#how am i to fathom the mind of a feral dog

[thistransient]

View of Bali District 八里區 from Zhuwei 竹圍

[2-dsimp]

Ok so everyone and their mother has yandere CEO/ boss x a secretary/assistant/intern blah blah blah

BUT! Hear me out...what and a yandere assistant x boss darling??

Cw: slight blood/gore, obsessive/possessive tendencies, self-sabotage, lack of self worth,

Synopsis: 【You are the overseer in charge of the finance floor of the company SupeCo. And you happened to be issued a brand you employee who was albeit a greenhorn. But nonetheless passionate in preforming his duties as your assistant. You’ve in the short couple days you’ve grown a soft spot for him. And constantly prayed that he’d make it through his job, in one piece since you discovered that he tended to be accident prone.】

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere assistant! That’s always in attention whenever his darling boss is ready to put him to work. He’s practically twitching from getting withdrawals of receiving less than the amount of orders he’d like to have from you.

Yandere Assistant! Whose mind is buzzing 24/7 and is utterly pathetic all by his lonesome. And craves for you to throw whatever tasks you’ve got at him, anything at all, to satisfy his dream of being your personal lap dog.

Yandere assistant! Who loves hearing your voice calling out for his support from across the office hall. He just cannot relate to how his other coworkers cower at their names being announced by their own superiors. Since you were the best in his humblest opinion. And the only one he’d deem to be of importance to be more precise.

Yandere Assistant! That subtly does self sabotage if only to hog your time, in making you giving him lengthy instructions. On what to do since he clearly couldn’t fathom how to print out a piece of paper.

Yandere Assistant! Who swears that he’s not incompetent on purpose. But it’s just that he adores the way you’re so kind with your words. And oh so patient when it comes to correcting a member of your staff. Even going as far as to touch him to show exactly how to maneuver the printer. In short all of your lovely gestures made him jumpy. As he was sweating bullets trying not to turn into a feral degenerate and bend you over the broke ass printer to properly “use it”.

“Tem? Temothy~? Hello? I’m sorry Am I going too fast for you or—“

“Ah nonono absolutely not! Y-you’re fine B-boss I c-could hear you j-just fine!”

Your new hire assistant, Temothy, stuttered as he blinked out of whatever daydream he got afflicted with. Fixing you a mousy smile as he haphazardly fixed his messy overgrown bangs which obscured half of his face from view. You noted that He always had a soft spoken voice along with his habitual stutter speech pattern. Whilst he fidgeted a bit underneath your explicit worrisome expression as you fretted over his wellbeing like a mother hen.

“I only need to cut these stacks of paper for y-you with this cutter r-right? I’ll get on T-that right a-away!”

He managed in a squirrelly tone as he shakily grabbed ahold of the paper cutter. Lining up some blank pieces alongside the dotted lines with an unsteady hand.

It was his first couple days on the job and you found him to be quite the ditzy klutz but an endearing one nonetheless. It was refreshing how eager he is to always lend a helping hand even after he had just gotten off his shift. Which made you feel bad to ask him to come in to work when it was his day off since some of your employees decided not to come in for their shift.

“Wait Temothy dear you’re holding it the wrong way—!”

“Ouch! Oh my stars I’m t-terribly sorry B-boss! I got it all fuckin b-bloody! Ah paper towels… where’s the paper towels?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes and what you were hearing. Was this man seriously worried about how he dirtied the cutter station to which he earnestly tried to clean. While the skin on his palm was sliced open from pinky to thumb. And was bleeding rapidly as bloody rivets ran down his inner wrist.

“Temothy forget about the cutter and papers okay? You don’t need to worry bout none of that. What we need to do is patch you up first and foremost”

You cooed as you briskly took his uninjured hand in yours and ushered him to your office where you always had a health kit stored underneath your desk. Completely missing how his breathing slowed and his wide eyes dilated into small heart pinpricks.

“Y-yes Boss…thank you for c-caring I’ll be sure to return this d-debt”

His usual timid expression darkened into something more depraved as a small fanged smile made its way onto his chapped lips. Of which he licked as he gave an experimental squeeze to your hand only to shiver in delight when you responded back in kind.

No one had ever been this kind to him, due to his bad luck he’s always the type to be scoffed at without as much as a second glance. Hell it was a miracle that he even landed this job as your assistant in the first place. But now that he was here he intended to stay permanently and serve you for the rest of your days as your loyal assistant. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t ever get rid of him not when you’ve already gave him your hand to hold near in dear to his heart.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Curses + Locked in a room

Ah well...there we go. It's the Gondolin OT3 fighting :D

Prompts: Curses & Locked in a room

Pairing: Maeglin x Tuor x Idril

Requester: @jaz-the-bard

Words: 1 115

Warnings: A curse, some bickering, a dark premonition

“Curse you!” Maeglin screamed, his usually deadly pale face flushed an unbecoming, blotchy red. “You self-righteous, self-enamoured creature! You’d be nothing without your father’s name and station—may you find yourself in a place where you’re completely on your own! Now, wouldn’t that be funny?”

Neither his demeanour nor his tone of voice gave any indication of humour or mirth.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re so pathetic! Only because you enjoy hiding away in tight, dark spaces, doesn’t mean other people share your proclivities,” Idril replied, smirking coldly.

“Scared?” Maeglin hissed provocatively.

“Not at all,” she laughed. Her joyless chuckle sounded forced and harsh, but it set her cousin’s teeth on edge, nevertheless. “Bring it on, little cousin! I have crossed the Grinding Ice—I’m hardly afraid of being locked in a linen closet! May you share my fate, though, so you cannot worm out of answering my questions!”

She would rue her careless words before long, but—at that glorious moment of triumph—Idril was entirely undaunted by the recklessness of her words and Maeglin’s resulting ire.

Rushing down the corridor in a flurry of billowing robes, the pugnacious princess made sure to cackle in a way she knew would annoy the one she so dismissively left behind.

She knew not why it was so patently impossible to have a conversation with Maeglin without him being visibly offended about one thing or another while stubbornly claiming that he was perfectly amicable and not in the least affronted by anything she had said or done.

Usually, Idril relished being able to get under the skin and into the mind of another person so effortlessly, but—in this specific case—she had to concede that she was irked by it for she invariably found herself blind and disoriented in the unfamiliar darkness of Maeglin’s prodigiously private soul.

“Was that smart?” Tuor asked pensively after she had told him of the new spat she’d just won. “After all, aren’t you magical?”

Scoffing, she poured herself a glass of wine, swirling the golden liquid elegantly in the invaluable crystal goblet, and stared at her intended in amazement.

“My beloved,” she purred. “Maeglin is a furtive, little mole, and I am—if he is to be believed—nought but a spoiled princess. I sincerely doubt that we’re the kind of creatures you’d expect in a childhood fairy tale.”

“Maybe not in yours,” Tuor sniffed expressively. “Let me assure you that blindingly gorgeous princesses in pristinely white towers and stern, aloof princes were very much staples of our more fantastic tales.”

Finally, the veil of misgiving and annoyance was lifted from Idril’s heart and voice, and she gave a chiming peal of honestly amused laughter.

“Oh, how I love you for your steadfast faith,” she grinned.

To her surprise, Tuor remained silent and grave.

“Very well!” she giggled. “Let’s go seek out Maeglin. I shall admit to my flaws and humbly beg for his forgiveness.”

Tuor still felt somewhat uneasy—no matter what Idril claimed, he couldn’t shake the ominous certainty that she and Maeglin held sway over elements he was not even able to fully fathom.

Consequently, the idea that those two fated miracles would curse one another in earnest gave him shivers of dark premonition.

His jaw bunched with nervous tension as he followed his love who was chirping as if she was looking for a lost dog rather than an esteemed prince of the realm, but he sensed that Idril was still in too feral a mood to be challenged or criticised.

“Why is everything about him so tiring?” Idril muttered under her breath as she rounded yet another corner at a truly alarming speed.

“Because you love him too well to allow him to slink away,” Tuor replied in the same muted voice, unsure whether he had even been supposed to have heard the question. “And he’s unused to be being pressed so ferociously.” “Oh? And you could do better?” she asked sharply, turning around to spear him with a burning look of impatience and disbelief.

True to his indomitable nature, Tuor felt the inexorable surge of reckless bravery overtake his mind before his better knowledge could intervene. “Yes,” he grinned.

“Prove it!”

Flinging open a barely visible door, she gave Tuor a forceful shove that propelled him into a narrow, obscure corridor before noiselessly slipping in behind him.

“Idril!” he exclaimed, shocked, and instinctively pushed back.

Turgon often philosophised about what would happen “when push comes to shove”, and the two young lovers were aghast to find out that the answer to that abstract question turned out to be painfully mundane: a door slammed closed, and they were locked in.

“Where are we?” Tuor asked—his strong voice echoed from the vaulted walls of the hidden hallway, and he flinched.

“Maeglin’s favourite hide-away; it once led down to the old kitchens, but the passage has been sealed since. So yes, he does scurry through the walls.”

Staring at his future wife in wordless amazement, the proud son of Huor cocked his head slowly. “And you know that…how?” he asked after a moment of catching his breath and getting his bearings in the sudden chiaroscuro.

“We…Well…” Idril mumbled. “We used to come here to steal some treats or escape my father’s insistent nagging. If you think the King is dour and overly serious nowadays, you should have seen him back then!”

“He’s lost his wife,” Tuor said softly. “He’s lost his sister. And his cherished daughter and nephew apparently took pleasure in terrorising his kingdom by haunting its inhabitants.”

“Haunting? Nonsense, we didn’t make a sound.”

“We were spying, if you want to hear a terrible confession,” another soft, melodious voice resounded.

Tuor whirled around to find Maeglin standing only a couple of paces away from him, a sly smile adorning his handsome face.

“Noiseless,” Tuor whispered and nodded. He accepted that the surprises would never end when it came to the two souls he loved most in this secluded paradise—he was eager to discover more about them and their strange abilities.

“Cousin,” Idril purred. “I’ve come to apologise; I should not have hounded you so. It seems to me, though, that your merciless ill-wishes came true. You’re a proper wood-witch after all, Lómion of the Dark Trees.”

“So did yours, Princess of the Endless Ice,” Maeglin chuckled mockingly.

“Poor Tuor has been enmeshed in our fate, though. May we not strive to love one another better lest all of Gondolin fall prey to our destructive fights?”

Maeglin nodded graciously and invited them to share his private picnic in the damp darkness of Gondolin’s hidden pathways.

“I regret nothing,” Tuor whispered, a fervent but unheeded confession.

@fellowshipofthefics I am on track!

Lots of love from me!

-> 🌟Masterlist 🌟

[ukulelecal]

Bloom - Part One

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: angst!!!! implied smut. perhaps a swear or two. mostly angst

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: can yall believe that this video sent me so feral that i wrote this whole lil mini series in like five days?? i'm not surprised tbh. ANYWAY omg i really am excited for y'all to read this!!! i hope you love it!!! i would love your feedback, and please please remember that reblogs mean the absolute world to creators!

series masterlist

masterlist // posted on ao3

Devon would never forget the first poem Luke wrote for her.

He was a blushing mess as he handed her the folded piece of paper, insisting she read it later because he didn’t want to see her reaction. He had a lip ring then, blond hair spiked up and a wardrobe full of band t-shirts and black skinny jeans. He certainly didn’t look like how anyone would imagine a poet, but one look at his work would tell anyone that he had the mind for the craft.

Luke’s way with words was unmatched. Devon always called it a superpower; the way he was able to capture readers with words strung together so beautifully and paint a picture in the brain. He made people feel something. He had a gift, no doubt.

All of his poems were breathtaking, and he wrote many for her. The first would always be her favorite.

It was called The Orchids. The poem compared a woman to a field of orchids, delicate and lush. It was simple but sweet. Devon vividly remembered the rush of giddiness she felt as she read it, knowing it was written just for her. She remembered calling Luke after reading it over and over again, gushing about how much she loved it. He explained to her later that he chose orchids because the color of the shirt she was wearing the day they met reminded him of them.

They were only freshmen in college then. First time away from home, getting their first taste of real independence. Of adulthood. They met in a seminar class that every first year student had to take. One that everyone else hated but Luke and Devon loved, just because they got to see each other. A couple of coffee dates lead to The Orchids, which lead to a loving relationship and many, many more poems.

College was just about to come to an end now. Graduation was coming up fast, and that brought the simultaneously exciting and dreadful question: what next?

The future was something that used to delight Luke and Devon. Countless nights, they talked about marriage, a house, a dog, children. Luke would be a renowned poet, Devon a respected social worker. They had it all planned out. Even if their white picket fence dreams fell through, they would be happy so long as they had each other.

With graduation creeping closer and closer, Devon wasn’t so sure about their plans.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it anymore. She still loved Luke with all of her heart. She wanted everything they had talked about, a future with him. Some deeper thinking into her career led her heart elsewhere.

It came out at dinner one evening, sat at the table of Devon and Luke’s shared apartment that they had moved into junior year.

“I’ve been thinking about going to grad school,” she blurted out. She twisted her spaghetti on her fork to distract herself. His face lit up, but Devon didn’t quite share his excitement. She knew this was something she wanted, but she was about to make a huge sacrifice that she had been trying to convince herself that she was ready for.

“Yeah? That’s great, Dev!” Luke cheered. “Here?”

The proud smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw the look of dread on hers. Graduate school was certainly a good thing, but if she wasn’t thrilled, Luke knew there must be a catch.

