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h5eavenly · 3 months

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blank canvas — park sunghoon. ➢ one - run your hands over me. ➢ mlist.

— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first. wc: 17k

'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'

You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.

“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.

Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.

"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.

4:35 pm

31st December

"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.

Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.

'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'

You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?

Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.

With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.

You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.

Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.

Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.

You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.

“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.

The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.

“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.

“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.

“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.

“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”

“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.

“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.

“Why do you think so?”

“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”

An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.

“That’s interesting.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.

“Your words? Not at all.”

“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”

There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.

“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”

You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.

It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.

“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.

You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.

Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.

Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.

They looked so empty.

"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.

A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.

"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.

Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.

Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.

You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.

"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.

"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.

"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.

Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.

"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.

Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.

How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.

"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.

"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.

Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.

Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.

And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?

Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.

It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.

Off

On.

A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.

You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.

Beep Beep Beep!

Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.

'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.

The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.

The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.

in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.

Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.

You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.

Oh my god they’re waving at you.

Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.

Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.

You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.

What the fuck

With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.

You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.

A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.

The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.

It was blood.

You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.

"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.

"Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"

you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.

"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.

You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.

“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.

“Okay.”

As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.

The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.

You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.

But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.

You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.

Blue

Violet

Red

It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.

You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.

Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.

You cannot escape.

"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.

You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.

You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.

You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.

With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.

"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.

Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.

When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.

"What happened?” he asks.

"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.

Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.

He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.

It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.

You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.

The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.

"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.

"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.

His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.

"Yes."

You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.

“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.

"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.

"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.

Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.

"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.

"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.

"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.

"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.

"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.

12:45am 7th of January

your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.

There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.

Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.

Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.

"yn, 'm hotter yea?"

You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.

"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;

"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"

All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.

"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.

She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.

"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing.

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.

"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.

You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.

“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.

You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.

It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.

“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.

“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.

The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such.

Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.

You ignore him, too used to such situations.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.

“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.

“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.

Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.

“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.

The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.

White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.

It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.

Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.

The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.

“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.

“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.

“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.

You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.

A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.

“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.

Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?

“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.

“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.

Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.

“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.

"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.

"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.

There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.

The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.

“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.

Extending it to you.

“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.

“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously

“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.

A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.

You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.

"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.

Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.

Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.

“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.

At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.

“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.

“Are you interested in me?”

“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.

“I’m only teasing, darling.”

“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.

“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.

“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.

His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force

“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.

“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.

“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.

“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.

“I can, see?”

“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.

Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.

“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.

As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.

Can

See

Your

Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.

As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.

Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.

“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”

In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.

Heady and sweet.

“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.

Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.

It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.

With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.

You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.

With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.

"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.

"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.

"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.

“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.

“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.

“Was it?”

“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.

“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.

“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.

“Just some guy.” You shrug.

“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”

“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”

He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.

“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.

“So?”

“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”

"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.

"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.

"Stop telling me about it then."

"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.

His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.

“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”

You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.

You are walking home from work.

The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;

off

you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.

You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.

The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.

I need to go home.

Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.

I need to go home

You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.

You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.

With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.

Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.

Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.

The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.

He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.

There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.

You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.

You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.

A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.

You’re okay, everything is okay.

Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.

Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.

You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.

Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.

You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.

The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.

The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.

"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.

It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.

“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.

“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.

On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.

"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.

You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.

"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.

"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.

"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.

The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.

"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.

Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.

A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.

Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.

Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.

As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.

You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features

"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.

"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.

But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.

"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.

You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.

Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.

"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.

You stand still for three full seconds.

On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.

On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.

On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.

You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?

The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.

"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.

You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.

He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.

"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.

If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.

"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.

He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.

“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.

“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.

“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.

“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”

“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.

“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.

“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.

“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.

Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.

Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.

"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.

"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.

“It’s hard not to.” You admit.

“How come?”

You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.

“they’re fascinating to say the least.” You settle with the truth.

“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”

“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.

“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”

“No.” you answer, airily.

He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.

“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,

You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.

“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.

All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.

When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.

You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.

You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.

His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.

"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.

Just how big is this room?

“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.

“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.

As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.

“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.

His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.

“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.

“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”

“Well y-yeah.”

“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”

“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.

“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.

“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”

“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.

"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.

There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.

"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.

You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.

At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.

“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,

With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.

You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.

Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.

It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.

"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.

Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.

He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.

"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.

You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.

“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.

"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.

Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.

You should head home soon before it starts raining again.

"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.

Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.

"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.

“What were you doing then?"

“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”

"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.

“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.

“It made me happy.”

“What?”

“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”

“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.

“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.

Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.

“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.

“I did!”

“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”

“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.

Your chest warms at the sight.

“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.

“I got it wrong?”

“It’s a T, not an F.”

“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.

“Yeah.” he answers softly.

“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.

You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.

"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.

“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.

“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.

“yn,” you answer.

“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.

He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.

"W-what?" You stutter out.

His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.

“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.

“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.

“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.

You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.

You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.

"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.

You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.

Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.

But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.

"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.

"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.

"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.

It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.

"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.

"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.

“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.

You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.

You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.

He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.

As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.

"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.

“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.

There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.

You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?

Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.

"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.

"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.

It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.

"There's no need. You have done more than enough."

"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.

“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”

“No need for apologizes, darling.”

You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.

“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.

The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.

“They look better on you anyways.”

You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.

colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.

The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.

Although your living conditions were much better than now.

Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.

You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.

"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.

Like a fucking creep.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.

"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.

"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."

He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.

He gave you, his number.

Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.

"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.

“What happened today?”

You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.

Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you

"I'm confused?"

"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.

"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.

"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.

"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.

"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.

"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.

“Just say it.”

"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"

“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.

"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.

"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"

"I'm not."

"You're into him-"

"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.

"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.

"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.

"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.

"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"

"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.

"You're grieving your dad, yn."

You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.

Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.

Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.

“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."

"It's okay."

