. 

You ate your breakfast alone from your room, spending most of the day staring up at the ceiling. When the servant returned that evening, you assumed that she was here to invite you to dinner with Mr. Barnes. She’d probably expect you to say no and to depressingly roll over in bed. 

Instead, she found you dressed and ready for something- anything. You’d pick out something from the fineries in the closet, a tight red dress that hugged your curves, and let more parts of your body show then you were normally comfortable with. 

“Ma’am,” The woman tried to keep eye contact and not let her eyes wander over your rainbow skin, “Mr. Rogers … Mr. Rogers is here.”

You took a deep, uncertain breath before your lips pressed into a thin smile, “Good.”

“You don’t want to eat here?” She asked, sounding concerned.

“Mr. Barnes wants me to eat with him, right?” You were already walking past her, your heels clicking against the marble floors. She was baffled as she followed after her. Bucky’s home was regal and, walking it in for the first time, you thought the man must’ve seen way too many mafia movies from the seventies. 

You approached a landing with a view of the massive living room, a grand staircase leading down to the event that you’d just interrupted. At least ten men were gathered, a black tarp laid out as a hunched over man sat there on his knees, and one man paced by the first. Steve and Bucky. 

They hadn’t noticed you and you took the opportunity to listen in.

“This good guy persona … you’ve really lied to yourself so much that you’ve convinced yourself it's true,” Bucky’s tone was incredulous and you could tell the amusement in his voice was only a facade, “You forgot how you even climbed the ranks so fast. Without my connections, without my intel, you’d still be working security at the mall.”

“I turned myself around…” His voice was weaker than usual and, as you moved towards the stairs, you realized the blood soaking through the back of his shirt, “I tried to help you, Buck.”

“You threw me in prison for something that I did for you. I help you lock up one of my enemies, you get the praise and I make more money,” You started to put things together as you listened, thinking back to when you thought Steve was a hero and that this city was lucky to not have to deal with Bucky Barnes anymore, “Except you couldn’t help yourself from wanting more, old friend.”

“Oh, cut the fucking bullshit!” You felt your heart began to race at the sound of his growing anger but you kept moving forward. As you finally started to descend the stairs, your eyes connected with your kidnapper, “Where is she?”

Steve scared you to death but you had decided that you weren’t afraid of your final days anymore.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” You couldn’t exactly read Bucky’s expression but you knew exactly what Steve was thinking when he turned his head towards the bottom of the staircase. It was initially a look of relief, of thankfulness that he could lay eyes on his beautiful, obedient, and stupid wife. Then it turned to that anger you knew so well, that look he gave you and you knew immediately that you probably would be able to get out of bed the next day because of how in pain you’d be. 

Painted with bruises, you crossed the room and took your place beside Bucky. 

“Y/N … I’m taking you home, I promise,” He stated, trying to mask that fury with a smile that had charmed you many times before. 

You gazed at Bucky who seemed a bit unsure of your intentions but was entranced by you nonetheless, “That’s not a home,” You stated, trying your best to keep eye contact. Even now, you found your knees weak despite the fact that his hands were restrained behind his back and he was the one on his knees now, “A-And …” You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath, “And it’s over.”

“What’s over, baby?” His voice raised and his eyes narrowed angrily, causing you to take a step back but you felt a calm hand on the small of your back. It was a reminder that this was all a manipulative strategy and he was trying to hold onto his control by scaring you. 

“Us,” You stated as calmly as possible. 

“Did you fuck him?” 

“Steve-”

“Answer me! Did you fuck him?” You were shaking now but not in fear. 

You turned towards Bucky, and before he could even know what you were planning, you were reaching towards his waistband. He didn’t panic, surprisingly, but easily let you grab the gun strapped to his waist. Even knowing you could turn it on him, he let you do it. To Steve’s surprise, this wasn’t a big charade in order to disarm Bucky and set the two of you free. 

You pointed it at your kneeling, former lover, “Y/N, what are you-”

“Who I fuck from now on should be the least of your worries. you jealous, fucking prick,” Twisting the knife, he was now red with anger. In an attempt to get to his feet, you thought he might charge at you but your aim was good, and, gripping the gun tightly, you fired a bullet into his thigh. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, falling back down, and whaling in excruciating pain, “You fucking bitch! You’re nothing without me!”