“Not here?” Devon shook her head. “Then where?”

The name of the school that she mumbled under her breath made Luke’s heart sink. It was far away. Very far.

“Oh.”

Luke wanted to kick himself for being disappointed. It was selfish, so selfish. He should have been proud that Devon wanted to further her education, and he was. He couldn’t fathom trying to take that away from her, but the thought of his girl being so far away was gut wrenching.

He wiped the frown off his face as quickly as it came. He reminded himself that he needed to be supportive, even if it hurt.

“That’s awesome, baby. I’m really proud of you.”

Devon knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was proud of her, but she could tell he wasn’t as excited as he was trying to seem.

“You don’t have to act happy about this, Lu,” she murmured, still pushing her pasta around. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. Of course she saw through him. She always did. After four years of being together, Devon knew Luke better than anyone.

“I really am proud of you for doing this, honey. Don’t think that I’m not. It’s just…” he trailed off, unable to think of a way to put what he wanted to say without sounding selfish. “It’s so far away.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. She was headstrong, and she knew that she needed to put her career and her own desires first. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to move so far away from the love of her life.

“I know, bubs,” she whispered. “But this is something I really want for myself. For my future.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Luke sighed, not wanting her to feel bad. “I want you to do this. But the distance...I know it’s selfish of me-”

“It’s not selfish, Luke,” she interrupted, shaking her head softly. “It’s not easy for me either. But this school has the best graduate program for social work. Besides, I haven’t finished my application yet and I’m applying to some other places too. I might not even get in.”

Perhaps the most selfish thing of all was that a tiny part of him hoped she wouldn’t get in. It would break her heart if she didn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t be so far. Luke hated himself for the thought even crossing his mind for a split second.

Devon could see how this was affecting him. She understood; she knew he was planning on proposing shortly after graduation, though they were in no hurry to actually get married until they both had secure jobs. Moving hundreds of miles away for two years undoubtedly threw a wrench in the plans.

She had gone back and forth for a while as she searched for grad schools. As much as she wanted to stay close, her future career was something that she valued greatly. Devon was a first generation college student, and she wanted nothing more than to make her family proud. However, Luke was important too. The distance wouldn’t be easy, but she tried to be optimistic. She could only hope that he would want to try too.

“Don’t think like that, Dev,” Luke mumbled. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. His desire for Devon to succeed and his desire to keep her close were battling each other, and it only frustrated him.

He thought about his words for a few moments, but couldn’t find the right thing to say.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Devon gave a silent nod. She needed to let him feel this out, and honestly, she needed to do the same. Thinking about it was one thing, but actually telling Luke was another. She had been stressing over it for a while, and now that it was finally out, her and Luke had to actually deal with it together.

The couple finished their dinner in silence, the only sounds to be heard being the slight scraping of forks against plates and the occasional sighs.

Devon couldn’t help but feel guilty. Over the years, she had conditioned herself to put her own aspirations first. She had sacrificed a lot for others in her lifetime, but many people had made sacrifices for her as well. She felt she had found a balance between taking care of herself and taking care of the people around her. She knew that moving away for a while for her own benefit would have an effect on her relationship, but she didn’t feel as if she had to choose one or the other. If Luke was willing to try to make things work, then so was she.

Luke took his last bite of spaghetti and stood up from the table. He silently made his way to the sink to wash his plate before turning back to Devon.

“I’m going to write for a bit, okay?” He mumbled, slowly making his way towards the spare bedroom that doubled as his workspace. No doubt a poem was going to come out of everything he was feeling at the moment. Devon nodded and her brown eyes watched as Luke turned on his heel to walk away.

“Luke?” She called out before he got too far. He turned around with a hum of acknowledgement. “I love you.”

Despite the anxiety and dread he was feeling, he smiled.

He walked back over to where Devon still sat at the table. With her face cradled lovingly in his hands, he bent down to press a soft yet meaningful kiss to her lips. The kiss said that even if things were uncertain, this wasn’t over.

“I love you too.”

…

Devon’s breath caught in her throat when an email from her top choice grad school came through.

She had poured over her personal statement and fretted over her interview. No matter how much everyone assured her, she couldn’t help the anxiety that ate her away.

With a deep breath, she opened the email.

Accepted with a scholarship.

“Luke! Bubs, I got in! I got in!”

She ran into the spare bedroom where Luke was hunched over one of his many poetry notebooks. His head whipped up at his girlfriend’s yells, his brain taking a moment to process her words after being in the writing zone.

For a moment, neither of them were thinking about the distance. All that mattered was Devon’s amazing achievement.

Luke stood up to meet her. Devon practically tackled him in a hug and he easily held her close.

“Congratulations, honey,” he mumbled into her hair. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

He held her for a few minutes, neither of them able to wipe the smiles off their faces. This meant a lot to Devon, and Luke knew it. He knew from the moment he met her that she was going to do great things in life. She was motivated, intelligent, passionate. Anyone could see it. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

Luke pulled away in favor of cupping her cheeks in his hands. Devon flushed under his adoring gaze, eyes falling downwards.

“You’re incredible, Devon Murphy.”

She kissed him as a form of thanks, melting into each other’s touch. Their eyes met when they pulled away, bright blue and warm brown. Devon wasn’t the wordsmith that Luke was, but she didn’t have to be. Her eyes and her actions told him and everyone else everything that they needed to know. Devon was in love with him, and Luke, her.

Even with Luke’s way with words, Devon could read his eyes too. They were just as expressive as his poetry. As they gazed at each other, she could see the flash of sorrow as his mind travelled elsewhere. She didn’t need to ask to know what he was thinking about.

“Luke…” she whispered with a softened gaze. The guilt was returning, although she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. She had always struggled with her determination to put herself first. It wasn’t Luke’s fault either, however; his feelings about her leaving were completely valid.

“No. None of that right now,” he stated, shaking his head. “This is a huge accomplishment, Dev. We’re not going to be sad tonight.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Devon’s lips as Luke pulled away, grabbing his phone from the desk and sticking it in his pocket. He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the door of the bedroom.

“I think you deserve a celebratory dinner, honey, yeah?” He offered, handing trailing to the side to hold her waist. She chuckled and leaned into him.

“You could throw in a frozen pizza and I’d be happy, bubs.”

“Hell no,” he scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. “You just got into grad school! I’m taking you out for dinner. If you want pizza, we can get pizza, but not a frozen one.”

Devon couldn’t help but throw her arms around him again, burying her face into his chest. He tilted his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She knew this wasn’t easy, and she was beyond grateful that he was being supportive.

“Thank you, bubs. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. So are we getting pizza, or do you want to go somewhere else? It’s up to you.”

“Pizza sounds good. Can we go to the place with the good garlic knots?”

Luke laughed as he slipped on his shoes.

“Of course we can.”

Devon slipped on her own shoes and grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door before the couple made their way downstairs. Luke’s beat up Prius came into view as they stepped into the parking lot. Devon had named the car Bertha; she was old and a little rusty, but she got the job done.

Luke drove to the small pizzeria not far from their apartment complex. Once inside, they were seated quickly and ordered garlic knots and a pizza to share.

“We haven’t talked much about your writing lately,” Devon said once the waitress walked away. “What have you been working on?”

Luke shrugged and sipped his water.

“Not much. I haven’t really gotten anything good out.”

Truthfully, he had written a lot of poems about Devon leaving. He wasn’t going to tell her that at their celebratory dinner, though.

“In a slump?” She queried sincerely.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Maybe next weekend we can go out, go to the park. You always get inspired there.”

Luke grinned and reached across the table for her hand.

“I’d love that, Dev.”

The rest of dinner flew by, conversation getting lost in buttery garlic knots and savory pizza. Luke offered dessert, but Devon was too full to even think about it. A sly joke about having her for dessert at home had the giggling couple paying the check and driving home at record speed where Luke certainly made good on his promise.

Devon and Luke laid in bed that night where whispered I love you’s and gentle kisses put them to sleep. Not a negative thought in either of their minds. They were content, but the future still loomed menacingly ahead.

…

The apartment was once a place of solace. It was a place where Luke and Devon could get away from the stress of college life and simply be together. It was safe and comforting. A place they knew they were always welcome.

As time went on, the apartment slowly shifted from a place of joy to a place of dread.

Graduation day was coming up, and both Devon and Luke knew what that meant.

They busied themselves with assignments and exams, Devon simultaneously preparing herself for grad school. She didn’t say much about it to Luke; whenever it came up, the tension between them only got stronger. It led to them bickering about other things to avoid the conversation.

Before they knew it, graduation had come and passed. Devon and Luke officially had their bachelor’s degrees, Luke in creative writing and Devon in social work. The days leading up to it were a good distraction, celebrations with friends and family taking their minds off the move. But it was over. Devon needed to get to her new city soon to set up her new apartment and get her bearings before school started. It was time to face the music.

“Luke?” Devon mumbled as he came out of the spare bedroom. She had been waiting for him to finish so they could talk.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the couch, knowing exactly what this was about. They both had been dreading the conversation, but he knew just as well as her that they needed to discuss it before it was too late.

“Are you ready for this?” She whispered, glancing at him with sad eyes. He didn’t return her gaze.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to be away from you for this long, honey.”

Luke could feel his guard coming down. He wanted this for Devon, but he was struggling to keep his want for her to stay close suppressed.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not considering you in this,” she began, reaching for his hand in his lap. “Leaving won’t be easy for me either.”

“I know.”

He was too scared to say much else.

The couple was silent for a moment. They racked their brains for something to say that would make the situation easier on either of them.

“Maybe you could come with.”

Devon regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Luke huffed and sent her a look.

“You know I can’t do that.”

She did know. If he could do that, he would have jumped on the opportunity immediately. Luke couldn’t afford to move. He was working on fulfilling his lifelong dream of releasing a poetry book. He was getting so close. Publishers were starting to take interest in him, and he nearly had enough money saved to cover the costs. It was difficult to save money when his part time job at a local bookstore didn’t pay much in the first place and he still needed to pay for school as well as his share of the rent and groceries, among other necessary things. Devon was a little luckier. Neither of their families had much to contribute, and she needed to pay for the same things as him, but her part time job paid better than his and she had money saved from when she managed to land a paid internship first semester. It was covering the costs of her move and grad school.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She watched him for another moment, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

“Please say something, Luke,” she whimpered. All she wanted was for him to affirm what she so desperately wanted; for them to be okay.

He finally looked at her, both sets of eyes red rimmed. Devon squeezed his hand.

“Do you really have to go, Dev?”

The break in his voice sent the first tear gliding down Devon’s cheek.

“You know how much this means to me, Lu. I really think we can make this work.”

“Can we? Can we really?” Luke’s tone turned frustrated. Devon’s mouth dropped open slightly. Did he not believe they could last?

“What are you saying?” She whispered, voice shaking.

He sighed and roughly stood up, dropping Devon’s hand in the process.

“We’ll never talk. We’ll both be so busy. You’ll have school, I’ll be working. And you know neither of us have the money to be visiting each other often. There will hardly be anything,” he rambled, pacing around the living room. Maybe his selfish side was coming out, but he felt he was just being realistic.

Luke always aimed for realism, particularly in his poetry. He wrote largely about real life experiences and channeled his emotions into beautiful, flowing rhymes. His best work came from personal connection.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but write about what he wished he had.

His idealistic poems were never about Devon; his relationship with her was practically perfect. But this was something that no idealistic poem could fix. No words could change what was happening to them.

“I’ll make time for you, Luke. Won’t you do the same?” She questioned, growing frustrated as well. She had wanted him to share her optimism, but clearly he didn’t. A part of her knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“Of course I’ll make time. But will it be enough? No matter how much we try, will it be enough to keep what we have going? Look at what it’s doing to us now! You haven’t even left yet and we can barely keep it together.”

“Do you really have that little faith in us, Luke?” Her voice was calm, despite how she felt on the inside. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No one said it would be easy. But we’ve been together for four years. I believe in us.”

Luke took another breath, trying his best to keep his emotions and tears at bay.

“I want to believe in us, Devon. I really do.” He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and it only made his heart ache more. “I still want a future with you. I want the house and the dog and the kids we’ve always talked about. But I have a bad feeling. We’ve never been away from each other for more than a few weeks. I just...the distance is going to break us.”

Luke’s own words cut him like a knife. As much as he wanted to believe they could last, his own insecurities caused him doubt. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed that or if he just wanted to save himself the heartbreak of being away from Devon for so long.  

Devon let his words sink in. Even if it did break them before she finished her degree, she was willing to try until they couldn’t anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe the distance would break them eventually. But it hurt her that he didn’t have any faith at all. Still, she understood where he was coming from.

There was no winner in this situation.

She thought for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that they were both thinking about.

“Fine.” She slowly stood up from the couch and looked him in the eye. They were both shattered. Hearts were breaking into a million pieces simultaneously. Devon put on the most stoic face she could muster with tears still leaking from her eyes. “We obviously want different things right now. I have school, you have your book, and clearly we can’t handle both at the same time. Maybe there shouldn’t be an us.”

Although he had essentially been the one to suggest it, her words felt like a punch in the gut.

This wasn’t what either of them wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But the truth was becoming more and more apparent. They couldn’t do this. Not now.

However, Luke mimicked Devon’s actions and put on a blank face.

“Maybe there shouldn’t.”