"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.

"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."

As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;

"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,

"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.

“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.

“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.

As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.

"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.

"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

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poppystheories · 4 months

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Tyki’s reaction to being slapped fascinates me. This guy gets slapped by a helpless exorcist that's fully at his mercy and he kinda likes it. It wasn’t a weak slap either! Despite the state Allen’s in, it left a mark! But Tyki just laughs it off. Settles down to chat. Lights himself a cigarette.

Let’s face it. It’s charming.

I really like the contrast between Allen’s first meeting with Road and his first meeting with Tyki. Road had no intention of killing Allen from the start, and she wasn't really there to destroy any Innocence, but she gets incredibly rough with him: nailing his arm to the wall, stabbing his eye out, making a pincushion out of him with her candles. She fully delights in the bodily harm.

Tyki’s here to kill Allen and destroy his Innocence. That’s already decided. But he doesn’t brutalize him at any point.

Because Tyki's so casual, you keep thinking: hey, Allen’s going to get out of this totally fine. Someone is going to show up and save him. Lenalee should be looking for him. We haven’t seen the others in a while, so they must be on their way. Someone is going to arrive in the nick of time to save Allen, and everything’s going to be fine. We still have to get to Japan, after all.

But no one comes.

The scene progresses. Tyki keeps talking, he shows off his power a bit, tries to play with Allen like he played with the others. Tries to make him scared, maybe beg a little. He’s fooling around with the prey he’s already caught, like a cat.

But Allen's not scared, and Tyki backs off. The actual physical torture isn't the appeal for him, so if his victim isn't scared there's no reason to get violent.

So now you're thinking, wow, this guy is gonna regret taking his time when someone finally arrives! What a classic villain fumble; failing your mission because you were too busy monologuing.

But no one comes.

Tyki pulls out the card the Earl gave him. And you find out Tyki’s been searching for Allen. Specifically.

That’s bad, but it's okay. It'll be fine. Someone is going—

You turn the page, and Tyki is ripping Allen’s arm off. No warning, no posturing. One second Allen is fine—someone is going to save him, any second now, Tyki hasn’t even hurt him yet—and the next Allen’s fucking Innocence is on the forest floor.

Tyki keeps talking, smiling. Nothing about his demeanor has changed.

He destroys Allen's Innocence. Like it's nothing.

And at this point, you start to realize, maybe no one is coming. Or if they are, it’s already too late.

Tim gets sent away. He can go get help. But, now Allen’s truly alone with the assassin sent to kill him—if anyone’s coming, it has to be now! Where is everyone?!

Right on cue, you finally get to see the other characters.

And they’re still on the fucking ship.

Then maybe Lenalee—

No. Lenalee’s also at the ship. Tyki has his hand hovering over Allen’s chest and Lenalee’s at the goddamn ship.

No one is coming, you realize. No one was ever coming.

And just like that, Tyki kills Allen. Intimately, with a smile. He wants it to be slow, but quiet. He wants Allen to feel how helpless he really is.

Tyki's a serial killer: we've seen him stage his victims before, like leaving Daisya hanging like some kind of grisly ornament. We saw the state he left the General in.

Allen, however, gets more artistic treatment; he's by the far the favorite of Tyki's victims so far, and Tyki doesn't want to disturb the pretty picture he's already made too much, but it needs a little extra flair, doesn't it? A more personal touch.

So he scatters his own gift to Allen over him: a little something to suit his white hair and black coat and red scars, and the last thing we see is the black crescent of despair. Put there quite deliberately; it is not a typical image to appear on a Joker card.

Volume 6 ends, just like that.

It really is a merciless ending. You can't believe that the protagonist will really die here, but even if he somehow survives, his Innocence has been destroyed. The entire scene is built around your expectations as a reader that the protagonist can't die, so someone will save him, or there will be some other interference.

But no. No one was ever coming to save Allen; not this time.

And that? That has consequences.

#allen #tyki #vol 6 #reread #dgm #d gray man #allen walker #tyki mikk #i love love love these chapters

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ultrone · 2 months

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⚒️🏚️🚧

#4.3k ⭑ #hcs&blurbs

꒰ ♡ ꒱ constructionworker!shauna who got a summer job because she needed money to get her car fixed. although she didn’t have any experience in construction, she was very strong from playing soccer and going to the gym occasionally. luckily, she got hired as an apprentice and received decent pay.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ even though she had always been athletic, this construction job was a whole new beast. she woke up every day at 5 a.m. and had to get to the job site by 6 a.m. then, she’d immediately start working, spending eight hours on the job. her body ached every day after work, and she was usually filthy.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ your mom needed a shed built in the backyard for storage. she chose a random building company, which happened to be shauna’s. since it wasn’t a complicated or urgent job, the company sent two of their senior workers and shauna to work on it for a few weeks. they were allowed to work at a decent pace because your mom said it was fine as long as they finished before summer ended.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ by the time you got back to your hometown for the summer, it had already been three days since shauna started the project in your backyard. since your mom was gone in the mornings for work, she just let you know that there were workers outside and asked you to watch out for them, letting them in if they needed to use the bathroom or get some water—nothing out of the ordinary.

⚒️🦺🧱

the first time you laid eyes on her was on your second day back home. you went down to the kitchen for a snack when suddenly, you heard a soft knock on the door leading to the backyard. you didn’t even pay attention to the person in front of the glass door until you opened it, and there she was, standing clearly in front of you.

she was wearing dirty work pants held up by a belt, paired with a tight sleeveless white shirt and a red, washed-out flannel tied around her waist. her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with a few loose strands sticking to her sweaty forehead.

shauna stood awkwardly, smiling at you politely. her hands were covered in grime, and her face had black streaks of dirt. she seemed very embarrassed that she hadn’t had time to clean herself up before knocking on the door. her eyes widened slightly when she saw you, a hint of disbelief flashing across her face. she remembered your mother mentioning there was a daughter in the house, but wasn't expecting you to be around her age, or so... attractive.

her cheeks colored slightly as she remembered the state she was in. she cleared her throat, attempting to speak without stuttering.