He’d saved you. He’d kept you from choosing a life of crime, of falling into a broken system, and he’d encourage you to follow dreams. Then he’d hurt you like the monster he actually was in an attempt to break you to his will. 

You raised the gun up, your eyes concentrating on the space on his forehead. You hadn’t noticed how badly you were shaking until you felt that same hand on your back. He placed his other hand on top of the barrel, “You don’t have to make it painless for him,” Were his words and you lowered the gun, letting Bucky carefully take it from you. 

“I want him to suffer,” You seethed, watching Steve clutch his thigh in pain. 

“Take him to the garage,” Bucky ordered his men, “Leave him unrecognizable.”

Steve went kicking and screaming but you found yourself unafraid of him anymore. You thought of him as this powerful entity that could never be taken down. Now you saw him as a petulant child that would probably beg for his mother on his way out. 

You turned to him but you didn’t have words yet. “How do you feel?” He asked, probably unsure of what to say to you. 

“Why do they say revenge is never the answer?” You asked, “I feel … fucking exhilarated.”

Bucky’s lip turned into a smirk, “They say that cathartic feeling won’t last … something tells me this is different.”

You nodded, your lips tugging into a smile, “Yeah, this is different,” You stepped forward, closing the gap between you. With hesitant hands, he grabbed your waist but you threw your arms around his neck. You pulled him down towards you, smashing your lips against his. 

Your lips didn’t stop tasting one another, as your bodies began crumbling down towards the carpet. The heat of the fire fanned your flames and you found yourselves desperately tugging at each other’s clothes. 

You swallowed that feeling that told you this was wrong, you swallowed that guilt you might have felt and you decided to do what you wanted for the first time in a long time. Bucky’s hands roamed over your skin but he never grabbed at you and you could tell he was trying to be gentle. With your back against the carpet, he hovered over you, “You’re beautiful,” He said, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. 

You liked the look in his eyes because he didn’t feel sorry for you. He meant those words. 

He kissed the side of your mouth and then down your chin. As his lips touched your scars, it was like he was acknowledging them and also accepting them at the same time. He kissed down your body, over your breast. He moved down, sliding your panties to the side as his head dipped down. He kissed your sensitive bud, teasing you as he looked back into your eyes, “Your aim is quite good, I think you could have a place here, Y/N.”

Your cheeks were warm and not because of the fire, “I won’t belong to anyone else ever again.”

“Of course not,” He smiled a wicked smile, “You’re in control … and your wish would be my command.”

His head finally dipped down again and, as you’d never been touched before, Bucky left you convulsing in pleasure for the rest of the long night. 

The Persephone to his Hades, you knew then that the underworld may have been where you belonged all along.

+

I hope you enjoyed this one! Please lmk what you think :)

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Thoughts on Comfortable Queer Rep

So I've been on a bit of a queer media kick recently, and by that I mean that in the past month I have listened to The Bright Sessions, Greenhouse, The Infinite Noise, and Look Up and I have watched The Owl House and Young Royals and there has been something embedded in these stories that has been really jarring to me personally, but in a really good way. And it's literally just that in each of these stories there is at least one character that is just able to openly, genuinely, and simply state (or express) their sexuality.

I think of this in The Bright Sessions with Caleb being like "I don't care that he's a boy", with Adam and his "depressed gay kid" comment to his mother in The Infinite Noise, with Lincoln's Dad just being happy for him and with Emmet's aunt asking him if he was gay in Look Up. And the same thing for the shows I've been watching too, in Young Royals, Simon looks at his father and says "I'm gay, Papa" and it's not even a coming out, it's just a reminder, and his father just...apologizes for getting it wrong and corrects the language. It's no big deal, Simon is comfortable, Simon knows who he is, and there is no hesitation and no tentativeness behind his statement. In The Owl House Luz shows her bisexuality from the start, she isn't embarrassed that she has a crush on Amity, she's only nervous to ask her out because she thinks Amity might be too cool for the theatrics. And it's just...

Every time I hear a character be completely open about their sexuality with their family, it soothes something that I didn't realize I was carrying. It marks me as strange, that they can simply say it. It makes my heart twinge, and it makes me happy for a literal fictional character, that they are able to just...know who they are and not be worried about what their family will think. In The Bright Sessions, in The Magnus Archives, in The Owl House there hasn't been a coming out, and until this month I never realized how much I needed to see that.