They stared at each other for another few moments. Reality was setting in. This was the end of Luke and Devon. All of the coffee dates, the love poems, living off Ramen and questionable dining hall food together, walks in the park, kisses, I love you’s, the late night talks of the future, everything gone down the drain.

Devon shut herself in the bedroom before Luke could see her break.

…

The next month before Devon moved was painful. Her and Luke hardly said a word to each other. They ate their meals separately, not bothering to cook together like they used to or order food to share. They both spent time with friends before everyone went off to their new adult lives. When they weren’t out, Devon locked herself in the bedroom while Luke did the same in the spare. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since before their fight.

Devon spent a lot of free time packing. She went through all of her belongings, creating piles of things to keep, things to donate, and things to throw away.

She soon came across something that made all of her emotions about the breakup resurface.

It was the shoebox that she kept all of the poems Luke had written for her in. She kept every single one.

With a quivering lip, she opened the box and gazed at its contents. Piles of folded papers were neatly tucked inside, his declarations of love all written out in one place. They were her most prized possessions. She went back and reread them often, and the feeling of having someone love her like Luke did was the best feeling in the world.

Devon choked out a sob, burying her face into her hands in hopes that he wouldn’t hear her through the thin walls. The fact that he was right next door hurt her even more. The caring, gentle boy that made her swoon with his charming smile and romantic poetry. He made her fall in love with him all over again every day. He was everything, and she lost him.

She slowly read through each poem. Instead of joy and adoration, all she felt was anguish and heartache. She never thought she would feel this way about Luke.

When she got to the bottom, she pulled out the last poem, and her heart completely broke in her chest.

The Orchids.

Devon couldn’t keep her sobs at bay. She clutched the paper to her chest, every bit of pain coming out in tears.  

Luke could hear her through the wall.

His heart told him to run in and comfort her. His brain told him it would only make things worse for both of them.

He plugged his ears, trying to block out the dreadful sound. He was in just as much pain as her, but the sound of the love of his life’s sorrow only made his own worse.

Glancing down at the open notebook in front of him, he reread the poem he was writing, and soon he found himself joining Devon in tears.

It was called Wilted. Their relationship that had once been a beautiful flower, an orchid, lost its sunlight and its water, and now it had wilted. Dead, grey, dried up.

Luke dropped his pen and folded his arms on the desk, burying his head into them. He cried.

The broken couple, only separated by a thin wall, might as well have already been miles apart. They cried together, but there was no sense of unity between them. Their pain was past what any poem could portray.

[peebleswrites]

Can I pleaseeee request something with Ulquiorra!? It's difficult to see him being sweet or romantic but I'm ready for whatever he can give 🤣

GASP. YAY. FIRST REQUEST. THANK YOU. Gotta say, this was a challenge! But it was always really fun and I enjoyed writing this piece. I hope you like it!

ULQUIORRA X FEMALE!READER

About three months had gone by since the Arrancars mysteriously appeared in the world of the living, sans the previously deep seeded hatred of humans and Shinigami. In short, they had no evil intentions whatsoever and seemed curious, some more than others, over the lifestyle of humans.

Everyone was of course wary, worried they’d fly off the handle and a war would once again loom on the horizon in the minds of both the soul society and the world of the living. Until Y/N was the first to offer an extension of goodwill to the once evildoers, thus triggering a snowball affect of successful communication between the three parties.

And so, the former Espada remained in the world of the living, assimilating into the culture and assuming somewhat normal lives!

“Say Y/N,” Orihime began one afternoon during lunch upon the roof. All eyes trained to the busty bubble of joy as she posed a question in Y/N’s direction.

“What’s your type? I mean, what sort of guy are you interested in?” Pretty much everyone was equally surprised as they were curious which included a certain arrancar who’d normally find such drabble ridiculous and an utter waste of time. 

Since his arrival, or rather, since those of his kind had been accepted in this world, Ulquiorra had taken something of an interest in Y/N. She was the first to accept him, all of them, and he’d always been curious concerning her reasoning. Surely, she intended to gain something by having them as allies, right? Y/N was just a human. It would make sense for her to align herself with the strong.

Yet…she didn’t appear to him as the type to use people for her own advantage. This only made her all the more interesting. As such, he used any and all opportunities afforded to him. All in efforts to garner what her true intentions were.

This was one of those opportunities.

“My type? Mmm…I guess someone who’s smart.” Y/N started before considering the rest of her response.

“Heh, that excludes you, Shinigami.” Grimmjow was first to comment, roughly punching Ichigo in the shoulder with that snarl of a grin covering his feral features. The jab nor the remark was taken well by the aforementioned male who soon retaliated with an equal amount of force.

“What the hell?! That means you too, dumbass!” And of course, that triggered the beginning of their usual bout which everyone had gotten so used to, it was pretty much ignored.

“I do like the strong, silent type, too. Oh! And a bit of spontaneity! You know, keeps things interesting!” While everyone seemed to agree, secretly they began to wonder just who among them she might be interested in. Meanwhile Ulquiorra was on an entirely different wavelength.

If Y/N found these qualities to be appealing, perhaps he could gain her trust by assuming these roles and therefore fulfill this self-appointed purpose of discovering her true intentions, thus deciding for himself if she were truly someone worthy of his trust.

No, it didn’t sound at all crazy in his head.

He has the smart part down and feels sufficiently confident in his intellect. Nothing to worry about there. The same can be said of his strength and more so of his silence. He is neither loud, nor boisterous. And while he wouldn’t call himself antisocial, he is prone to speak when he feels it is necessary to speak. Silence with a purpose.

That leaves the spontaneity.

In order to tackle this trait efficiently, he took to the human world dictionary!

“Performed or occurring as a result of a sudden inner impulse or inclination and without premeditation or external stimulus…” This may be something of a challenge for him. He never acts without thinking, without purpose. In fact, he is hard pressed to believe he could start. But not entirely convinced…yes, he could do this.

He would start by following Y/N. Not in the creepy stalker sense but more along the lines of trying to get to know her likes without actually asking himself. He would use the ever talkative Orihime to do his bidding.

“What sort of candy do you like, Y/N? I like something sweet and tangy but also sour and a little bitter with a fluffy kind of texture!” Dear gods, what could she possibly be describing was the expression that Ulquiorra currently wore while listening to the conversation. Y/N assumed a rather uneasy expression before responding accordingly.

“I like F/C. Not really a fan of much else.” Y/N’s response was simple something Ulquiorra could appreciate and perhaps do something with.

“So that’s what she likes…”

The next day, all eyes were on the former fourth espada when he strolled into class, dragging a large sack behind him which he dumped onto Y/N’s desk without a word. She stared at him then the sack partially obscuring her vision before opening her mouth to respond

“Uh…Ulquiorra? What’s this?”

“Don't ask useless questions.” And that was all he said before casually walking to his chair like he didn’t rouse the entire class with a cloud of confusion. With furrowed brows, Y/N peeked into the sack, only to spot copious amount of her favorite candy! It looked like a whole year’s supply of it! What the heck…

Who could’ve known that he’d been listening in on her conversation with Orihime? Or that he’d continue to do such in order to exercise this growing need to display his spontaneity. Which, he realized at one point, wasn’t really spontaneous at all because he was thinking about these acts way too hard!

Like when she expressed a desire to have more rice in her lunch, so he proceeded to give her extra portions the next day. Or when she grew tired during gym and he suddenly picked her up over his shoulder to run the rest of her laps. Or when she complained over the lack of sleep she was getting due to the neighbor’s dog barking all night so he insisted on training the canine not to be noisy.

Okay so…maybe he was being spontaneous, but Y/N had grown suspicious enough and needed some answers.

“Ah…Ulquiorra? Could I talk to you for a moment?” Y/N approached him after class one day, appearing somewhat nervous. He agreed with a simple nod while teeming on the inside with anticipation. This could quite possibly be the moment he has been working for so diligently. His efforts were at last being acknowledged.

“Uh so…listen, it’s about uhm…how you’ve been acting recently…” If it wasn’t obviously, Y/N was having a hard time expressing what she really wanted to say. Ulquiorra, of course, noticed this.

“Speak, woman.” A curt response that Y/N honestly should’ve expected prompted nothing more than a sigh.

“What’s your problem?!” Which triggered an explosive response that Ulquiorra honestly didn’t see coming if the sight of his eyes widening were any indication.

“Elaborate.” Eyes that soon softened to their normal size while gleaming with hints of mild apprehension for he never expected her of all people to express feelings of displeasure with him.

“You keep doing these weird things! First it was the candy! Then all the rice! Then you carried me around the track even when I told you to put me down! Now my neighbor is telling me you trained their dog! Are you making fun of me? Is this some arrancar way of bullying?!”

“You believe I am bullying you?”

“Yes!”

She was yelling at him. And calling him a bully, of all things. How could his intentions have been so horribly misinterpreted? How could she misunderstand him to such a degree? Could he have been wrong? Were his methods misguided or incorrect? It would seem he would need to evaluate his form of spontaneity and employ a different tactic.

“I see. I will try something else, then.” Yes, he would go back to the drawing board, reconsider his options, his resources, and try other ways of being spontaneous.

“Wait!” Y/N name suddenly grabbed onto his arm. His eyes instantly fell to her hands. Her touch triggered a slither of a response, a tingling sensation that was unfamiliar. When’s the last time anyone had laid non-threatening hands on him, he wondered.

“What?” Visibly she flinched back but maintained her countenance alongside the ever-present confusion.

“What are you trying to do? What’s all this about? I want to know!” This expression. The raw emotion on her face. He remembered it well. It was this stubborn, foolish disposition she maintained that played a key role in the Shinigami taking their presence as a non-threat. It was this expression that led him to find a purpose through her.

It was this very same gleam that triggered perhaps the most spontaneous act he’d committed thus far, the cupping of his hand upon her cheek. He wouldn’t be able to explain what caused him to do it or why his hand stayed. He just knew her cheek felt soft and warm and he sort liked the way her expression shifted as his hand remained.

“Your ‘type,’ as you humans refer to it, is someone who is spontaneous, is it not?” He brandished his usual emotionless façade, awaiting a response from her aside from the stunned silence she seemed to be trapped in.

“I…you…ah…you want to be my type…?” Dumbfounded. She was utterly dumbfounded. And he couldn’t understand why she was behaving so shocked. Wasn’t he being obvious?

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I see now that my actions are ineffective.” How ridiculous. For him to fail at such a task was unprecedented. He could hardly fathom such a thing. As such, he needed to take time away, regroup, and think of different ways to convey this message to her.

“If you’ll excuse me.” His hand fell away from her cheek only to be grabbed by one of hers. A second extension of contact and a second shock that shot up his senses. He eyed her once again with his empty stare, but she didn’t appear at all perturbed by it. In fact, she offered a rather hopeless smile.

“I…I think it’s working. I mean, you’ve got my attention.” Once again, she stunned him. This time, not with her gleaming determination but with a meek smile and subtle, gentle, squeezing of his hand. He couldn’t have imagined such a small gesture could be so impactful. How strange…

“Oh? I will continue, then.”

“Wait, no—.”

It would seem he was at least on the right track to deciphering her true intentions while simultaneously gaining her trust. Surely, he’d get it this spontaneous act right eventually.

A/N: Poor Ulquiorra. He means well. Again, hope you enjoy! Also this is my first time doing this so I hope the format isn't weird? Thanks!

[venusofthehardsells]

I’ll take my heart this time [one-shot]

Empath!ReaderxLoki Summery: After helping the Avengers save the world from an alien army, the reader must confront her life-long devotion to the God of Mischief. Warnings: angst, toxic relationship, mentions of past abuse if you squint A/N: This ended up longer and... very different than intended. What can I say, apparently this Reader does what she wants too. This was written for @connorshero s 2K Song Fic Writing Challenge (embarrassingly late, thanks tumblr for flagging my blog) and my prompt was the song “Better Than I Know Myself” by Adam Lambert, a song I love a little obsessively. Enjoy! _____ Thor stopped on the doorstep when he saw the state of the room.  "You're leaving?" The disbelief in his voice, the hurt, resonated within you, but you firmly kept folding the sheet you had taken off the bed. There was no need for an answer. Anyone could tell you were practically halfway out the door already.