"um, sorry to bother you," she began, her voice huskier than usual from the hot sun beating down on her all day. "i just wanted to ask if we could use your bathroom. we’ve been working for hours and could really use a break." she spoke softly, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat accelerated just from standing in front of you.

as you took in the sight of shauna standing at your door, covered in sweat and dirt, you couldn't help but feel a strange fluttering feeling in your chest. there was something appealing about her messy state, and the way she stood there awkwardly, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"yeah, sure," you replied sympathetically, stepping back and gesturing for her to come inside. "you can use the bathroom in the hallway. it's the first door on the right. make yourselves at home," you added with a warm smile.

you stepped aside, letting her pass through the door. she brushed past you, her body grazing yours for a brief second. you couldn’t help but notice how muscular her arms looked underneath her shirt, and how the sweat made her clothes cling to her body. however, when you noticed her staring right into your eyes, you quickly looked away, not wanting to seem like a pervert or anything.

shauna gave you a sheepish smile before heading straight for the bathroom. once inside, she looked at herself in the mirror and let out a frustrated sigh. she couldn't believe she had just encountered you in such a state. she would be so embarrassed if she weren't so exhausted.

as she splashed some water on her face and tried to tidy up a bit, she couldn't help but think about how beautiful you were. she wondered how old you were and if you were single. not that it mattered, she scolded herself; at the end of the day, you were just a client's daughter.

as you waited for shauna to finish in the bathroom, you tried to distract yourself by scrolling on your phone, but no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts kept going back to her.

when she emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly more presentable but still a mess, you gave her another warm smile. "feeling better?" you asked, attempting to hide your attraction to her.

shauna nodded shyly, running a hand through her damp hair. she chuckled weakly, shaking her head as she looked down at herself. "sorry, i must look like a disaster right now," she apologized, a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.

you smiled reassuringly, waving your hand. "don’t worry ‘bout it," you said, leaning against the wall. "you actually look kinda cute, in a rugged kind of way."

her cheeks flushed a darker shade at your comment, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure evident on her face. "oh, thanks, i guess," she mumbled, looking up at you through her lashes.

there was a moment of awkward silence between you two, shauna looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. just then, a deep voice cut through the air, interrupting the silence and making you both jump.

one of the older workers, a bulky man with a salt-and-pepper beard, walked over to you both, a smirk on his face. "hey, sunshine," he called out to shauna in a teasing tone. "your break time is up," he said gruffly.

shauna playfully rolled her eyes at him with a toothy smile. "yeah, yeah, i know," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

the older worker chuckled, his eyes darting between you and shauna, a knowing glint in his eyes. "who's your friend here?" he asked, pointing a finger at you.

shauna's cheeks turned a bit pink, realizing she hadn't introduced you yet. "oh, right," she mumbled, looking at you apologetically. "this is..." she trailed off, realizing she didn’t know your name.

"y/n," you said, looking directly at shauna with a smile.

he nodded in acknowledgment, grinning widely. "well, well, looks like our girl’s made a new friend, eh?" he said, nudging shauna in the ribs.

shauna rolled her eyes again, her cheeks still slightly red. "shut up, greg," she muttered, elbowing him back.

greg chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. "just messing with you, sunshine," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "anyway, i better get back to work. we've still got quite a bit to finish on the shed."

shauna nodded, glancing at her watch. "yeah, me too," she said, sighing heavily. she gave you another small, shy smile. "well, um, see you around?"

you smiled back at her, nodding briefly. "yeah, see you around," you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment as she was leaving.

as she followed greg back outside, you watched her go, unable to tear your eyes away from her muscular frame and determined stride.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ ever since that interaction, you started spending more time either in the kitchen or the living room. you pretended you were just hanging out, using your phone or eating, but in reality, you were constantly glancing through the glass doors to watch shauna, unable to take your eyes off her.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ there was something about her strong yet graceful movements, the way her muscles flexed as she worked, that you couldn't tear your eyes away from. you found yourself watching her more and more often, to the point where you were practically glued to the window.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ she didn't seem to notice your stares, too focused on her work to catch you looking at her. you felt a mixture of fascination and shame, knowing that you were acting like a stalker, yet unable to stop yourself from observing her every move.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ as the days went on, shauna began to notice that you were watching her. at first, she thought it was just a coincidence, but then she started to see the patterns in your behavior.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ whenever she bent over to pick something up, her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of bare skin, she caught your eyes following the movement. whenever she lifted something heavy, flexing her biceps and showing off her strength, she saw your gaze linger on her muscular arms. she started to tease you, doing things on purpose just to see your reaction.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ she began working without her flannel tied around her waist, showcasing her toned stomach whenever she reached up to lift something. she made sure to stretch her arms up over her head every now and then, knowing that it would show off her muscular shoulders and back.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ whenever she took her breaks, she would sit out in the open, pretending to read a book but really watching for your reaction. she found it amusing how you tried to play it cool, pretending not to notice her subtle gestures. but she could see right through you, and she loved the power she had over you.