When I came out, I started as many do, with my closest friends, people I knew I could trust, people who I knew would celebrate it. And then, when I found a label I liked, that I felt suited me, I made a post on social media...and I never talked about it again. From time to time I mention to my mother that I have a meeting for LGBTQ+ students, or that I went to a gay bar. But we have never sat down and talked about it. My mother has had exactly one discussion in any level of detail about sexuality and what different labels in the LGBTQ+ community means, and that was before I came out. When she saw my post she literally left a comment "glad I figured out how to check social media or I would have missed the fun!" and then we literally never talked about it again. She never asks questions and honestly that's fine, but there is some twisted and warped part of me that believes that she isn't fully comfortable with the idea of me being gay. And I know she loves me, and that that love is unconditional and I am extremely lucky for that. That said, I don't necessarily feel ashamed of being LGBTQ+ when I'm with her

But with my father that is a whole 'nother story. I never came out to him, I'm not sure if he saw the posts I made when I did come out and we barely talk as it is. But while he has definitely gotten better over the years with his homophobia, I can't say that growing up in his household I ever got the impression that he was comfortable with gay people. If there was ever a queer character in any show we were watching, his reaction to their love, was less than ideal, and while I didn't realize my own sexuality until I was years and years outside his house, I think knowing him and know the company he kept, that it delayed any desire to do a deep dive into my own identities. Even now, as I am questioning my gender identity, the distain he has for my "boyish" haircut really proves to me that he is not someone that I could ever come out to about maybe not being cis.

But, that's all besides the point. The point is, I am coming to terms with whatever internalized homophobia I have been carrying that makes it hard for me to even verbalize my sexuality or gender identity to the people around me. Most of my coming out has been through screens, through social media, or private messages, because I'm too much of a fucking coward to say it to people who aren't already a part of the community. Because there are people in my family, cousins, uncles, etc. that hate people like me, that are disgusted by people like me, that don't know about me and don't know the harm they are causing.

I have no disillusions about their impressions of me, I know most people in my life were not surprised when I came out to them. I think most people knew before I did that I was queer. But still, it took me listening to this newer wave of media, where gay characters are allowed to be comfortable, where their crises are not knowing if their crush likes them back, where their conflicts or emotional turmoil is because they are an avatar for an ancient evil, and not because they were outed to a homophobic relative. (and yes, that part doesn't really apply to Young Royals for Wilhelm, but Simon's openness about his sexuality to his family is a gift imo) Its late, and I'm tired, and I don't really know exactly what I'm saying here, but the point is that every time I see a character that is open, out, and confident in their sexuality, and can just easier than breathing say they are gay, or that they have a crush on someone of the same gender, or just state that they are in a queer relationship, I keep getting stuck on this feeling that that isn't supposed to happen. That the other shoe has to drop. And there is a part of me that is surprised that they say these things with conviction, and that there is no hesitation in saying the words. It just makes me happy and I'm so so glad that so many queer people have these characters now. That they can see a different generation of storytelling that allows queer people to exist, to be open, to not be ashamed, to not have to face homophobia. I wish I had had more examples of that growing up.

TL;DR: It still surprises me when queer characters are allowed to be secure in their sexuality and I didn't realize how much I needed that kind of representation in my life until now.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

little things

Rating: Gen

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, SoftBoi!Rodrick, Insecure!Reader

Ship: Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Warnings: Body Image, Eating Disorders / Body Dysmorphia, Insecurity 

A/N: this is. SO shmoopy and cheesy lmaoooo but this was an anon request and i live to please :) enjoy!

---

You dragged yourself through your front door, kicking off your shoes in the foyer. The house was dark - your parents were probably asleep already.

You had just spent the day with Rodrick at Six Flags, and you were exhausted from spending all day in the hot sun, running around with your boyfriend like children. You smiled to yourself thinking about the events of the day, the thrill of the rollercoasters you went on.

You clutched the teddy bear Rodrick had won you close to your chest as you slowly ascended the stairs, trying not to make too much noise.

You entered your room and tenderly placed the bear on the bed, giving it a little kiss on the head as you did so before starting your night routine. Change into pajamas, brush teeth, wash face. As you were putting on your final face cream, your phone vibrated on the bathroom counter. You knew who it was from the specific rhythm of the vibration - two short bursts, like a heartbeat.

Rodrick had sent pictures of you two from today - a lot of selfies, but also a couple of far away shots that Rodrick had harassed people into taking for you. People rarely were able to say no to Rodrick once he had gotten an idea into his head - even if that idea was wrapping himself around a street lamp like a stripper for a good picture.