You had donned your overcoat and boots, and your few belongings were stashed in a leather bag pack on one of the chairs. Every surface in here had been cleared of things and swiped down. There was only the bedding left, which you were now neatly folding and placing on the naked duvet. "Why?" Your stomach clenched, but you managed to get a calm answer out of the emotional slaughter still raging in your mind. "I promised to stay and help defeat the alien intruders. They are defeated, so..." You left the sentence hanging in the air. "Yes, but there is no need for you to go. My brother... I mean, we all hoped that you would become a permanent part of the team." "You know that I can't." Thor wore his feelings plainly on his face and the way his pale blue eyes now bristled with pity was as clear as day to you. "But you love him," he said quietly. You snorted to hide the fact that your carefully constructed indifference was slowly coming apart from his words. "It hardly matters..." Your voice was trembling now and it made you angry. Why couldn't you control your own damn feelings when it came to Loki? Even after all this time... "My dear, you wiped out an entire army because you couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Of course it matters!" "He used me!," you cried, feeling tears stinging in your eyes now. "He knew how I would react, how I would feel..." It was too much.You crumbled as you set a sheet of tears free down your cheeks and allowed yourself to sob. Thor was at your side at once and gently placed his large arms around you. "He also knew it was the only way we could win," he said reasonably and you were briefly proud your chaotic emotions weren't rubbing off on him. You kept sobbing in his embrace, wishing it was Loki's, wishing you had been a better guard of your heart all those years ago. "Please don't leave him," Thor mumbled after a while when the sobs had finally stopped raking your body and instead left you trembling and silently heaving for breath. "Loki is too proud to admit it, but he is better with you." "You're right," you managed, biting your lip. "He is too proud. And I am a fool for wanting the impossible." Slipping back into a frail shell of the control you usually wielded, you slowly detached yourself from Thor and went to pick up your bag. You grabbed one of the straps so tightly your nails cut into your palm and made little crescent indentations. The pain kept you grounded. "Farewell Thor, Son of Odin. It was an honour fighting beside you." There was something akin to mourning in Thor's expression now as he lightly shook his head but nevertheless he acknowledged your goodbye. "The honour was mine." You swallowed the lump that had built up in your throat again and turned to leave. You had taken less than two steps down the hallway when a shout made you hold your steps. "Wait!" That particular voice made your legs freeze up for about two seconds. Then you resumed your path at twice the pace. You made it halfway towards the lift before Loki's hand was around your wrist. "Please, stop." It was a mistake to turn your head and look at him. Whenever you did, you had to wonder if he didn't have the same powers as yourself after all. Those startlingly beautiful eyes that shone like a pair of bright precious stones always took your breath away. Even now, even hating him, you found yourself short of breath as his eyes bore into yours. "Let go of me, Loki." You were better at controlling your feelings than your voice and it didn't come out as coldly as you wanted it to. "I have a flight to catch." "Whereto?" "Does it matter? This world ought to be big enough for us never to have to meet again." You tore your wrist from his grip. "Is that what you want?" The fact that he had the audacity to sound remorseful beneath the calmness of his demeanour made a spark of anger flare up in you. Did he honestly believe, after everything he had witnessed, after everything you had done, that such a simple acting trick would work in his favour? "How dare you?," you whispered, feeling your throat constrict with each word and breath that left your mouth. "How dare you say it like that?!" "What do you mean?" Loki took less than half a step away from you, but his eyes never left yours. And they were searching. As if he truly couldn't fathom what made you look at him with such contempt. "You are unbelievable! After all this time... how can you possibly have to ask me what I want?" Tears stung in your eyes again, but you suddenly realised you were beyond caring. He had taken everything you could offer him: your love. Your friendship and your council, your unwavering support, your powers, your devotion, your body even, years and years of your life and, eventually, your very soul. Let him have your dignity as well. "I have given you everything, Loki. And you have shown me time and time again that it isn't enough for you. I killed thousands in your name... But I would have killed millions more if it meant winning your heart. I would have done anything. You have known that for as long as you've known me. Isn't that why you asked for my help? Because you knew? Even after what you put me through, when you called I came running. To you." Your insides hurt when you paused to breathe. Your cheeks were wet with tears that wouldn't stop spilling from your eyes and you cursed them to Hel and back for betraying your feelings so blatantly in front of Loki. "But it's over. I am done playing this wicked game of yours where I accept whatever scraps of affection you can spare at the time, like some loyal dog who still licks the hand that beats it. The next time you need help, Your Highness, call someone else." Your voice was in shambles by the time you finished speaking. Every word hurt to get out. From the tips of your fingers through your bones until they scratched their way past your tongue, they burned and seared inside of you, and once they were out they left you feeling empty and naked beneath Loki's silent emerald stare. The worst of it, however, was not how you felt.It was the bitter sting of heartache coming from him. Loki drew in a deep, almost careful breath as if the silence between you following your words would explode if he cut it the wrong way. "You're right," he said quietly, eyeing you with apprehension the way one might a feral animal. "I've always taken your devotion for granted..." You hardly dared move when he whispered your name. "I'm sorry." It felt as if your heart might stop right then and there. You let out a strangled little sort of gasp, clutching your bag pack close like a shield. The fact that you hadn't turned and walked further away from him seemed to reassure him a little. "I want you to know I truly mean it when I say I didn't wish to cause you any more pain when I asked you to come here. Quite the opposite to be honest. I also know you won't believe me..." Loki almost chuckled at that, though the anguish he was feeling was still clear on his face. "I have given you no reason to trust me in the past." You swallowed when he hesitated. "So I'm going to offer you proof instead." Then he held out his hand. Unlike almost everyone else, Loki had in time learned to conceal his true feelings for you or at least make it harder for you to read them. His emotions took a lot of effort for you to make out if he didn't want you to know them. Unless you touched him directly. His outreached hand to you was him baring himself of all defences. If you took it there would be nothing shielding him. He couldn't lie his way out of it; you could completely undress his heart. Your fingers trembled. It would be so easy to reach out and touch those long pale fingers of his and finally find out how he felt. Once and for all. "Please," he urged when you didn't move. There was a slight shiver in his voice that you were sure he hadn't meant for you to hear. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was growing more and more desperate with every second that passed without you moving towards him.You shook your head. "I can't." A hint of his panic reached you, but you made sure not to mix it with the chaos of your own. "I can't do this again. You've... you've broken my heart so many times, I don't think I'll survive it if you do it again." Your words were barely a whisper, but you might as well have shouted them for how Loki flinched. "I won't. I've been a fool in the past and I realise that you have already given me more chances than I deserve... But I am begging you for just one more. Please..." "Loki..." "Take my hand. I... I need you." His voice fell to a whisper. "I can't lose you." There was no mistaking that his eyes were glistening now. Your name lay softly and quivering on his lips and it felt as if your heart had stopped in your chest. If you hadn't known him most of your life and if you hadn't been in a disturbingly similar situation only a few centuries earlier, you would have leapt right at him with open arms.You couldn't hold back the sob that had been building up in your throat and grown so big it was hurting you. "Stop it," you whimpered, frantically shaking your head now. "It's over. The line between love and hate is the width of a strand of hair, Loki. And I've been stumbling along it for as long as I can remember... You never deserved my love." The words tasted acidic in your mouth. You fixed him with a long, hard stare that was probably not half as intimidating as you imagined given your current state of distress, but you might as well have stabbed Loki in the gut for how devastated he looked. "But the worst part is that after everything, after all you've done... after all you've endured..." Your voice quavered with pent up mourning for him that never seemed to stop. "You don't deserve my hate either. If I leave, you won't have any of the two. You can start afresh." Loki swallowed. Hard. At long last, you could feel him let go of the final shred of pride holding him back. He closed the distance between you and placed both hands tenderly against your temples. Over the past thousand years, you had touched each other more times than you could possibly count, and in much more intimate ways. But it had never felt like this. Despite the cold in his fingertips, rush after rush of warmth spilled from the places his skin touched yours, filling you with a serene sense of comfort and familiarity and, overwhelmingly, bliss. “Please, don’t do this…,” he intoned in a frail murmur, about to utterly shatter. “Don’t walk away. I’m not ready to let you go. I love you.” It felt as if all the air in the corridor was sucked out of your lungs and right out of reach. The tears turned to glass in your eyes. He really meant it. The words you had always longed to hear. He meant them with all his heart. The very thing you had never ever thought would cross his lips. He felt them with all of his being. I love you. I love you. Loki leaned in and the world fell away at the touch of his lips. You closed your eyes and pressed yourself into his gentle hold, into his desperate kiss, his quivering hands, his very existence. You were acutely aware of everything that was him. Hair, skin, bones, blood and the way his eyelids fluttered shut, the movement of his mouth against yours as he hungrily sucked on your bottom lip to press the heat of his tongue against your own in a fervent dance that a part of you never wanted to cease. Loki. Time stilled as you descended into the fabric of his mind. From the wide hallways of his ambitions to the darkest corners of his secret desires, his soul was laid bare to your scrutiny. Oh, the mind has mountains. In that moment, nothing moved outside the two of you. You took your time feeling your way through everything he in his candour offered up. You had never been this deeply connected before. In your youth, your powers had yet to blossom to their full potential and it had been a struggle to forge the control that you now wore as a second skin. Later in your years, you had mastered your powers, but so had Loki. And his magic and mental wards had been almost as formidable as your empathic abilities. Almost. You sucked in a deep breath as you broke away from him. “I believe you,” you said softly, grasping his hands tightly in your own. Your heart was beating evenly for the first time in days, but it was nothing to the clarity that rushed through your veins now. “And I’m sorry.” “What…” “I’m sorry that the first person you trusted enough to be vulnerable with is letting you down. You don’t deserve that either.” You lifted your clasped hands and gently kissed his knuckles without breaking eye contact. “But if I stay here… with you…” You shook your head with a sad smile and the burning agony that shot through your hands then would have made you crumble if you hadn’t felt it so many times before yourself. The feeling of his heart breaking almost made you waver in your decision. But unlike you, he didn’t have to bear it alone. “I don’t understand…,” Loki whispered. His voice felt like a shard of glass against your skin. “I love you…” “It’s not enough.” “Don’t say that. I want you. You’ve always been there for me, I… I can be better.” “I know you can. And you will.” As calmly as you could, you allowed some of your newfound clarity to flow into him and slowly, softly, ease his tortured mind. “If I stay, nothing will change. You forget that I know you better than you know yourself now.” You managed a small smile when you felt the edge crack off Loki’s heartache and leave a dull mound behind where before stood a steep and sharp peak. You were not going to leave him the same broken mess he had so often left you. “I think you always did,” he said quietly, a slight quiver moving his lower lip. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed your hands one last time, leaving several small indents in the shape of new moons on your skin, before you let them fall away. “Goodbye, Loki.” You left him standing in the corridor of the compound, not turning back once. Your heart was still tattered and torn beyond recognition, but for the first time in your life, it wasn’t beating for someone else. You were free.

[empress-of-xerxes]

Homecoming (Pt. 2)

Braggart growled through a vox grille ruined with time and his every expanding form. A patina of discoloration trimmed every nook and curve of the giants warplate, if the armor could even be called such now. Jagged rents marked where bone and hellish crags tore through the war plate and seeped with the infernal energies barely withheld within. Braggart stilted breath caused the chest piece to rise and fall as if it were his very skin now. 

"Divinity... and I mean this sincerely... what the fuck are you doing here..." He cursed with a litany of pain laced in the intonation. His words were directed and they slammed against the small woman that stood in his path daring to bar him from reaching his boarding torpedo. The woman sneered and a giddy lilt left her lips as she placed her hands on her hips. 

 +You are not to leave the ship. So ordered by the King of Snakes.+ Lyttle, the Throne of Courage, giggled at the absurdity of both the title and the request from Adrian. Even she knew that containing the Fiend of Zahr-Tann was impossible despite countless souls attempting such. 

"He... is not here... He will not witness..." Braggart shuddered and Lyttle felt the murderous intent press against her like tidal fronts against the shoreline.

+A true assessment. What he doesnt see cant hurt him, right? I applaud you on your logic.+ She bows patronizingly and then quickly presses herself back with invisible force just in time to narrowly dodge the precise blow that would have caved her skull in. Braggart surged forward, adjusting with a brute's instinctive ease and narrowly missing Lyttle by another few inches. The Throne of Courage dashed and dove, deftly outmaneuvering Braggart's monstrous blows as the Beast pressed forward wordlessly. 

+What... did I... say?+ Lyttle teased as she moved, finding little time to pause as the beast pressed the assault. Braggart was focused chaos, destruction honed and refined to a murderous, if blunt, fist. Even through the bloodlust, Lyttle could see the small calculations the brute was making to place the Throne where he needed in order to deliver the killing blow. A delicate dance Braggart had honed killing both the swordsman of his former Legion and the lithe weapon-dancers of the Aeldari.

The beast barrelled forward, shoulder first as Lyttle cartwheeled away like some court jester. He collided with a bulkhead, sending corruscating jags of energy spindling out from the impact sight. The metal yawned and groaned almost pained sounding and as Braggart pulled himself free the bulkhead wobbled as if it was a loose sheet of paper in the wind and barely held itself firm in the material plane. 

Lyttle was flustered now from the chase, a slight trickle of drool trailing down her chin as she licked her lips. Braggart stood motionless before her, helm lenses glaring at her with seething hatred. Lyttle chortled merrily, extending her left arm and making a pulling motion. The action sent a shrill note through the recycled air as the Throne pulled her mace free from it’s warp prison. The tetsubo like bat was oily black with 4 leering oni-faced grins serving as its head. She gave it a twirl and pointed it at the beast with a sly grin. 

+Okay! I see now I cant change your mind. That's fair. So what do you say, dog? Why don't we both go over to that ship now?+ 

"He isn't... here to soothe me over... with honeyed words..." Braggart hissed. "He isn't here... to keep me from... shattering your soul..." 

Lyttle sighed dramatically, +Don't press your luck. I've been entertained so far, but if you continue down this path...+ Her eyes widened then as she felt the pressure of movement from behind her. There was something there, moving in with jaws ready for the bite. But if she turned from Braggart she would definitely be ruined. Hesitation, in the end, cost her and the beast struck from both sides.

Lyttle braced with a maddened grin as her mace met with Braggart's power fist and the force normally reserved for the movement of earthen plates reverberated out from the collision sending a wave of pain blooming out from the epicenter. The Throne had barely had time to react and deeming Braggart the greater threat she endured the coming pain from behind. 

She felt a stinging wetness pierce through the first layer of defense that was the reactive force shield of her mind. Then the jarring pain as a dagger slid into the small of her back. It bit deep, pressed into place expertly to connect with the bone of her spine. It was supposed to be a crippling blow and if Lyttle had been anything less she would have been sundered. But she was a Throne of Xerxes and even this far from the planet's influence she had much power to spare.  