⚒️🦺🧱

today, the heat was almost unbearable. the sun was scorching, and even the breeze was hot. you were sitting in the kitchen, trying to cool down, when you heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house.

you turned your head to see shauna walking through the door, her clothes sticking to her sweaty skin. she looked hotter than ever, but there was something different about her. maybe it was the way she didn’t knock on the door this time, or the way she didn’t try to avoid your stare—she seemed more confident than the first time you met her in this same spot.

she brushed some loose strands of hair off her forehead, clearly frustrated by the oppressive heat. "hey," she greeted, her voice slightly hoarse. "mind if i have something to drink? it’s so damn hot outside, i feel like i’m sweating my skin off."

she leaned against the countertop, looking flushed and slightly irritated. the heat seemed to be getting to her, and her usual easy-going demeanor was replaced by a slightly grumpy attitude.

you chuckled softly at her grumbling, finding her slightly agitated state cute. "yeah, of course," you said, gesturing to the fridge. "help yourself. there's a pitcher of lemonade right in there."

you watched as she opened the refrigerator, grabbed the pitcher of lemonade, and poured herself a glass. as she took a long swig, her head tilting back slightly, a droplet of sweat slid down her forehead. you couldn't help but notice the way her throat bobbed with each swallow and how the skin on her neck glistened with sweat.

she set the glass down on the countertop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "thanks," she muttered, her breath slightly labored. "i swear this heat is gonna be the death of me."

she leaned back against the counter again, wiping the sweat off her brow. her shirt, clinging to her skin from the perspiration, revealed a hint of the toned abdomen you had been admiring for days now.

"yeah, it's brutal out there," you replied, your eyes accidentally lingering on her stomach. you quickly looked away, hoping she didn't notice your gaze. "i don't know how you guys can work in this heat. i'd be dead after five minutes."

she snorted, a small puff of air escaping her lips. "yeah, tell me about it. you get used to it after a while, i guess," she replied, a slight note of pride in her voice. "besides, it's better than being stuck indoors all day."

she leaned her head back against the cupboard, letting out a small groan. "but god, i can't wait to get home and take a cold shower."

the casual way in which she mentioned showering sent a jolt of heat down your spine. you felt your cheeks turn slightly pink, and you had to look away again before she noticed your reaction.

"yeah, i bet," you mumbled, focusing your gaze on the table in front of you. "a cold shower sounds really nice right now."

as she finished her lemonade and set the empty glass down on the sink, she tugged a small towel out of the waistline of her jeans and wiped her face. the fabric was damp and slightly translucent, sticking to her skin as she patted herself dry.

she looked like a hot mess, but somehow, that made her even more attractive to you. you watched as she prepared to head back outside, feeling a pang of disappointment that your interaction was over so soon.

"anyway, thanks again for the drink," she said, giving you a grateful smile. "i gotta get back to work before greg yells at me again for slacking off."

as she walked out the door, she casually tossed the damp towel onto her shoulder, leaving it there as she pulled up her pants by hooking her fingers through the jean loops and heading back outside. you couldn't help but notice how the towel clung to her already sweat-soaked shirt, and it took all your strength not to watch her through the window as she walked away—she was a sight to behold.

you leaned back in the chair, your mind replaying the whole interaction on loop. the memory of her flushed face and damp hair, the sight of her toned muscles moving under her skin, the sound of her raspy voice... all of it was driving you crazy.

⚒️🦺🧱

you were pissed at yourself. how long has it been? five days since you first met her? and the damn pool casually sitting in your backyard never came to mind until today. you cursed yourself as the thought hit you.

and no, it wasn’t the fact that you were sweating your ass off on the living room couch while you could be swimming that bothered you. why didn't you think of this sooner? for five days, you've been wasting your time staring at shauna through the goddamn glass door when you could've been seeing her up close and personal from the comfort of your own pool. obviously, by disguising your stare with some sunglasses.

you took your sweet time selecting the perfect bikini, making sure it showed off all your curves just right. then, you grabbed a book, a towel, and a pair of sunglasses before making your way outside. sauntering over to the pool, you put extra effort into each step. with a confident smile, you entered the water and let out a content sigh as the cool liquid enveloped your hot skin. after a few minutes of swimming and cooling off, you relaxed.

meanwhile, shauna was busy working on the roof of the shed, up on the ladder with a tool belt strapped around her slim waist, her muscular arms and back straining as she hammered in nails and fixed roofing tiles. focused on her task, she didn't notice your presence at first. that is, until the sound of the water splashing caught her attention. pausing what she was doing, she looked in the direction of the pool, but all she saw was the surface of the water.

you swam back up in most alluring way possible, only to realize that shauna hadn't even noticed you. she was too fixated on her work, oblivious to your presence in the pool. with a disappointed huff, you swam to the edge and pulled yourself out, your dripping wet hair clinging to your face and your bikini sticking to your skin.

you made your way over to the lawn chair, adjusting yourself to find a comfortable position. closing your eyes, you let out a sigh as the warm sun beat down on your skin. the heat was bearable now that you'd cooled off in the pool.

just then, shauna glanced over at you, her eyes widening at the sight of you lying by the pool in your bikini. her gaze trailed over your body, taking in the curves and angles shown off by the scanty swimsuit. she was so distracted that she didn’t pay attention to her own footing, and her foot slipped off the edge of the ladder.

the loud thud jolted you out of your relaxation. startled, you snapped your eyes open, only to see shauna on the ground, surrounded by her concerned coworkers, asking if she was alright. her face was flushed red from both exertion and embarrassment as she sat there, nursing a bruised elbow. they hovered around her, fussing over her like concerned mother hens. she looked visibly frustrated, embarrassed that she had fallen in front of everyone because she had been ogling you.

by the time you walked over to where she was, she sat up, rubbing the back of her head with a scowl. when she saw you approaching, her expression instantly changed to annoyance.

"i'm fine," she huffed, waving off the other workers. "it's nothing, just a stupid fall." she looked annoyed with everyone for fussing over her, like a child who had scraped their knee and didn’t want to be babied.

you glanced at her injured elbow, noticing the scrapes along her skin. she tried to brush it off, but you weren’t having it.

“yeah, no,” you said firmly, grabbing her uninjured arm and gently pulling her towards the house. “come on, let me take a look at that.”

she protested a bit, but you ignored her grumbling and led her inside, leaving her coworkers to continue their work.

you ushered her into the guest bathroom and immediately began rummaging through the cabinets for the first aid kit. after a minute of searching and pulling out various items, you finally found it and set it down on the sink.