You finally, blissfully laid down in bed, letting out a giant groan as you cracked your back. You browsed the photos, feeling your heart-rate pick up as you gazed at Rodrick in the pictures. He looked so cute today - he had been wearing cut off black jeans, black high-top vans, and a loose button down Hawaiian shirt, half-way unbuttoned to show off his tanned chest and the multiple layers of silver necklaces he was wearing. His nails were painted black, but his eyes were free of makeup, simply accented by his naturally long eye-lashes and the smile-lines around his eyes.

After admiring Rodrick, you turned your gaze to yourself in the pictures. You felt your heart sink into your stomach. When you had left the house this morning, you had felt pretty confident in your outfit - just ripped jean shorts and a crop-top with converse. But as you looked closer, you couldn’t stop thinking about how unsatisfied you felt with the way you looked in the pictures.

As you continued to scroll through, the more faults you found in your appearance. Your thighs being squeezed by your shorts, which didn’t feel too tight but apparently were not as flattering as you thought. In one picture, you were sitting down on a bench, your legs over Rodrick’s lap, but you couldn’t stop staring at the roll of your stomach that came over the waistband of your shorts. You felt tears pricking your eyes, but you stubbornly refused to cry. You spent a long time trying to feel confident in yourself - you weren’t going to let that hard work be ruined by a few unflattering photos.

However, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way your body looked in those pictures. You got up to stand in front of your full length mirror, looking at the reflection critically. You were craning your neck to look at your butt when you heard a soft tap-tap-tap at the window. You jumped about 2 feet in the air before you realized it was just Rodrick, grinning from outside the window and placing a wet kiss on the glass, making you laugh. He made a grossed-out expression when he realized the glass was not as clean as he thought it was, wiping his tongue on the back of his hand.

“I swear to God, you’re like a toddler. Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to lick random surfaces?” you asked as you opened the window to let him in. He folded himself gracefully through the window, all long limbs and messy hair. You felt both comforted and electrified in his presence.

“Since when have I ever listened to any authority figure?” Rodrick asked, grinning wolfishly and leaning down to kiss you softly, juxtaposing his rebellious tone. For someone with such a seemingly hard exterior, Rodrick was always very gentle and sweet with you. It was one of the things you loved most about him - he seemed to hate everyone but you. It made you feel special and appreciated. 

As he pulled back from the kiss, he frowned, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Have you been crying? Your eyes are red,” he said, making a pouty face. You shrugged, turning away and shaking your head.

“No, just allergies probably.”

Rodrick scoffed, “Sure, allergies. You’re a bad liar, you know that?”

You refused to look at him, instead going to your record player and flipping through the vinyls you had stacked in a black milk-crate. “I’m not a bad liar,” you said half-heartedly, not really able to come up with any other excuse.

“You totally are, you avoided eye contact and everything. Seriously, what's wrong? Do you not like the bear?” Rodrick asked. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, his chest pressed against your back, his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. You felt yourself smile despite your bad mood.

“No, I love the bear. I named him Sasha Bear-on Cohen. Get it?” you said, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Ahh, a-very nice,” Rodrick replied in his best Borat impression. You giggled. He gave you a squeeze, hands warm on your waist, but the sensation made you self-conscious about your body again, and you wiggled away. You couldn’t understand how Rodrick could bear to touch you. You had no idea why he was attracted to you in the first place. It made tears spring to your eyes again, and you sniffled.

“Y/n”, Rodrick said softly, looking genuinely concerned. “I know you. You don’t get sad for no reason - unless you’re on your period, or you start thinking too much about the Mars Curiosity Rover.”

You sighed, but you knew he had a point. It took you a minute to get your thoughts into words before you spoke.

“I just... I know its silly. But those pictures - you look like a Hot Topic wet dream and I look... I don’t know. I just don’t like the way I look. And most of the time I don’t let it bother me - at least, I try - but I hate having my picture taken because whenever I see them, all I can see is the things I hate about myself. So. Yeah.”

You feel the tears making steady rivers down your cheeks, and your voice shakes as you speak. Rodrick listens attentively, sitting on the foot of your bed. He pats the space next to him, and you sit down. His hand rests on your leg - not constraining you or placating you with a hug, just letting you know he’s there.