+F-filth! How dare you...+She growled but was quickly silenced by the violent twisting of the knife against her spine. She felt every inch of it pressured against the bone and scrape with agonizing bliss. Her eyes wavered for a momentary ecstasy and she could only rely on instinct to guide her mace to counter the obvious follow up blow from Braggart. The weapons met once again and Lyttle fell to one knee and twisted around to see her other attacker. Refractive plating blurred her vision with only the faintest outline of the warrior beneath the modified armor. But she knew the raven's soul as intimately as Adrian’s and she felt the eternal agony of a schizophrenic mind and enraptured body. Nia's entire existence was a painful monument of the Third Legion's experiments into stimuli and even the softest brush of a lovers hand could not sooth the Raven from the excruciating agony of a rewired body. 

"Pitter-Patter."

Nia muttered a litany of annoyed rhyme as his precise attack had proven to be nothing more than a jarring discomfort for the Throne of Courage. He released his knife as the daeva broke away from the brutal blows of Braggart to swing her mace around in a deftly spun arc. The mace narrowly missed the raven and Nia grimaced as he rolled, the desensitizing pads of his armor pressed against his flesh numbly. Lyttle was gaining composure quickly, reaching behind her and quickly removing Nia's knife to send it skidding across the deck. 

Braggart did not relent pressing forward to bullrush Lyttle and beginning to trade blows anew. A wicked backswing was met with the skilled counter of the daeva weapon, bashing aside Braggart's assault only to place the beast in a more opportune position. Braggart hissed steam from the many vents of his armor and his power fist rippled with contained energy as it met the flat ended head of Lyttle's mace. Both of them snarled in unison. 

Nia watched on, his element of surprise gone and what should have been the fatal blow nothing more than a distraction. He took a few steps back as the daeva and Adrian's favored clashed in percussive bouts of maddened rage. He was studying the display, both amazed and slightly disgusted by the closeness in skill between the two. One was flesh and blood close to ascendance, and the other was immaterial wearing a stolen form in mimicry to mankind.

Lyttle bared her teeth in feral appreciation for the animosity directed at her. She often took great joy in being hated and it was in these moments that the attention threatened to overwhelm her as she felt herself begin to drool. She wiped her lips in a brief moment of respite before having to raise her mace to bat away Braggarts devastating blows. Her robes rippled around her as she danced with the beast, the dark grey feathers of her folded wings beginning to shudder with annoyance. 

 "Should have... snuffed that mongrel soul of yours... ages ago..." Braggart hissed through his vox, feigning a series of blows but not feeling the pattern of this bout reaching a climax anytime soon. Many times he had pressed her into opportune strike paths only to be met with her inhuman deftness. The daeva could twist and contort at will and with a swiftness that should have shattered bone and torn muscle. Yet Braggart could feel his ire worming it's way into the daeva. Anger was contagious when directed so finely. 

Nia blinked behind his helm. His tuned senses could make out the infernal heartbeats in Braggarts chest, could hear the subtle creak as the armor yearned to give and unleash the barely contained beast within. Nia often wondered what the outcome of such an action would have. Could the Infernus Cage of Sarn be opened? What was the man within even like? He chittered joyfully at this line of thought but remained an impassive watcher of the duel of death.

Lyttle was a lithe dancer that disobeyed the laws of real space to weave her own melodic strut. Braggart's calculated grandeur was all but muffled by the decadence and sublimity of the Throne's movements, always shying just inches away from calamity but teasing the giant on as if daring it to land that fatal blow. Her dress fluttered out as loose feathers trailed in her wake from wings that itched to take flight but were grounded by the confines of a ships walls. She wore a harpys grin and sneered at every jest. Braggart would never hit her. 

+Divinity... am I...+ She taunted as she leaned away from a concussive fist, tapping out with her feet to kick away from her tormentor. +To even fathom touching this body of mine... you must break away those suffocating shackles.+ She chittered and spun, drifting through the air as if gravity was non-existent. Braggart followed on, snarling and barking pained intonements of savagery.

[cargopantsman]

Brotherhood of Steel 

Document Serial Number: 876-X4J7

Origin Locale: Commonwealth Wasteland (Formerly known as Boston, Massachusetts)

Origin Date: 2288.01.05

Document Subjects: Commonwealth, Glowing Sea, Ruby Lowell

Document Title: Expedition Into The Glowing Sea

Origin Format: Oral Brief Presentation

Origin Author: Ruby Lowell, Knight

Document Format: Transcript

Document Author: Dan McCarthy, Scribe

Document Classification: Restricted

Document Classification Scope: Brother of Steel, Knight or greater

BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION

The Glowing Sea is the region southwest of Boston, formerly called Attleboro, which sustained heavy nuclear bombardment during the Great War. Current theory holds that a mass bombardment of this region was either due to miscalculations of strikes on Boston and Providence proper or an attempt to wipe out both cities with intense detonations between them.

Either way, the area now known as "The Glowing Sea" is still a highly irradiated wasteland even two centuries after and is the source of local "Rad-Storms," storm systems that move through the sea, suck up isotopes, and later dump residual fallout in their path.

Expedition into the sea is, of course, ill-advised. There is much preparation required to venture in and survive long enough to venture out. I, foolishly, went in and am now here to tell you why it was a stupid idea.

To emphasize how stupid an idea this was. I went in with a suit of power armor that was a cobbled mix of T-45d and X-01 Mk V gear. I only brought 10 StimPaks, 5 Rad-X doses and 2 Rad-Away packs with me. Weapons kit was a suppressed 10mm pistol, suppressed .308 long range rifle, and a drum mag combat shotgun. 

I'm going to assume that most of you gathered here are more well traveled than myself. I've heard your stories of the [New California Republic], New Vegas, Capitol Wasteland, and even the Midwest Campaigns. You've all seen all kinds of wastelands and I can appreciate that.

The Glowing Sea makes all of that a stroll through the park.

The approach to the [Glowing] sea from Boston, particularly Diamond City, is standard. A few locations of note with the usual Super Mutants, Radscorpions, occasional raider bands to get in the way.

At some point though the sickly grass stops growing and you're treading over gravel and bedrock. The horizon you're used to [Knight Lowell gestures an even plane across her torso] disappears as the ground begins to climb upwards [Knight Lowell gestures a sweeping upward motion]. There aren't anymore trees here. Just the shattered remnants of an elevated highway and the trunks of ancient trees, their branches blown off and petrified into pikes jutting up from dead earth.

Right around here your Geiger counter starts to… hum at you. Not an occasional click or chirp, but a quiet, steady chatter that's more unnerving than an honest ping of an alpha particle.

This is the point where you'll feel something is wrong in your soul.

On my approach the ground was pretty uniform. The blasted trees don't offer anything in the way of cover. You're out there, you're exposed. Even with the Power Armor, the landscape gets in your head. You crouch down and try to blend with the land. You begin to anticipate something [stressed] coming at you.

You look around and there's nothing.

You scout through your scope and there's nothing.

And you move on another 50 paces and stop. You look around. You scope around.

Nothing.

Just dead trees, dead land, and you.

And the ever growing buzz from the Geiger.

And so you press on. Scouting and waiting and trying to get to the ridge so you can see anything. You can't shake a feeling though, because you're so wired at this point. Not that some thing [syllabic stress] is watching you, but that every thing [syllabic stress] is watching you. And you don't know if all of that [Knight Lowell gestures vaguely around herself] wants to kill you or is just watching to see how you die.

But you press on. And I know some of the vets out there are thinking "Oh, rookie nerves," and I want to assure you old dogs that this is not rookie nerves.

This landscape is wrong [stressed].

No wasteland has this amount of nothing.

And then it gets worse.

You won't notice it at first, you'll be too busy trying to figure out where the deathclaw is going to pop out from, but it will register in your subconscious and every bone in your body in your Power Armor will be screaming at you to turn around.

It's the sky.

The color begins to change.

I'm sure some of you that have been at the Prydwen's forecastle at night have seen the glow of the sea even from here. Well, even during a daylight approach there's a point where that glow taints the sky. And as you press on the color of everything sickens. It's the only way to describe it.

[Knight Lowell pauses for 40 seconds]

When you reach the ridge everything is yellow. It's all piss and a chattering Geiger counter. There's a small stretch of space where you can see the devastation and putrefaction laid out before you and it's heart wrenching. The ground looks wrong and the only sign of civilization where I stood was the blown out framework of a church off in the distance.

I think it was a church. I didn't really go investigate.

I had the primary detonation crater marked on my map and my main goal was to get there and get out, just to see it.

So I pressed on to the southwest and my terror was mixed with a sense of awe. My guard was down for a moment as I just [Knight Lowell pauses] processed this sublime experience. The horror takes you and you have to let it embrace you at this point.

It didn't take long for the nerves to get edgy again though. The visibility turns to [expletive] in a matter of 250 meters. That's when you realize that A.) this ridge you've been climbing is the edge of a massive crater and B.) you're walking into a radioactive caldera that spans a few clicks [kilometers].

At this point the Geiger counter is chittering away like static and the haze is straining your eyes because you know [stressed] that something out there wants to kill you even though you can't fathom how anything could survive out here.

So you creep 20 paces and scope, more frequently than on the approach because you can't see [expletive] and everything is feeling increasingly wrong as you move forward. Even when you think it's as wrong as it can be it gets worse.

Then you see it.

A body laying on the broiled, glowing ground through the sickly strontium fog. Not a skeleton. This humanoid thing still has something resembling flesh on it. You have to hedge your bets that that there is a feral [ghoul]. So I line up my sights and blow its head off with only a dull echo bouncing around the place.

And now you start scoping everything. Praying your eyes are as keen as you thought they were. Because now not only is the air getting thicker, but the ground is breaking up. There are crevasses and mounds and crags and gullies and all kinds of places for [expletive] to hide or for you to stumble on a nasty.

And the [Geiger] counter is getting louder, and you can literally feel the heat. The radiation at this point is so constant that the shielding of the [Power Armor] can't keep it all out. At this point I took my first Rad-X.

Creeping on I spotted more bodies here and there and sniped them. It was either a waste of ammo or insurance, and out there insurance is worth it.

The first problem was the bugs. The fliers. There are small ponds of [pause] radioactive sludge just glowing and stewing in these pits out there and like some poisonous swamp they harbor your bloatflies, bloodbugs, and stingwings. But unlike their wasteland cousins these [strong plural expletive] are robust. A 10mm round can demolish the monster bugs out in the normal world, but the [strong expletive] bugs in the sea don't pay any mind. I may as well have been throwing sticks at them.

And before anyone wants to think "Oh bugs. How scary," remember these [strong plural expletive] have acidic projectile vomit or proboscis like steel in the regular wasteland. They can burn or pierce through the joints in a [Power Armor] rig. And in the sea your undersuit is the only thing between you and a [expletive]-ton of radiation. And the deeper you're in the farther you are from safety.

A pistol doesn't do [expletive] against these [strong plural expletive]. Once they get a bead on you it's shotgun all the way. Up-close spread damage and praying nothing else is within earshot that can pin your position. Because you're going to be firing constantly to take out these bugs.

Of course the first thing you do after making a ruckus like that is get the hell out so any nasties coming to investigate don't find you there. The mistake I made was in no longer being terrified of my surroundings and just booking it.

Into a small pack of radscorpions. 

Again, these [strong plural expletive] are far more resilient and the same dangers apply regarding them clawing or stinging through your armor with the added bonus [sarcastic tone] of having venom in your blood that is also exposed to radioactive, toxic air.

[Knight Lowell pauses for 20 seconds]

Now at this point the adrenaline is in active mode. I'm trying to survive tactically, killing things before they have a chance to even nick me. What's happened here is I've been driven deeper into the sea, and while I've kept my bearings I had a strange crash once the fray was over.

Because all of the stress, strain, and environmental horror was still there when the initial adrenaline rush passed. And we all know that feeling of the after action jitters, but now you have that crash compounded by this persistent realization that you [pauses] are [pauses] in hell.

So let me wallow this story in the landscape again. Visibility is [expletive], the ground is this ashen sand, the sky is stained with puke filtered sunlight. It's barren all around. I found a moment's shelter, cover in the rooftop entrance of an ancient factory at ground level [stressed].

The [Power Armor] had no signs of a breach but I already needed a second dose of Rad-X.

[Knight Lowell pauses for 30 seconds, visibly distraught]

The Glowing Sea is a perverted monument to the destructive nature of mankind. There's probably no way I can convey the kind of existential horror of the place, but I was already entertaining thoughts of letting it consume me. To just succumb to the overwhelming monstrosity.

That's when I knew I had to keep moving. 

The cruelest part of the sea is in the small fragments of civilization that remain. That factory, a half buried Red Rocket [fuel station], a crashed airliner, the shattered frames of buildings strewn about the landscape.

What I thought was the plain leading down to ground zero was just a secondary blastwave depression. The ground slowly began to climb again, such that I found myself approaching another section of elevated [stressed] highway at ground [stressed] level. And one of the most sublimely terrifying visions as the sun filtered and glared through the haze to silhouette the grainy outline of a massive deathclaw on the road.

I stood, [corrective pause] crouched frozen in space and time. Even as the toxic heat made me sweat in the [Power Armor] I had a vicious chill course through me. I was already too close to it for comfort, begging it not to see me right in front of it. Luckily it didn't notice me and I was able to get into a good firing position to take it down.