“come here, let me see your wound,” you said, gesturing for her to take a seat on the toilet.

shauna reluctantly complied, begrudgingly allowing you to take care of her scraped elbow. she looked like a petulant child, not wanting to admit that she needed help. you knelt in front of her, gently lifting her injured arm to examine the scrape. it wasn’t too bad, but it was oozing a little blood.

“this might sting a bit,” you warned, grabbing some rubbing alcohol and a cotton swab from the first aid kit. you dabbed the cotton swab in the rubbing alcohol and began cleaning the wound, trying to be as gentle as possible.

as you gently rubbed the alcohol-soaked cotton swab on her scraped elbow, she jerked slightly from the pain. instead of pulling away, she suddenly grabbed her abdomen with her other hand, wincing and doubling over slightly.

you paused, looking at her in concern. noticing the pained expression on her face and the way she was holding her abdomen, you asked, “hey, are you okay?” setting the cotton swab aside, you placed a hand on her shoulder. “what’s wrong with your stomach?”

you gently lifted her shirt. she tried to stop you, but you persisted, wanting to get a better look at her abdomen. that's when you saw the angry red mark on her skin, a souvenir from the fall. it was a large scratch, likely caused by the sharp edge of a plank at the top of the shed.

“jesus, that looks painful,” you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing the edges of the scratch without touching it directly.

shauna let out a small hiss at your touch, flinching slightly as your fingers grazed the sensitive skin. “yeah, it hurts like a bitch,” she muttered, wincing again as she shifted slightly in her seat.

she suddenly became aware of just how close you were to her. your fingers gently ran over her skin, tracing the length of the scratch with a soft touch. your furrowed eyebrows showed your concern for her injury. she felt a shiver run down her spine as your gaze scanned her abdomen, carefully examining the damage. she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous under your touch and attention.

she tried to distract herself from the closeness of your bodies by looking anywhere but at you. her hands fidgeted in her lap, and she felt her heart rate quicken. she wasn't accustomed to being so close to someone or having anyone focus on her so intently.

meanwhile, you were too preoccupied with examining the scratch to notice her nervous behavior. you carefully checked the injury, ensuring there were no splinters or dirt particles lodged in the wound.

"this looks a bit deep," you murmured, your eyes still fixed on the scratch. “i'm gonna need to clean it properly to avoid infection.”

she swallowed hard as you spoke, your face just inches from hers, eyes focused on her abdomen.

"alright," she whispered, her hands clenching the fabric of her jeans. "just be gentle, it hurts."

you gave her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her nerves. "don't worry, i'll be careful," you said gently.

reaching into the first aid kit, you pulled out some sterile gauze and antiseptic liquid. after dipping the gauze in the liquid, you squeezed out the excess.

"this might sting a bit," you warned, bringing the gauze closer to her abdomen. "try to stay still, alright?"

"okay," she mumbled, closing her eyes and biting her lip, feeling her muscles tense up in anticipation.

you gently pressed the gauze onto the scratch, the antiseptic liquid making contact with her injured skin. she flinched and inhaled sharply, her eyes squeezing shut.

“just a little longer,” you whispered gently, continuing to dab at the wound. you could feel her body tense beneath your touch, and though you knew it must be painful, you also knew it was necessary.

after a few moments, you carefully removed the used gauze and set it aside. the cleaned scratch looked slightly better, though redness and swelling still lingered.

you carefully placed a new sterile gauze over the scratch and secured it with medical tape. now that the wound was dressed, your hands hovered over her abdomen. your fingers lingered on the edges of the gauze, gently caressing the exposed skin above it.

you looked up, locking eyes with her, and suddenly realized what you were doing. you quickly attempted to pull your hand away, a flush of embarrassment spreading across your cheeks at the unexpected intimacy.

just as you were about to retreat, she reached out and gently grasped your hand, preventing you from moving further. she brought your hand back to her abdomen, her warm fingers wrapped around yours, holding you in place.

she looked into your eyes, her expression one of embarrassment and gratitude. “thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath.

your heart pounded wildly as she held your hand against her abdomen. the heat of her skin against your palm sent a jolt of something unfamiliar through you. you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. you simply nodded, your eyes locked on hers, your hand still resting on her belly.

a charged silence hung between you, pressing upon you both like a heavy weight. instinctively, you licked your lips, a nervous habit you weren't even aware of. the action was reflexive, a response to the intense atmosphere.

as your tongue darted across your lips, her gaze flickered from your eyes to your mouth. a brief moment of vulnerability crossed her face. before you could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against yours.

the moment was passionate and slow, your heart racing with each passing second. your hands slid to her waist, moving upward to rest on her shoulders as the kiss deepened. you gently teased her lower lip with your tongue, and her mouth opened slightly, inviting your exploration. her hands found the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

after breaking the kiss, you both gasped for air, chests heaving with desire. her eyes locked onto yours, glowing with lust and curiosity.

just as the tension was reaching its peak, the sound of footsteps outside jolted you both back to reality. reluctantly, you broke apart, disentangling your limbs and returning to your personal spaces. she shuffled, clearing her throat and adjusting her shirt, while you tried to steady your racing heartbeat.

"thanks again," she muttered, avoiding eye contact. "i better get back to work."

"yeah," you managed to reply, your voice slightly hoarse. "see you around?" you asked, still a bit flustered and disoriented. she quickly stood up from the toilet, smoothing out her clothes and avoiding your gaze. the heat of the earlier moment still lingered in the air.

she gave a quick nod, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. it was clear she was trying to play it cool, but her cheeks were still flushed pink.

"yeah, sure thing," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets. "see you later."

with that, she quickly walked out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there, alone with your thoughts.