“Y/n, I don’t know how to tell you this without sounding like a giant cheese-ball, but... holy fuck. You are so beautiful. I - every time I look at you all I can think is goddamn, I can’t believe she’s into a loser like me. And don’t argue, it’s just a fact,” he says quickly as you try to defend him from his own self-deprecation. 

“I’m not good with words... I’m more of a man of action, y’know?” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You smack him on the arm, but his silly expression still makes you smile.

“But, I can still tell you - and don’t repeat this to anyone ever because I’ll never live it down - you give me butterflies. Every time. No matter if you’re in pajamas or a ballgown. You make me feel like a stack of pancakes with warm butter and syrup,” he pauses as you laugh, his warm brown eyes gazing into yours. “Just... I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. You make my bones feel funny. That’s how beautiful you are.”

Rodrick finally wraps his arms around you. You let yourself be folded into the embrace, feeling content and more than a little overwhelmed by his confession.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unable to find any other words at the moment. You want to say all of that back to him, ten-fold. You want to tell him he makes you feel like flashing concert lights and Fourth of July fireworks. But your mouth can’t make the words, so you just wrap your arms around him tighter.

“Do you want me to spend the night?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple. You simply nod, already moving up the bed and pulling back the covers as Rodrick goes to turn out the lights.

In the dark of the room, only illuminated by the street-lamp outside your house, Rodrick looks very alien - all long lines and lean angles. It makes your heart-rate kick up again, and you feel a blush form on your cheeks. It’s not as though this is the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, or even been intimate, but this feels... different. 

Rodrick tucks himself in next to you on your bed - it’s a queen size, so it fits both of you well enough that you could sleep together not touching if you wanted to. But Rodrick is a big cuddler at heart, even if he would deny it to his grave. He wraps his arms around your waist as you lay your head on his chest, already being lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You feel like it’s important to tell him before you both lose the tenderness of the moment, so you finally open your mouth to speak.

“I’m so lucky. I know you think you’re... a loser, or whatever but, Rodrick. You aren’t. You are so beyond cool, and brave, and courageous. Thinking about you makes my head spin. And whenever I see you... I’m home.” You trail off, feeling awkward, but Rodrick simply tightens his arms around you, stroking your back with his fingers.

“If I knew we were getting this sentimental I wouldn’t have brought lube... and maybe a few tissues,” he snickers, and you pinch his nipple, causing him to squeal.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” he teases back, and you sigh softly, feeling your body and mind relax. You had almost completely forgotten about the pictures - and at this point, you didn’t really care. The pictures didn’t speak. The only voice telling you that you weren’t beautiful was the one inside your head, and it could definitely be a bitch sometimes.

You could’ve imagined it, but as your brain was finally shutting down, you could’ve sworn you heard Rodrick start to sing, “you are my sunshine... my only sunshine...”

“you make me happy... when skies are gray...”

“you’ll never know, dear, how much i love you...”

“please don’t take my sunshine away...”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.5

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four  

Summary: Meeting at the fold, Aleksander has a choice to make and this time, his anger threatens his control.

Warnings: angst (my apologies), fluff sprinkled on top, indicating smut

a/n - This one is the last one before the finale, I’m sure this time.

========================

Darkness stood before her, utterly filled with terrors spoken of in every tale in Ravka. Y/N stared at the fold from a distance, remembering the first time she had seen it. 

It unnerved her in the past, the unknown playing with her imagination to fashion something much worse than reality. She was no fool, Y/N understood the gravity of what she wanted to execute. This fold had taken countless lives since its creation – her parents as well. 

Exhaling loudly, she placed a hand over her chest as she closed her eyes. Whatever possessed Aleksander to create the fold couldn’t excuse the lives lost or the orphaned children who grew up the same way she did.

“Are you sure?” Mal’s voice is heavy, nearly pleading for her to give up her plan. She glances at him, not with uncertainty but with unwavering determination.

“I have to do this. You know this.”

Reaching for her hand, Mal’s fingers slip across her open palm, intertwining with her own. “It’s not too late to change your mind. This burden doesn’t have to be yours.”

A heavy sigh passes her lips, but it does nothing to relieve the true weight inside her chest. “I will never be free of it if we leave now.”

“Of him, you mean?” Mal frowns, his lips pressing in a thin line she wished she could turn into a smile. “You’ll never be free of him.”

“You could have been on that ship”, she reminds him, gently stroking his cheek. “If I wasn’t in that tent and I didn’t meet him, you’d have been on that ship with no survivors.”