That was the second deathclaw I'd seen in as many hours. 

We all know that stress reduces the efficacy of Rad-X, and the persistent rads in that hell were leaking in, I was on my third Rad-X already and still had four treacherous clicks to find the primary detonation crater.

As you get deeper into the sea the haze just keeps thickening. The [Geiger] counter just gets louder. Each footstep needs to be judged if you're stepping onto a patch of soft ash or blasted bedrock. The wind starts to howl around as the actual heat of the place creates these violent drafts, kicking up all the fallout into the air.

Your progress is step by step, ploddingly slow. You can't see anything, so you try to make it so nothing hears you in the clunking Power Armor. That's the paradox out there is that the very atmosphere hides you, but for all you know you're only ten meters from a monster.

That's how when I reached the edge of another ridge I spotted a feral [ghoul] shambling about. I took it down with a .308 but what I didn't see was the entire pack of the [strong plural expletive].

Now these ferals in the Glowing Sea are just as amped up as any other [strong expletive] that can survive out there. A .308 can take one down in one shot, but when there's suddenly ten of them rushing you that rifle just ain't fast enough.

Those of us here that have been around the block enough with your run-of-the-mill ferals kind of look on them as a game. A shooting gallery. Short of stumbling on a large pack they're not much to worry about as long as you're a good shot.

The danger here is you can't see, right? I see ten coming at me. And those [strong plural expletive] are fast [stressed]. And I don't know if any or how many more are behind them.

The 10mm is the only quick weapon I have and I assume one round isn't gonna drop one of these ferals. So I go for the legs. Just willing every round to tear through a knee and at least force each one to a crawl. Time slows in that weird way when everything is going so fast and you just keep firing at those scrambling kneecaps. 

And it's a horror show. We all know how to suppress that visceral terror of these zombies [a pre-War term colloquially synonymous with ghoul]. After a long enough time we don't even feel it. But out there, with everything else forcing you to be unhinged, ten half-rotted, half-mummified corpses charging you at speed will make even a Paladin [expletive] themselves.

I was able to bring five of them to the ground before they closed on my position. The others I had either winged or missed completely. The fight then turned to knocking them away from me and firing point blank at their skulls. The sound of their bony fingers scratching at the armor still echoes in my head as they swarmed me because I knew if any of them cut the joints I was [strong expletive].

I was lucky. I took care of the swarm and was able to finish off the crawlers. If it weren't for the extended clip on the 10mm I would probably be dead.

[Knight Lowell pauses, turns away from the assembly for 25 seconds, readdresses the assembly]

The rest of the trek to the primary detonation crater was blessedly uneventful. But nothing happening is almost worse than fighting an enemy. Where even approaching the sea when the sky is still mostly blue is unsettling. Where once all semblance of normality is gone is unnerving. Where after inching your way through this blasted hellscape for hours is unhinging. The shrouded unknown is unbearable.

The psychological toll of this expedition can not [stressed] be understated. It cannot be adequately described, but it must not be understated. You, as members of the Brotherhood, have a better idea of what the pre-War world was than anyone else in the wastelands and reaching ground zero is indescribably traumatic.

[Knight Lowell pauses, clearly emotionally distraught, for 30 seconds. She chokes back tears.]

Most of you know this, but for the record, I am the sole survivor of Vault 111. A Vault-Tec project that resulted in me being cryogenically frozen. I lived in the world before the [Great] War. I fought in the Resource Wars [a time of global warfare that ultimately resulted in the cataclysmic nuclear exchange].

I know what the Commonwealth looked like when it was called Massachusetts. When Boston was a bustling, vibrant city.

Coming out of the vault and seeing the wasteland was horrifying. Seeing my home, my neighborhood, an abandoned and crumbling shadow of what it was. Seeing Concord, Lexington, and finally Boston as these shattered, blasted ruins overrun with violent gangs and giant green-skinned monsters. I woke up into a nightmare.

And finally seeing the Glowing Sea, finally seeing Ground Zero, broke me.

I fell to my knees and sobbed like a child. I no longer cared if a pack of ferals took me down, or if a radscorpion crashed through the ground and killed me. I didn't care that, even after 210 years, my Geiger counter was screaming [stressed] at me.

I wanted to die from this nightmare.

But eventually I stood up, turned around, and made my way home.

And to a doctor.

END TRANSCRIPTION

END DOCUMENT

Brotherhood of Steel 

Document Serial Number: 876-X4J8

Origin Locale: Commonwealth Wasteland (Formerly known as Boston, Massachusetts)

Origin Date: 2288.01.04

Document Subjects: Commonwealth, Glowing Sea, Ruby Lowell

Document Title: Expedition Into The Glowing Sea, Analysis

Origin Format: Written Notes from Debriefing

Origin Author: Arthur Maxson, Elder

Document Format: Written Log Entry

Document Author: Arthur Maxson, Elder

Document Classification: Restricted

Document Classification Scope: Brother of Steel, Elder Eyes Only

The debriefing of Knight Lowell shall be logged separately [Document 876-X4J6], but certain notes should be kept of a higher priority. Knight Lowell's actions have been indispensable in our investigation into the so-called Institute, but for the sake of maintaining order in the ranks her actions will be officially disciplined for recklessly and unilaterally endangering herself.

Of particular interest is the settlement of a group of persons identified with the Children of Atom cult. Their survival in such a high radiation environment is particularly vexing, if not warranting of further study. Also curious is Knight Lowell's reports of their hospitality considering the aggression shown by the Children of Atom sects in the Commonwealth.

Of paramount interest is her meeting with the ex-Institute scientist known as Virgil. While a being that is an affront to the values of the Brotherhood; an intelligent super mutant associated with the synth producing Institute, if he is indeed an honest defector his insight could be most valuable in our campaign.

I will allow Knight Lowell to use him as an asset until such time as his usefulness expires.

In the meantime Knight Lowell shall be restricted on medical leave to ensure the prolonged radiation has no lasting effects. This medical leave will be officially considered her suspension from active duty.

I also wish to note here a commendation to Knight Lowell's dedication to the mission as she insists that she continues to act alone in trapping the Courser necessary to hijack the molecular relay so as to not expose the Brotherhood's involvement until a proper assault can be mounted.

END DOCUMENT

[hi-im-secretly-satan]

Fever

Fandom: Banana Fish Pairing: Soy sauce (Shorter x Yut-Lung) Word count: 1745 Warnings: Choking, references to character death/(sexual) abuse Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866739 Summary: During their stay at Abraham Dawson's house, Shorter unexpectedly falls ill. Yut-Lung brings him some rice porridge but it doesn't quite go as he had planned. Notes: This hell took me three months to write but I am damn happy with how it turned out. @shorterxwong requested soy sauce with the prompt “Fever” and who am I to turn down a soy sauce fic request? I really really hope you like it, I poured my soul into this hahaha

When Yut Lung had gotten his orders, he had had expectations.

His subject could have been a loyal dog, refusing to cooperate and yelling about how he’d rather commit suicide than betray his fellow boss. If that were the case, it would be easy to have him killed and make it look like he had taken his own life. That would definitely rile up the infamous Ash Lynx.

His subject could have a grudge against that sly bastard and be rearing to get back at him. That would be even easier to work with, although over-enthusiasm, he knew, was prone to sabotaging operations of this delicacy. Previous missions had taught him that harsh lesson.

He had expected many things.

However he hadn’t expected Shorter Wong to be so damn attractive. His purple mohawk and eyebrow piercing radiated courage and strength, hinting at a rough attitude befitting a gang leader, in stark contrast to his ever-present grin and puppy-like enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected just how easy it was to rile him up with threats whispered when no one was watching, reminders of how all of his actions were monitored and controlled, how he was completely at Yut Lung’s mercy. The heated looks Shorter directed at him, filled with rage and disgust, left him burning for something he couldn’t quite identify. It was mesmerising to watch him shake with helpless anger, clench his fists in rage, itching to close those fingers around his throat, to make it all stop. At times, Yut Lung wanted those fingers around his throat, to have Shorter touch him, to feel something, anything at all.

He hadn’t expected him to fall ill either.

So when his old maid told him that Shorter had collapsed with a fever, he had expected to be pissed at the unexpected turn of events—this really threw his plans into disarray—but instead he found himself distressed. He managed to feign impassiveness as Suk-Leui finished her report and went to make some rice porridge on his orders. He was tired. By now he’d had to feign impassiveness so much the line between feigning and his real feelings had become so blurred he wasn’t sure how much of his actual feelings were left.

Taking a moment to quiet the sound of his blood rushing through his veins, he sank down on the edge of his bed.  Stay calm , he told himself. This was nothing to get so worked up about. It was probably just the flu, nothing life-threatening. It’d be over before he knew it. He traced his lower lip with his thumb.

Maybe this was his chance. To show Shorter that he was just another victim of this cursed endless cycle of using and abusing that resulted from being born in the mafia, just like him. To show Shorter that he cared. He immediately berated himself for even daring to think this could work out positively, but really, was it too much to ask to be wanted in the same way he wanted someone else? Someone to cling to when he felt like he was drowning in hate and hungry stares and unwanted hands claiming his body for their own?

When he entered the room, Shorter was asleep. His breathing was heavy, his face flushed and his usually carefully styled mohawk was mussed up and unkempt. It was a frightening yet strangely attractive sight. His thoughts strayed, unbidden, to a more impure scene in a purer world, one where they would be free of the cruel chains of hatred that held them down. He willed them away. Reality was harsh and there was nothing he could do about it except fight it from the shadows. He knew he could not save Shorter. It was foolish to even think about it.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself for the undoubtedly unpleasant but strangely addicting interaction he slid back into his cold and manipulative façade and made his way over to the bed. He placed the steaming bowl of porridge on the nightstand and, after a short moment of considering the chair, sat down on the edge of the bed.

The sudden dip in the mattress woke Shorter from his slumber. Yut Lung watched as his hostage blinked and tried to get his bearings through the fever induced fog in his mind. He felt a jolt when those dark brown eyes found his, still soft and pleasant, until they realised who they were looking at and they hardened. Shorter’s expression turned feral and—it probably would’ve been in a flash if he hadn’t been crippled by that fever—managed to pull a knife from under his pillow and lunged at him.

Yut Lung couldn’t help but smile, almost wanting to let him just to see how far he’d get, but instead slid his fingers around Shorter’s knife-wielding wrist, twisting it until the weapon fell, his other hand on his shoulder pushing him on his back. His long hair fell down like a curtain, and with his knee digging into the side of Shorter’s hips he had him perfectly caged. “Come now,” he drawled, lazy smirk dancing on his lips and eyes sparkling with mirth. “That’s no way for an ill person to behave.”

Shorter growled and struggled weakly to break free. “You...” he snarled, voice hoarse from coughing. Yut Lung felt another jolt go through his body at the sound of it. The sight of him flushed and panting underneath him did little to calm him down either. He let his eyes take it all in and wished he could have what he wanted for once. His gaze wandered from his eyes—deep and dark and surprisingly brown—to his piercing—seeming to sparkle in the dim lighting—to his nose—big for an Asian but beautiful—to his parted lips. He wanted to lean down and claim those for himself, wanted it to be reciprocated.

He wanted.

“Hush,” Yut Lung muttered, pressing a long finger to Shorter’s lips; those tempting lips. “Wouldn’t want your dear Ash to hear. Or  Eiji, for that matter.” Shorter flinched at the mention of his Asian friend and averted his eyes.

The irrational feeling of betrayal suddenly made it hard to breathe, like someone had bound his chest in too-tight bandages. His earlier thoughts of wanting to claim Shorter for himself, both physically and emotionally, turned to anger. He wanted to break him. Have him crumble beneath him, fall apart into tiny pieces and rearrange them all into someone new, someone who would really see him. Who would want him back and hold him and tell him he was good enough. Was that really too much to ask? Suppressing his feelings once more, he let his hand wander to brush Shorter’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “What’s this?” He cooed, hoping his inner turmoil wouldn’t make his voice tremble. “Is that air-headed boy that special to you?”

Shorter looked back up at him with resentment burning in his eyes. “You’d never understand,” he sneered and coughed.

Yut Lung narrowed his eyes and leaned back a bit so he wouldn’t catch whatever it was his hostage was hacking up. “And why is that?” He asked icily.

“Because you don’t know love.”

Yut Lung felt his blood run cold. He didn’t know love? Shorter had no right to make false accusations like that. He knew love, but the only love he had ever known was taken from him by his brothers. He could still hear his mother’s anguished screams when he closed his eyes at night.

But there was a tiny spark of hope deep inside his chest. Would Shorter be willing to show him what love was? Would he be willing to take his cold and neglected heart and warm it in his hands? Hold him in his strong embrace and treat him like he was his most precious treasure?

Shorter continued and his hopes were crushed. “I pity you. You hide behind a mask of indifference and you’re scared to let people in. You only know how to manipulate and wreak havoc. It must be such a lonely life.” He actually dared looking remorseful. His eyes were still hard, he hadn’t let his guard down, but they were sad and sincere. Compassionate.

Something in Yut-Lung snapped. He surged forward and his fingers closed around Shorter’s neck. “I don’t need your pity!” He cried. “Don’t look at me like you understand my life! What it’s like to be used and abused, molded into the perfect image of the woman they loathed.” His voice shook and he choked back a sob. Underneath him Shorter froze and his eyes widened in shock. “I don’t want this life either, Shorter Wong. I’m just waiting for the day they hit me too hard, kick me in the wrong place or strangle me too tight…” His eyes burned. He blinked and tears rolled down his face, landing on Shorter’s cheeks. A cruel mirror to just a week ago, when their positions had been reversed.