#𓏲 📂 ⋮ my works .ᐟ #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x y/n #shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman x reader oneshot #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x y/n #yellowjackets x you

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sorchathered · 5 months

Text

Sweet Home Texas pt 1.

Summary- it’s here! Chapter one of my new series/ my submission for my birthday Rom-Com challenge! I am straying from the plot of Sweet Home Alabama a bit but I hope you all love it!

Pairing-Jake “Hangman” Seresin x oc (Ella Mcree Seresin), Bradley Bradshaw x oc (Ella Mcree Seresin)

Warnings- language, drinking, eventual smut

Stepping out of her shitty rental car into the dimly lit honky tonk parking lot Ella Mccree can already feel the pain of a headache forming behind her eyes. She flew out from San Diego on a red eye to get to this shithole, filled with enough anger to fly the damn plane herself. She swore when she was here the last time that she would never set foot in this damn town again and yet here she is, pushing through the sweaty bodies of horn dog cowboys and navy pilots to find the bane of her existence.

He’s here of course, holding court by the pool tables, looking every bit the cocky asshole he presents himself to be. He’s always been a bit of a douche, that was part of his appeal; well until it wasn’t. She couldn't help the way her stomach flipped as she looked at him, the memories flooding her mind would make anyone blush. First kiss, first time, her first everything had been with Jake Seresin, he was supposed to be the only one, but that hadn’t worked out as planned. Nothing had where they were concerned.

She squared her shoulders, his pretty boy looks didn’t work on her anymore and she was here in this tacky bar for a reason, he wouldn’t distract her. In her ridiculously expensive pumps and form fitting black suit she marched over to him and dropped her briefcase in the middle of the pool table, a chorus of what the hells ringing out as she rounds on him, perfectly manicured finger poking him in the chest, shock clearly written all over his face before he schools his features. She’d caught him by surprise; good, maybe this time he’d actually listen.

“Jake! You stubborn redneck hick, I swear to God if I have to cut your damn hand off and sign these papers myself I will.” If he was phased by her colorful vocabulary he didn’t show it, simply throwing back the rest of his beer and sitting it on the corner of the nearest table as he looked her over, the mischief in his eyes evident in his gaze.

“Hey baby, it’s been a while. How’re things at home?” He said with a grin, knowing it would absolutely irritate the shit out of her, he loved riling her up, it was almost like he had a death wish sometimes but then again being an ex fighter pilot just confirmed that.

“Hey. Baby?! Are you kidding me right now?! Oooh!! You are the most annoying person on the planet!” She said shaking her head jerkily and balling her hands into fists, she needed to get it together. There was a reason to be here, get it done and get the hell out of this town, don’t let him distract you Ella you’re better than this.

Someone behind her said something to the extent of damn I like this girl and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a brunette woman sending impressed looks her way. Well at least someone was entertained, she thought.

She leaned across him to grab the papers from her briefcase, his body stiffening under her and she knew despite his cool exterior she had him rattled. She ran a hand across his uniform top, noticing the falter in his grin as he blinked at her and slammed the stack of papers into his chest.

“I have sent these damn papers through your lawyer 4 times in the past 6 months and they keep coming back unsigned, if you are so incompetent that you can’t use a pen, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to fly a jet, given your lack of a brain. Sign the damn papers Jake, it’s been 3 years. You very clearly aren’t interested in being a husband so why the hell won't you just divorce me?”

Everyone around them seems to go quiet at this, none of his coworkers even knew he had been in a serious relationship, let alone married.

He sticks a toothpick between his lips and pretends to mull over her words as she taps her heel on the sticky bar floor. She already knows what he’s going to say, the same bullshit line he’s given her their entire life. “You know damn well why Ella Bella, because I promised to love you til the day you die and as far as I can tell you’re still breathin’ so we’re still married.”

She rakes a hand through her wavy red hair and gives him a look that could burn the world down. “If I could go back knowing what I know now I’d have never made that damn promise. Stop holding me hostage and sign the damn papers, I’m not leaving town until you do.” She yanks up her bag and stomps out towards the exit, everyone in the group parting like the Red Sea to let her out. Meanwhile Jake still seems cool as a cucumber, completely unbothered as he lines up his next shot and chuckles as he watches her walk out of the bar.

“Uh you planning on giving us an explanation Hangman?” Natasha Trace is the first to speak up, she does enjoy seeing him brought down a peg from time to time but she’s pretty sure she’s seen him more upset over what was for lunch at the dining facility than he is right now.

“Oh that? Eh she’ll be alright, Ella is all bark and no bite. She knows how much I love her, just gotta remind her is all, she and I will be just fine when she comes to her senses.” He seems awfully sure of himself, but she’d noticed something he clearly didn’t. A big ass diamond ring on her ring finger, no wedding band in sight. She has a thought to say something but thinks better of it; let him crash and burn all on his own and maybe invite the girl out for lunch and some gossip if she can find out her number. Jake’s hometown is just a few miles out from the Kingsville Navy base they’re stationed at, maybe an old friend of his has her info, she files that away for tomorrow’s problems and grabs another drink.

Ella is heated, she clumsily fumbles her keys by her car door as she curses, she knew he wouldn’t go for it but damnit if she didn’t hope he’d come to his senses. They’d been split for almost three years?! What was keeping him from letting her go? Pride? Idiocy?! She didn’t have time for this, she had plans of her own and they didn’t include begging her delusional husband for a divorce for the millionth time.

Her phone began to buzz in her pocket as she finally got the car unlocked and settled into the seat. She heaved a sigh out and put on her brightest smile, answering the face time call with fake enthusiasm.