Looking up at the sky, he sighs, “It would be better.” His eyes meet the surprise in hers, “I wouldn’t be sending you off into the darkness without any control over what will happen.”

“I’ll come back”, Y/N musses. “I always do”, she smiles softly, sniffling.

“You better!”

Slapping Mal’s arm, Y/N frowns, “I’m kind of insulted how little faith you have in me!”

Fingers running down her spine had caused shivers run throughout Y/N’s body. She chuckles, hiding her face in the crook of Aleksander’s neck.

“Don’t hide from me”, Aleksander complains. Trying to untangle himself in order to take control once more, his throaty chuckle furthers her need to cling to him.

Her arms wrap around him, pulling him closer as if he’s the air she needs to breathe. “I used to daydream about us.” Her small voice freezes him, his lips twitching with her confession.

“In what manner?”

Rolling to her side, Y/N glances at him only to shake her head. “It’s silly.”

Cupping her cheek, Aleksander leans in, close enough for their noses to touch. “Tell me.”

“I imagined how it would feel like to wake up and see your hair disheveled or how your lips would feel against mine”, her eyes flicker to his lips, causing her to lick her own. “Just about how I’d fall so hopelessly in love with you.”

“So you’re in love with me”, Aleksander raises an eyebrow, teasing her.

Wide eyed, Y/N blushed deeply with his heavy gaze upon her. He never blinks, never stammers or stumbles – Aleksander is a work of art and she couldn’t believe she blurted her feelings out  for such perfection in a foolish daydream ramble.

“I wanted to tell you I love you without making a fool of myself, but that didn’t work”, she huffs, turning on her back. Staring at the ceiling, she wished she could hide now. A man as serious as Aleksander must find her so immature after her display of childish behavior, but she couldn’t face him.

Instead, he propped himself up on his elbow, his face obscuring her view of the ceiling. “I find it adorable”, he whispers almost wistfully and Y/N couldn’t understand why. 

What is he longing for when she’s right there, under him? She didn’t miss the lack of a love proclamation on his behalf, but she could wait a while longer to hear him say it. After all, she’s the one he’s meant to be with.

“So you won’t run for the hills, screaming?” She kinked her eyebrows, beaming at his silent determination.

“Takes far more to frighten me, Sunshine. I’ll always be there for you.” He leans in, pecking her forehead. “For you”, he adds as his body presses her into the mattress. Staring intently in her eyes, his knee pushed her thighs apart. Resting his forehead on hers, Aleksander’s hand moved up her forearm until his fingers intertwined with hers, holding her hand tightly in his as he pushed inside her.

A moan escapes her, eyes closing as he whispers into her parted lips, “And inside you.”

Aleksander never wanted to leave his Sunshine. He wanted to spend the rest of eternity with her unraveling under him each and every night. He still loves her more than anyone else could. All he could think about is how it might need an eternity for him to make things right with her, because in time he believed she’ll see reason and understand he’s right.

But she fell in love with him as he is, temper and wicked plans and horrible notions of what love is. She knew that about him before she ever learned of who he is. She looked past everything he had done, Aleksander couldn’t figure out what’s so different about this.

“General”, Ivan stops at the entrance of his tent, out of breath. “Someone is spotted at the outskirts of the fold. The men believe they mean to enter the darkness on their own.”

Standing, Aleksander straightens his back. His eyes narrow and his jaw unclenches long enough for him to speak, “Who is it?”

“A woman and a man”, Ivan responds, swallowing thickly as he takes note of the general’s flared nostrils.

Forming fists, Aleksander lifts his chin. Despite the end of their relationship, Aleksander didn’t forget Y/N’s promise. He knew she’s brave, far braver than any Grisha he’d ever met. Aside from him, that is. 

His Sunshine had a persisting quality about her, one he used to appreciate before. She would defy the devil himself if he stood in her way and it used to bring a smile to Aleksander’s lips. This time around, he and the fold are her devil.

“STOP THEM”, he orders. “She had never been in the fold before!”

His booming voice surprised even him, but it terrified Ivan who nodded and ran out as if he would cut him in half right then and there. To make matters worse, Aleksander wasn’t sure he wouldn’t.

Looking at his hands, he could have sworn he caught a tremble in a usually steady right hand. “What are you planning, Y/N?”