But then he felt a warm hand on his cheek. He froze and his vision came back into focus. Shorter was looking up at him with those damned brown eyes, soft and full of sorrow. He tried to say something but nothing came out except for a few rasping gasps. As if burned, Yut-Lung let go, wanting to create some space between them. But the hand on his cheek was so tender, he did not want to lose that warmth. Shorter coughed violently as air rushed back into his lungs.

Suddenly scared of what Shorter would say he scrambled off the bed. With his back towards his hostage, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “Eat the porridge while it's still hot.” His voice trembled with suppressed tears. “Don't worry, it's not poisoned.” He shot Shorter one last look before heading towards the door. But when he put his hand on the handle he heard his raspy voice.

“I can't fathom what you're going through. It must be hell.”

His knuckles turned white from how tightly he was holding the door handle.

Shorter coughed again. “Do you really think this is the right way to deal with it?”

He gritted his teeth. Shorter had no right to talk to him like that. Ignoring the question still hanging in the air he opened the door and left the room.

His throat was sore. He must have caught whatever Shorter had after all.

[wolfpawn]

When Ghosts Come For Us

Chapter 17

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

WARNING None.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

Rating - Mature

Charlotte looked at the black building as the carriage pulled up outside it. In truth, she hated the building. It had created Lucille and the monster she became, she and her hateful parents were the reason for Cordelia’s demise, almost as much as her own parents. It was huge and utterly impractical as a building. She spent more time walking up and down the stairs than in the rooms she moved between floors for. Inhaling deeply, she exited the carriage and walked into the house. There was no sign of Thomas anywhere, she walked around in search of him on the bottom floor before heading upstairs. She felt slightly uncertain as she went up the steps before getting to the hallway. It was empty and eerie.

‘Thomas?’ There was no response. She walked first to Lucille’s door, but noticed that she was sleeping. Quietly, she moved away and to their room, again it was empty. She looked across to the art room across the hallway and decided to check there. Again, there was no sign of Thomas, but what did catch her eye was a set of paints next to her easel. She walked over and looked at them for a moment, as well as some beautiful new brushes. She picked them up and inspected them, they were new and she knew them to be an expensive brand. Frowning, she wondered how they got there.

She was inspecting them when a dark shadow came to the door, turning, Thomas was there looking at her. ‘Do you like them?’

‘I...they are beautiful, when…?’

‘I got them in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.’ He explained. ‘I had planned on giving them to you on my return, but all things considered, I forgot about them. I rediscovered them today, so I thought it would be something nice for you, you got me so much, I had gotten you nothing, though, since everything, you have not even come in here.’

‘I do not have the time, sadly.’ She sighed. ‘Thank you, Thomas. It was a lovely gesture and I appreciate it greatly. I did not get you that watch to acquire something in return.’ She smiled, walking over to him and giving him a kiss. Again, like with earlier, Thomas pulled her to him, kissing her with more and more passion as he did. When she urged them to pull apart, his pupils were wide and there almost seemed to be a feral look to his eyes. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘No.’

‘Come, we will eat together and then I will tend to Lucille. She is resting at present, so I dare say she will be hungry on her waking. You should see what I got her, I think she will like them.’ She linked hands with him and gently urged him to the door. ‘I may also have been a tad bold.’

‘Toffee?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, happy to see his corresponding smile. ‘So, was there any issue in my absence?’

‘Nothing, Lucille is asleep and I have been working on something to assist process the clay quicker.’

‘Wonderful, I would love to see what it is you have in mind when you are satisfied to do so, of course.’

Thomas’s smile brightened at her genuine interest in his work. ‘What of the town?’

‘Nothing of much note. I got everything we ordered, I bought a few items Lucille would need and I went to Dr Thompson for her medicine and ended up being brought in for tea.’

Thomas looked at her quizzically. ‘By Dr Thompson?’

‘No, he was not there on my arriving, his housekeeper invited me to wait and have some tea. She was lovely company. Then, Dr Thompson returned, his housekeeper shamed him adequately in my presence about a woman he is smitten for, then the butcher came about some puppies and I ordered a goose and a duck, he will have his brother-in-law bring them in a few days, he wants to have them hung first for a while, the brother-in-law is apparently our foreman for the mines, and it is all paid for, won’t that be lovely?’

‘Why was the butcher talking about dogs?’

Charlotte laughed. ‘Not in an eating manner, of course, but he has some gorgeous pups and the doctor is taking one. Oh, I am envious. Cocker Spaniels, they are such fine creatures.’

‘You like dogs?’

‘I love them. A good solid loyal creature. I always wanted one, as did Cordelia, or I suspect she asked too because I wanted one, but my parents were adamant, no pets. I even tried to argue a good hunting dog is good for my father’s walks, but to no avail.’ She stated sadly.

‘And with…?’

Charlotte took a moment to realise who Thomas was referencing before she realised he was unable to even speak William Hamilton’s name. ‘He was not a dog lover.’

‘I see.’

‘Odd, something I wanted so badly, and even with twenty-eight thousand a year, it is not possible.’ She mumbled to herself as she descended the steps.

*

Thomas looked at his wife sceptically. ‘I am not sure…’

‘Thomas, it is perfect. Now she will not be confined to the bed. She will like that and you know it.’ She smiled.

‘Very well, but promise me you will not go hauling her out onto it by yourself and risk hurting yourself.’ Thomas pleaded, noting that Charlotte avoided replying.

*

Lucille still attempted to spit words of hatred at Charlotte, who in turn, continued to speak chirpily at her, annoying her further. The humiliation of being utterly dependant on the woman she now loathed beyond words ate at her, and to make matters worse, Thomas seemed oblivious to it all and did not seem to question anything, he merely accepted it. To her devastation, he did not bother to come to her often for company. She had heard herself daily when Charlotte urged her brother to go to her, but he chose Charlotte, every time it was possible. She had suspected he had become something akin to smitten with the woman, but seeing how he seemed to constantly be speaking with her, the laughter of not just the irritating woman, but now her brother also filling the house, she realised just how much Charlotte had won him over.

She had tried to prevent such happening, she had learnt from Cushing what to do to prevent Thomas’ interest going elsewhere, she never allowed them much time together, she prevented them from doing anything that allowed them to spend too much time alone, but now, all they had was time alone, Thomas either working on the mines or something in the workshop or following Charlotte around speaking with her. The constant noise of the pair talking, even regarding mundane matters irked her more every hour. She often yearned for sleep to take her again so she did not have to hear them. The only thing that gave her much solace was knowing that there was no way that Charlotte’s plan could last forever, she would have to be like the smiling witch and wait, biding her time, until she could strike. It would have to be swift like with Cushing, who, even with her broken leg from her fall over the balcony, fought, two stab wounds to the chest, one in each lung, and then through the cheek, watching as blood filled her eyeball, a tear streak of blood down her face as death took her, and the doctor getting similar enough treatment, both now rotting in the clay as the others had before them.

She suspected that even if she were to catch Charlotte by surprise, the other woman would not allow what she had done to Lucille happen her. There was also the very real matter that Charlotte had endured great agony and come through it. Her back was so badly scarred, even Lucille could not fathom the pain she had endured, and she came through it, and with the facade of the idiot gone, the look in her eyes of survival instinct was plain to see. It scared Lucille because in it, in its own twisted way, it reminded her of herself, a survivor.

Lucille was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the elevator, then the sound of something wheeling out of it before it being sent down again, the object that was wheeling was brought along the corridor until it got to the door. When Charlotte entered the room, she was startled to see the fresh linen in her hands. She placed them down gently and left again, returning only a moment later with some more linen and then doing the same but with food. ‘Good afternoon, Lucille. I got you a few purchases today in the town, they will make life so much easier and more pleasant for you now.’ Lucille glared at her hatefully. ‘I have a little meal for you now, and when that is done, I am going to draw you a bath.’ Lucille’s hateful glare faltered. ‘Oh, you would like that. I gathered you would. Yes, I also got you a lovely new silken nightdress, and I was thinking, a slight trim of your hair, only two inches, I swear, nothing more, and a nice braid to keep it tidy, what do you think?’

In truth, Lucille wanted to throw her off the building after stabbing her a hundred times, but with that not an option, she knew she would have to accept whatever she could and simply grunted.

‘Excellent. I made chicken soup. It is a cold day and this will stave off a chill.’ She smiled, placing the soup on the dresser and walking over to Lucille, loosening the straps and forcing her to sit up before cushioning around her. ‘Right, so we will start with that and I will draw the bath then.’ She smiled, the same irritating smile that bothered Lucille from the day she was misfortunate enough to lay eyes on the other woman and slowly fed Lucille the soup. ‘Thomas is after coming up with a new way to process the clay, isn’t that wonderful? And I was in the town earlier, I ordered goose and duck, extravagant enough, I know, but I felt a treat was in order. I am not sure your opinion on Duck an l’Orange, but I adore it, so if you do not like it, I will not add it to your food, if you do, there will be plenty there. I know your opinion on potatoes, but they are one of the only things I can get to thicken your soup so they will have to suffice.’ She rambled. ‘I also heard, from Edward’s housekeeper, no less, the story that circulates regarding Edith Cushing and the doctor, they fled back to America, supposedly, leaving poor Thomas here with no wife and a broken heart. If they only knew what lay in the vats under this house. I think I should find a way, sometime, to give those people a proper burial. I will have to think of how I could ever have that happen. We shall see.’ She continued. ‘I think we should try and get a paper every so often, I found out the Americans are adding more states, or talking about it at least, honestly, they will have the whole land mass as a state soon, Mexico has been downsized, wait and see, they will go after the Pacific islands soon enough.’ She placed the empty bowl down. ‘I will draw your bath.’ She rose from her seat and left the room doing just as she said she would. On her return, Lucille seemed to be thinking a particular question. ‘I had something ordered for you, actually, a few things, including something to keep you from slipping into the bath should I leave you for a moment, so I will get them and then you will see my new idea.’ She smiled, leaving the room.

She was gone for close to twenty minutes when the elevator started again, and with it, the voices of Charlotte and Thomas followed it.

‘I am not sure, Lottie.’

‘She will like it, I know it.’

‘But it is added work for you.’

‘I don’t mind. Besides, I might able to have time to do some art again this way.’

‘I am not sure, but if it makes you happy.’

Lucille’s rage grew to near nauseating levels at Thomas’s concern not for her, but for Charlotte. She felt her heart breaking as Thomas, the very love of her life, was willingly pushing her away, after everything she did for him, and accepting the woman who had ruined everything they ever had.

‘Wait and see, Thomas, she will like it.’ Charlotte walked into the room, Thomas soon after. ‘By the way, why did you not read to her today? I left her book ready.’

‘I was busy with the mine opening.’

‘Well, ensure you do it later. It is not nice to be too busy and not have time for her, is it Lucille?’ She asked; though the smirk barely hidden in her features made Lucille nigh on incandescent with rage. ‘Bring in the chair. Look at this Lucille, this will revolutionise your care.’ Thomas brought in a chair that was similar to the kind that elderly or insane people would be wheeled around in, causing Lucille to become both angry and elated at the idea of getting out of the bed. ‘See, I said she would like it. ‘We can bring you all over the house again now. You won’t be cooped up in here.’

She used the chair to bring Lucille to the bathroom before checking the temperature of the bath and ascertaining it was to a suitable temperature before getting the system she had ordered and put it in.

‘Is it safe?’ Thomas asked, walking in.

‘Yes, it is, they are becoming very popular. Why don’t you just scurry on out, it is not appropriate for you to see your sister in any manner of indecency.’ She shooed, ushering him from the room. ‘Now, I got this little thing for when you are bathing.’ Charlotte commented, pulling out a light dress. ‘It saves me having to look at you too, so that is most definitely a good thing.’ She assisted Lucille into the different attire before lifting her into the warm bath and strapping her into the contraption to prevent her from slipping under the water. ‘I am across the hall tidying your bed, enjoy.’ She stated boredly as she walked away before going to the other room, changing the sheets and tidying before going back in to the bathroom and doing as she said, washing and tidying the ends of Lucille’s hair before tying it in a French braid and lifting her from the bath before placing her in the chair again and wheeling her to the room. Once there, she dried and dressed the other woman in a warm and comfortable nightdress and strapped her into the bed. ‘I will get your dinner, rest.’ She stated before she left. ‘Tomorrow I will bring you downstairs. For now, I want to spend some time with my husband.’

*

That night, as she readied for bed, Charlotte heard Thomas coming in behind her. She paid him no heed as she tied her hair in a braid simply to prevent it getting tangled in her sleep. When she turned around to face him, he was in only a shirt and britches, as he tended to be, something she had to admit she found him attractive in. That was not what caught her eye though, what did was the look on Thomas’s face, he walked over to her, saying nothing as he gently put his hand to her face before kissing her. Charlotte knew what would come next, every kiss of late ended up with them kissing more passionately, and this was no different. Within moments, he was urging her backwards until she fell onto the bed before he stood over her and grabbed her leg.