“Well? How’d he take it?” the raspy voice on the other side of the line says, tan skin and bronze hair and those puppy dog eyes she loves so much gazes at her over the screen, and he can tell she’s pissed. “About as well as I thought. I’m gonna be here a few more days I reckon, maybe I can get one of them to get him to pull his head out of his ass, because it definitely didn’t work like I hoped.” She says the last words with a waver in her voice, she hates that she’s tearing up over this.

Bradley Bradshaw sighs over the screen and runs his hand over his face, he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. “Need me to come down there? I can hop a flight? We can order a pizza and get trashed.”

As good as that sounds, his presence would only make it worse, and they both know it.

“No baby, it’s ok. I’ll see you soon alright? I just need to go to my hotel and sleep, I’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe call Natasha and see if she can help me with some intel though? She seemed pretty interested in what was going on, and might be an ally.”

He knows Natasha Trace well, and she definitely would be very helpful if he asked, so he nods his head in agreement and ends the call with I love yous and promises of a back rub when she gets home.

He knows the bomb that’s going to go off as soon as Seresin finds out everything, but he also knows the real reason Jake won’t give Ella what she wants. It’s guilt plain and simple, and Bradley isn’t interested in watching his fiancée get hurt by his former rival anymore. Only Ella knows the whole truth, but are either men ready for it?

A/N- this is gonna be a doozy y’all, prepare for these three to be put through the ringer! Next week we’ll get some more on Jake and Ella’s backstory and why they fell apart, hope you enjoyed chapter one!

🏷️ tagging- @attapullman @seitmai @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @jessicab1991 @roosterforme @bradshawssugarbaby @mynameismckenziemae

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin fanfiction #sweet home Alabama au #sorchasromcombirthdaycelly

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rainba · 4 months

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HOOOOOH MY GOD THE KAIROS ALPHABET

based on that x listener audios thing

what if kairos found out darling creates x listener audios? like as hes scrolling and such, he finds an audio that sounds really like you- wait, is that your username? oh my god it really is you! (≧▽≦)

another scenario, where darling asks kairos to edit sfx into an audio of theirs

little does kairos know, it is a disguise to listen to a personalised audio - maybe some kind of audio where the speaker (darling) catches the listener (kairos) jacking off in their room, with a mix of degredation and praise; this is already extremely appealing to kairos and he is lost in your voice

about 6 minutes in, kairos hears his name - i get the feeling hed panic, until you say it again and he realises that you said his name!!! youre talking to him!!!! and youre purposely divulging into all of his fantasies!!!! ヾ(⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)ﾉﾞ

he probably cums in his pants lol (if he hasnt already)

either he does the best job humanly possible or he completely forgets about the fact he was supposed to edit it

sorry for the long ask i love him too much (*/▽＼*)

Kairos’ eyes grow impossibly wide when he hears you say his name– jaw dropping, fists clenching, heart stopping and all. o(≧▽≦)o He’d honestly believe that he’s dreaming!! His first reaction would be to pinch himself, testing to see if he’s sleeping. But he’s not.

The audio is real.

After that, he physically wouldn’t be able to stop himself from furiously jerking off. (//▽//)

Kairos would keep the audio looping in the background, playing it loudly through his headphones as he shakes and whines. He'd end up talking and responding to your words as the audio plays, pretending that he's actually having a conversation with you. (-ω-、)

Your perfect voice saying such lewd and hot things... All of it directed at him specifically... His mind would be so overwhelmed. It would instantly become his go-to material whenever he’s horny. (o^ ^o)

And as a thank you gift, he would record a video of himself moaning and cumming too! Kairos whimpering audio. He can’t just accept such a generous gift from you without giving something special in return. ღ

If you want, he'll even send you multiple audios of himself. Or he can touch himself over a live call. Whatever you want!! (*ﾉωﾉ)

Editing the audio you sent him, though... Yeah, he'd forget to do that entirely. ^^;;;;;;;;

#ask #kairos posting #im glad to see you in my ask box again!!!#(*´▽`*)

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chaoticbardlady99 · 11 months

Text

Lethal Woman- Chapter 3 (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Background- You are a Nightmask Death Bringer who was kidnapped by a Nautiloid Ship. Along with 6 strangers, you search Faerun for a cure for the Tadpoles in your heads- before it’s too late.

(Sorry guys, it will get more romantic)

(Also if you sent a request, I am going to do them this weekend tomorrow. Work is exhausting)

TW: Gore, death, nightmares, panic attacks, suicidal ideation, mentions of Cannibalism but like barely cause vampirism?

Chapter Four

Chapter 3: Rowan (you!)

It has been a few days since Astarion fed on you. It wasn’t much of a bother or a nuisance for him to ask. You even gave him permission to do it again as long as he asks first. He was thrilled.

You didn’t understand why he hadn’t just said something. You literally trained under a vampire spawn-needing blood was normal. You immediately knew Astarion was a vampire spawn and who better to drink from than you- the potential vampire empathizer. You were expecting it. Statistically, you were the one who would be less likely to put a wooden stake in his chest.

What you didn’t expect, however, was Astarion’s confession regarding the experience of drinking your blood.

“I have had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told… you were my first,” he says, avoiding your eyes.

You stand and sit in your silent shock. His first? You knew and well, anyone who had a basic knowledge of vampires, knew that Vampire Spawn are much stronger with humanoid blood running through their veins. Dahlia feeds her spawn humanoid blood. Hells- she even encouraged it. You stare at him with confusion and he avoids your eyes again.

He nervously continues, “In all these years, I’ve only ever fed on beasts. Drinking the blood of thinking creatures is a different thing entirely. You were delectable and now I’m wondering how the others would taste…”

He looks at you as if to see if you’ll indulge him. You see through his facade. Although he wants you to believe he is confident in what he just said, your eyes see the fear of being judged and crucified.

You feign heartbreak and pretend to cry in agony.

“You are already looking at other necks?” you gasp, “I’m hurt!”

He gives you a toothy grin followed by an eye roll. You swear you see his eyes soften for a second as he watches you.