Fingers grazing Y/N’s, Aleksander felt a tingle run up his arm and to his heart. He always felt like shadows clouded any chance for happiness. Somehow, through it all, he saw where the shadow ends and there she stood. He trusted in her light, the one he could see even when she didn’t conjure it to the surface. She was Sunshine incarnated, his saving grace.

“I’ll never be strong enough”, she croaks, turning away from Aleksander.

With a frown etched on her forehead, Y/N swallowed thickly. She didn’t expect Aleksander to slide a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his. He smiles, the gesture lighting up his eyes, enough to lock her breath in her throat.

She wondered how many were as lucky as she is to see those dark skies hang stars to lead them out of a storm.

She hoped none did. Selfishly, she hoped to be the only one who knows how gentle, how kind the Darkling can be.

“You make me proud, you know that?” His words are honey, his lips set in a genuine grin as he brushes his nose against hers. “You are the strongest person I know.”

Biting her lower lip, she looks into his eyes briefly, but long enough to know he won’t judge her. 

“Could you hold my hand?” 

He had all the understanding she sought in his dark hues, a tenderness she always prayed to find in someone. There was no doubt in her mind she could trust Aleksander.

As his hand embraces her smaller one, she can’t help but look up at him with a look he wasn’t used to.

She looked at him with hope, with expectations of something he wasn’t sure he’d be able to rise to, but he was determined to try.

“Can you tell me more about you?” It felt vastly important to see the change in every line of his handsome face as he remembered the past and she didn’t want to miss a single word, expression or look he could bestow upon her. He felt more important to her than anyone and this wasn’t just a story, it was his story.

If he were honest with her then, Y/N knew she’d have forgiven him. There was no shadow of doubt about it as she stared at the fold mere inches before her. She could see what true darkness is and she never saw it in Aleksander. That’s when the guilt appears, taunting her. If she stayed with him, could she have managed to change his mind about it all without ever spending a day without him? She still missed him far too much, more than she should.

“Stop!”

Looking over her shoulder, she flashes an uncertain smile that disappears just as quickly it came to be, fading to give way for her tear-filled eyes to glisten like stars in the moonlight. She should be angry, she should be running away from him, yet the sight of Aleksander riding toward her only rooted her.

“You can’t stop me”, she remarked, her eyes brimming with tears as he frowned, his forehead forming a few worry lines she’d normally tease him about because their age difference is so vast despite him looking so young, but she reveled in knowing he actually cares enough to worry about her. 

Unless it wasn’t worry for her, rather the fold.

“You can’t possibly do this, Y/N! Even if I wanted to help you destroy the fold, I’d never send you in so soon with so few preparations!” He smiles, but the gesture is empty, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll fail.”

"If you really thought I couldn't do this, you wouldn't be trying so hard to stop me", she snapped, "to distract me!"

For one instant, she feared she’d gone too far. There was something, a flash in his eyes, an expression that flitted over his face that locked her breath in her throat. But then he relaxed, not completely, but much of his frightening tension - battle-ready tension - seemed to flow out of him.

"I'm trying to stop you because you're going to kill yourself trying", he replied. "You begged me to let you go and I did, but look at you now.” His frown deepens, “You’re standing at the edge of certain doom and you have no one to guide you."

“So guide me!” Lifting her chin, she struggled to draw breath and forced herself to shrug as she looked away. “You said you'd always be there for me, with me”, she pauses as she remembers he also promised to be inside her. And he was right, he’s inside her, just not in a pleasurable way. He courses through her veins like a disease, an infection she can’t eradicate. ”So how did this happen? Why weren't you here?”

She wanted him to say something – anything. She wanted him to fight for her, to say he couldn’t imagine life without her and to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness which she’d give…even after everything, she’d give him the forgiveness and love he seeks.

The way her tears fell had grabbed onto his heart and squeezed it tight, those drops of salt filled with emotion had reached him too, tearing through him unforgivably.

“If you go in there, I’ll have no choice but to hurt you.” His voice is shaky, his resolution weaker than the words he’s using. “Don’t put me in this position.”

“So you really think I can’t read you? That I don’t know when you’re lying to me?” A meek smile appears on her dry lips, “Didn’t you promise me you’d never lie to me again? Never to hurt me?”

“Y/N”, Aleksander raises his voice as a warning, yet her smile refuses to falter as her eyes hold his gaze captive.