The look in his eyes scared her, he seemed almost feral. She felt fear surge through her as he stood above her, his larger frame all of a sudden looking far more menacing. She reached for her pillow frantically knowing that there was a blade there she kept for emergencies, but as it stood she could not reach it. She became worried when Thomas gripped her thigh tightly, her dress skirt falling to her waist and pulled her closer to him and further from her weapon. She was about to kick out when he pressed his lips to her inner thigh, before doing it again, kissing his way up her thigh. Charlotte watched confused as he did so, his eyes on hers as he did. When he got to the top, he climbed up over her until his hands were on either side of her head before leaning down and kissing her with incredible passion, the likes of which she had never experienced from him before. As he leant against her, not placing all of his weight on her, she felt her body react to the very clear actions he was doing, realising what he was initiating, she was terrified, considering her past experience with such acts, but he continued to kiss her and grind against her, but do no more. It took her a moment to realise what he was doing was waiting for her to move on proceedings.

When she put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down his back, she did not feel the revulsion her father had instilled in her, in fact, she felt almost anxious and lightheaded, and when she slid her hands further down and removed Thomas’s pants from his waist, the soft skin of his derriere in her grasp. Gasping quietly, he took hold of her and turned them both so he was lying on his back with her straddling his waist, just over his groin. For a moment, she looked at him confused, having genuinely never been in such a position before. 

Tom seemed to realise she had little knowledge of what was happening, so he lifted her skirt enough to get under it and aligned himself with her body before pressing up and slowly enter her. Charlotte could not help the noise she made as her body reacted to what was happening. When he pulled her down slightly so he was lying correctly on the bed, he moved slightly, causing Charlotte to realise what he wished for her to do, so she began to cant her hips, realising the sensation was actually odd in a positive manner, so she did it again and again, noting it began to feel good as she looked at Thomas, who looked at her in almost reverent, his face filled with pleasure as he found himself becoming more and more aroused by her actions. Filled with a confidence she was uncertain as to how she had, she moved more before leaning down to kiss Thomas, who reciprocated as passionately, both unable to stave off the pleasure they felt.

Tags

@sigridlaufeyson @wolfsmom1 @ilovekingt  @lokilover9 @whovianwookie86-captainxev @texmexdarling @lokiloveheart

[reviewsfeed-blog]

Happy Friday folks! I hope you are all looking forward to a fabulous weekend!!

Today I am posting another Down the TBR Hole post, in an effort to clear out my Goodreads list of unwanted books. In case anyone needs a brush up on just what this tag entails:-

This meme was started by Lia @ Lost in a Story to clear out my reading list of unwanted books. Here is how it works:

Go to your Goodreads to-read shelf.

Order on ascending date added.

Take the first 5 (or 10 if you’re feeling adventurous) books

Read the synopses of the books

Decide: keep it or should it go?

Without further ado, here are the next ten books on the TBR:-

  Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch – Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Goodreads

According to The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch (the world’s only completely accurate book of prophecies, written in 1655, before she exploded), the world will end on a Saturday. Next Saturday, in fact. Just before dinner.

So the armies of Good and Evil are amassing, Atlantis is rising, frogs are falling, tempers are flaring. Everything appears to be going according to Divine Plan. Except a somewhat fussy angel and a fast-living demon—both of whom have lived amongst Earth’s mortals since The Beginning and have grown rather fond of the lifestyle—are not actually looking forward to the coming Rapture.

And someone seems to have misplaced the Antichrist…

To be honest, this book was a no-brainer before I even re-read the synopsis. I love Pratchett’s humour, and Neil Gaiman is also an esteemed author in his own right. Whilst I wasn’t so fond of American Gods as I’d have hoped, I did enjoy Stardust. This is an easy keeper for me!

Verdict: Keep!

  The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time – Mark Haddon

Goodreads

Christopher John Francis Boone knows all the countries of the world and their capitals and every prime number up to 7,057. He relates well to animals but has no understanding of human emotions. He cannot stand to be touched. Although gifted with a superbly logical brain, Christopher is autistic. Everyday interactions and admonishments have little meaning for him. Routine, order and predictability shelter him from the messy, wider world. Then, at fifteen, Christopher’s carefully constructed world falls apart when he finds his neighbor’s dog, Wellington, impaled on a garden fork, and he is initially blamed for the killing.

Christopher decides that he will track down the real killer and turns to his favorite fictional character, the impeccably logical Sherlock Holmes, for inspiration. But the investigation leads him down some unexpected paths and ultimately brings him face to face with the dissolution of his parents’ marriage. As he tries to deal with the crisis within his own family, we are drawn into the workings of Christopher’s mind.

And herein lies the key to the brilliance of Mark Haddon’s choice of narrator: The most wrenching of emotional moments are chronicled by a boy who cannot fathom emotion. The effect is dazzling, making for a novel that is deeply funny, poignant, and fascinating in its portrayal of a person whose curse and blessing is a mind that perceives the world literally.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is one of the freshest debuts in years: a comedy, a heartbreaker, a mystery story, a novel of exceptional literary merit that is great fun to read.

This is a book I had heard of growing up, but it wasn’t until I understood what was special about it, i.e. that the main character is autistic that I added it to the list.

One of the ladies I used to work with has an autistic nephew, and I’m curious to take a moment and see things from an autistic child’s perspective. I think we could all benefit from gaining some understanding of autism and how people think differently on the whole! It is easy for people to be labelled nowadays, “fat”, “thin”, “simple” etc. I don’t want to use any further slurs, including race and religion because frankly, I don’t condone them. I acknowledge their existence here.

This book is also a keeper!

Verdict: Keep

  Six of Crows – Leigh Bardugo

Goodreads

Criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker has been offered wealth beyond his wildest dreams. But to claim it, he’ll have to pull off a seemingly impossible heist:

Break into the notorious Ice Court (a military stronghold that has never been breached)

Retrieve a hostage (who could unleash magical havoc on the world)

Survive long enough to collect his reward (and spend it)

Kaz needs a crew desperate enough to take on this suicide mission and dangerous enough to get the job done – and he knows exactly who: six of the deadliest outcasts the city has to offer. Together, they just might be unstoppable – if they don’t kill each other first.

This is the first book I am resigning from the list. The synopsis sounds perfectly okay and readable, but doesn’t sound WOW! It lacks the pop, so it’s going to drop…

Verdict: Go

  Sleeping Giants – Sylvain Neuvel

Goodreads

A girl named Rose is riding her new bike near her home in Deadwood, South Dakota, when she falls through the earth. She wakes up at the bottom of a square hole, its walls glowing with intricate carvings. But the firemen who come to save her peer down upon something even stranger: a little girl in the palm of a giant metal hand.

Seventeen years later, the mystery of the bizarre artifact remains unsolved—its origins, architects, and purpose unknown. Its carbon dating defies belief; military reports are redacted; theories are floated, then rejected.

But some can never stop searching for answers.

Rose Franklin is now a highly trained physicist leading a top secret team to crack the hand’s code. And along with her colleagues, she is being interviewed by a nameless interrogator whose power and purview are as enigmatic as the provenance of the relic. What’s clear is that Rose and her compatriots are on the edge of unraveling history’s most perplexing discovery—and figuring out what it portends for humanity. But once the pieces of the puzzle are in place, will the result prove to be an instrument of lasting peace or a weapon of mass destruction?

An inventive debut in the tradition of World War Z and The Martian, told in interviews, journal entries, transcripts, and news articles, Sleeping Giants is a thriller fueled by a quest for truth—and a fight for control of earthshaking power.

I remember adding this book to my TBR – what drew me to it was how different it was to anything else out there! I also like the idea of the story being chronicled in the manner of articles etc instead of prose.

Verdict: Keep

  Join – Steve Toutonghi

Goodreads

What if you could live multiple lives simultaneously, have constant, perfect companionship, and never die? That’s the promise of Join, a revolutionary technology that allows small groups of minds to unite, forming a single consciousness that experiences the world through multiple bodies. But as two best friends discover, the light of that miracle may be blinding the world to its horrors.

Chance and Leap are jolted out of their professional routines by a terrifying stranger—a remorseless killer who freely manipulates the networks that regulate life in the post-Join world. Their quest for answers—and survival—brings them from the networks and spire communities they’ve known to the scarred heart of an environmentally ravaged North American continent and an underground community of the “ferals” left behind by the rush of technology.

In the storytelling tradition of classic speculative fiction from writers like David Mitchell and Michael Chabon, Join offers a pulse-pounding story that poses the largest possible questions: How long can human life be sustained on our planet in the face of environmental catastrophe? What does it mean to be human, and what happens when humanity takes the next step in its evolution? If the individual mind becomes obsolete, what have we lost and gained, and what is still worth fighting for?

I’m a little on the fence about this one. I’ve had to have a good long think about it.

I love the idea of the book exploring advancement in technology and individuality (or the lack of). I feel my reservations are the result of thinking the synopsis isn’t written all that well. I’m going to keep it tentatively based on potential.

Verdict: Keep

  Three Parts Dead – Max Gladstone

Goodreads

A god has died, and it’s up to Tara, first-year associate in the international necromantic firm of Kelethres, Albrecht, and Ao, to bring Him back to life before His city falls apart.

Her client is Kos, recently deceased fire god of the city of Alt Coulumb. Without Him, the metropolis’s steam generators will shut down, its trains will cease running, and its four million citizens will riot.

Tara’s job: resurrect Kos before chaos sets in. Her only help: Abelard, a chain-smoking priest of the dead god, who’s having an understandable crisis of faith.

When Tara and Abelard discover that Kos was murdered, they have to make a case in Alt Coulumb’s courts—and their quest for the truth endangers their partnership, their lives, and Alt Coulumb’s slim hope of survival.

Set in a phenomenally built world in which justice is a collective force bestowed on a few, craftsmen fly on lightning bolts, and gargoyles can rule cities, Three Parts Dead introduces readers to an ethical landscape in which the line between right and wrong blurs.

Okay, so this was added to the list a year and a half ago. Looking at it now, I can say that my reading preferences have certainly changed. This doesn’t appeal to me anymore, so it’s off the list.

Verdict: Go

  Doors of Stone – Patrick Rothfuss

Goodreads

The eagerly awaited third book of The Kingkiller Chronicle.

It is absolutely eagerly awaited – I love this series so far!

Verdict: Keep

  Golden Age – James Maxwell

Goodreads

The discovery of a strange and superior warship sends Dion, youngest son of the king of Xanthos, and Chloe, a Phalesian princess, on a journey across the sea, where they are confronted by a kingdom far more powerful than they could ever have imagined.

But they also find a place in turmoil, for the ruthless sun king, Solon, is dying. In order to gain entrance to heaven, Solon is building a tomb—a pyramid clad in gold—and has scoured his own empire for gold until there’s no more to be found.

Now Solon’s gaze turns to Chloe’s homeland, Phalesia, and its famous sacred ark, made of solid gold. The legends say it must never be opened, but Solon has no fear of foreigners’ legends or even their armies. And he isn’t afraid of the eldren, an ancient race of shape-shifters, long ago driven into the Wilds.

For when he gets the gold, Solon knows he will live forever.

This book doesn’t appeal to me much at the moment. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I could read it… I may even want to in the future, but I’m not feeling the love right now.

I’ll keep it because I bought a copy, but it’s not something I am likely to pick up in the near future.

Verdict: Keep

  Children of Earth and Sky – Guy Gavriel Kay

Goodreads

From the small coastal town of Senjan, notorious for its pirates, a young woman sets out to find vengeance for her lost family. That same spring, from the wealthy city-state of Seressa, famous for its canals and lagoon, come two very different people: a young artist traveling to the dangerous east to paint the grand khalif at his request—and possibly to do more—and a fiercely intelligent, angry woman, posing as a doctor’s wife, but sent by Seressa as a spy.

The trading ship that carries them is commanded by the accomplished younger son of a merchant family, ambivalent about the life he’s been born to live. And farther east a boy trains to become a soldier in the elite infantry of the khalif—to win glory in the war everyone knows is coming.

As these lives entwine, their fates—and those of many others—will hang in the balance, when the khalif sends out his massive army to take the great fortress that is the gateway to the western world…

This synopsis really doesn’t say a whole lot about the book, in my opinion. Unless you are die-hard feminist and want to invest into special agent “doctors wife” – nothing stands out about these characters.

It’s a nope from me.

Verdict: Go

  The Psychology Book – Nigel C Benson

Goodreads

Clearly explaining more than 100 groundbreaking ideas in the field, The Psychology Book uses accessible text and easy-to-follow graphics and illustrations to explain the complex theoretical and experimental foundations of psychology.

From its philosophical roots through behaviorism, psychotherapy, and developmental psychology, The Psychology Book looks at all the greats from Pavlov and Skinner to Freud and Jung, and is an essential reference for students and anyone with an interest in how the mind works.

I definitely have a kindle copy of this – and I am fairly sure I have read at least some of it. Psychology is a subject I am interested in and like to visit periodically, so I’ll keep.

Verdict: Keep

  There you have it!

I only dropped three books of the list this time. I think now I am coming to books that I have added more recently (within the past year and a half or so) there will be less I drop off the list as my reading taste will be closer to it is now.

I’ll still benefit from reviewing, however, as you never know. Plus, doing so gets the books put on the ACTUAL reading list I work from.

Have you reviewed your TBR recently?

  Down the TBR Hole is a tag designed to help clear Goodreads lists of unwanted books #bookblog Happy Friday folks! I hope you are all looking forward to a fabulous weekend!! Today I am posting another Down the TBR Hole post, in an effort to clear out my Goodreads list of unwanted books.