Her lips part, her mind screaming with every step she takes backwards toward the fold, yet she never felt more at peace. She didn’t know what is stronger – her need to run and save her heart from heartbreak by staying in his arms forever, or her determination to destroy the fold. Yet with every step, she’s more convinced that both those needs are one of the same.

“Don’t”, he holds out his hand once she turns away from him, a step away from the fold he created.

Looking over her shoulder, she knew there was no choice at all. The need to save herself from heartbreak and the need to destroy the fold both require her to save Aleksander from himself.

Pushing his hair back, he dismounted, taking a few steps closer to her. 

“Come on, love. Draw your invisible swords. Stop me”, she challenged, seeing the anger she evoked once his shadows began pouring from around him. 

He ignored her words as he advanced, his dark eyes growing darker. He bent over her, took her defiant chin in his hand. She tried to pull away but he held her fast. He kissed her, roughly at first but then his grip and kiss became gentle, deep – a proper lover’s kiss.

Y/N felt herself drifting. The pleasure of his hand on her cheek, his kiss, it weakened her resolve. He pulled away from her and looked deep into her eyes, the warm and glowing fire behind them setting his own light ablaze. All thoughts of hatred were gone from them, yet his darkness surrounded them slowly.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N stumbles back. “No. No”; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her lips quivering. “You can’t just kiss me and make it alright.”

“You’re my weakness”, Aleksander admits, “the one thing I lack power against. Whether it’s loving you when you’re near and driving me absolutely mad or feeding your memory after you were gone. Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.” He narrows his eyes at her with a simmering anger burning in them, “It’s just not in me to do nothing and let you slip away again.”

Scoffing, Y/N stands her ground, “We could have made it work. If you loved me, you'd have fought for me. You'd have listened to me and abandoned the foolish notion of power you seek. But you didn't, which means I loved you more than you loved me.” 

"I FOUGHT FOR YOU! You didn't let me win. What was I supposed to do, huh? Force your hand and drag you to Little palace by the hair?” Gripping her arm, Aleksander pulled her closer, her hand resting on his chest with her palm open toward his heart. She’s not a heartrender, but her touch does possess the ability to make his heart explode. 

“Should I have taken you by the throat until you submitted?” He speaks lowly, his voice darker than she had ever heard it before. “Did you expect I'd want to see your hatred for me every single day if I made you stay? Tell me, WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

Swallowing thickly, she was rendered speechless. She didn’t know what to say without provoking him further. A part of her wondered if she should fear him, if he would kill her if it came to it.

“I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.” He says through gritted teeth only to release her from his bruising grip. If she was anyone else, she’d be a corpse by now. He knew it, but so did his people. Soon enough, they’ll lose respect for him. People will stop fearing him if he keeps allowing her to defy him.

"You make them all think you're a heartless murderer, but you're not. I know you're better than that." Her voice is raspy and devastatingly painful. Y/N takes a few steps back, her eyes no longer holding back tears as they spill down her cheeks.

His heart is desperately flailing inside his chest as her grief overcomes her features and he can’t touch her again, he can’t make it go away. Time and time again, he’s the cause instead of being her cure.  

In her pain she sees him as the bad guy, yet in truth he’s drowning in a sea of uncried tears too. 

When you hurt a woman you love, most of them can’t even look at you, not even turn to you. But what does a man do when the woman he hurt, the woman he loves most in the world, stares right into his soul as he shatters her completely?

What can a man do when her teary eyes hold his with such bravery, such complexity as she crumbles and he has to bear witness? When he’s the perpetrator and sole witness of her fears and sorrow?

There isn’t a single thing in this world that breaks like a heart does, Aleksander knew that now for in this silent exchange between their souls, the silence has never been so deafening.

"But I am a murderer." His jaw clenches as he raises his chin, “If you take another step, I will prove it to you.”

Eyes narrowing, Y/N nods to herself. Averting her gaze, she pursed her lips before turning around so quickly Aleksander didn’t have time to react.

She held her breath once she entered the fold, moving left on instinct.

Covering her mouth, she looks up at the thundering clouds that seem to be the only light in the fold. Merely seconds after she moved, a knife like substance crossed into the fold, slicing the air where she once stood and a gasp escaped her.

She looks back, finding no trace of Aleksander, but she wasn’t a fool – that was meant to be his gift to her for defying him.

Swallowing thickly, she shakes her head at the devastating thought. Is he past saving? Would he truly kill her?

Part 6/finale