“Oh don’t worry darling, I don’t think they would be open to the idea anyhow. Alas, it doesn’t hurt to ponder the question though?”

“Well, give me some examples. What do you think our companions taste like?”

He taps his chin, pretending to think- like he hasn’t thought about this talking point all day.

“Take Gale for example. He strikes me as someone who’s blood is rich, refined like a well-aged brandy,” He suggests, “but the gith? What in the hells would she taste like?”

You grimace. You know exactly what a gith tastes like, but you aren’t sure if your taste buds were similar to his in regards to blood.

“I’ve tried gith blood,” you say while your mouth twists in disgust, “their blood tastes like Whalebone Spice to me, but maybe your taste buds are different.”

It took a minute for Astarion to register what you said before he let out a chuckle.

“Sometimes I forget the whole… ya know” he gestures to you, “but the real question is, if you could try anyone’s blood in camp, who would it be?”

You hadn’t actually put much thought into that. You peer around at your companions. Gale has a giant bomb in him- so no. Lae’zel you already know is a no. Karlach would literally light you on fire the minute you sunk your teeth in her and Wyll? You were already on his shit list for messing with him too much and you were attempting to patch that relationship up. So that leaves either Astarion or Shadowheart and you certainly were not going to feed Astarion’s ego any further.

“Hmm Shadowheart. I think she’d taste like Honey wine.”

“Oh that sounds very appealing. I’m almost convinced.”

You narrow your eyes with a playful grin on your face, “All hypothetical still, yes?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles back, “a mere thought experiment.”

After, he leaves to go hunting. You watch him saunter off into the woods- a part of you wanting to go along.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your other companions- in fact everyone (minus Wyll) had really taken to you.

Gale was constantly coming up to you, showing off different magic tricks, and asking questions about your… condition. Shadowheart enjoys drinking a glass of wine with you after a particularly shitty day and Lae’zel enjoys picking your brain about different fighting styles- teaching each other new moves and advantages/disadvantages to use against enemies.

Karlach had taken the title of “Honorary Best Friend” because well, she is. You were beyond grateful for Karlach and her goofiness- she humbles you, makes you feel less serious about yourself.

She’s also….. Safe. Safe. A feeling you haven’t felt in a very long time.

Then there was Astarion.

That beautiful fucking bastard. You have come across plenty of handsome men in your travels, but not one of them held a candle to Astarion. You found yourself enjoying parts of him that you usually wouldn’t notice or maybe find attractive.

You enjoy his quick wit, shameless flirting, and a lack of overall seriousness about life. You figure it’s a ruse, but for now, you let both of you enjoy not being under the thumb of a Master Vampire for once. You also find him to be very funny- frequently having to stifle laughter so you don’t sound like a school girl. Oh and his lock picking skills? A rogue could only dream.

Karlach teased you ruthlessly after your first week at camp.

“I see why you wear the mask now.”

“What do you mean?”

Karlach snickered, “Oh pleaseeeeeeee- you look at Fangs with puppy eyes. It’s adorable!”

You scoffed, “There are no puppy eyes.”

“Whatever,” Karlach giggled like a schoolgirl, “Astarion and Rowan sitting in a tree-”

“KARLACH!”

Maybe you are a bit smitten, but you know he would never give you a second glance if you hadn’t both fell out of the sky with tadpoles in your head.

Besides, it was better to keep him and everyone at arm’s length. Tessa’s murder had broken you. If something happened to any of your companions because of you… you didn’t know what would happen. You just hope you don’t ever have to find out.

You had been attempting to stay away from Astarion, but he certainly wasn’t allowing you any space away from him. As you travel, he keeps pace with you in the back. He showers you with honeyed words, but he does ask genuine questions about you here and there.

When you are fighting, he is often near you and follows the way you move. It made fights feel like a bloody, gorey ballroom dance- except you lead and he follows. You both typically loot rooms together as well. So if anything- you are realizing you are basically fucked and your emotions probably aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Sometimes he just wants to understand how you became a Deathbringer and your assortment of abilities.

He frequently asked if it was the same process as becoming a spawn, who would win in an arm wrestle match (you think it would be you and secretly he does too), can you see in the dark, can blood sustain you without you ever eating food, etc, etc.

You told him you weren’t close enough to share ‘your mutual rising from the undead stories yet.” He snickered at that and left the conversation alone. You did answer his questions regarding your physical feats.

All the while you soak in how beautiful he is and take in his playful, mischievous disposition. You know he will break your heart and you don’t know if you are worried enough to care.

My Gods! Rowan FOCUS! No more pup-

You feel a hard slap on your shoulder, interrupting your train of thought. Gale offers a smile and asks if you would like to enjoy some wine with him around the campfire. You accept. You might as well take the time to relax and get to know your companions.

Tomorrow you were heading out to discover what Kagha is up to and her plans for the Grove- much to Astarion’s dismay. Astarion was not happy with you accepting Zevlor’s request for aid, but he insisted on going tomorrow anyway.

You had taken the role of leader because you were the only one who was neutral enough to delegate solutions, find problems in people’s biased solutions, and then make a decision based on what would ultimately be best for the group. It’s exhausting.

You are no hero. You never wanted to be and you certainly never claimed to be. You just want to get back home-to Baldur’s gate, to work, to peace and quiet. Before you are forced to stay in Westgate for Gods only knows how long. The Faceless always has something waiting for you.

You and Gale sat around the fire drinking a bottle of wine and getting to know each other. You also make plans to meet Tara after all this is over.

The first bottle of wine being finished led to the unfortunate second bottle of wine.

You aren’t upset at how your head feels like it’s swimming and your limbs are floating in space. You feel free for the very first time in a while. Being out under the stars, drinking wine with a new companion, and nowhere near the crime riddled city of Westgate.

“Soooooooo,” Gale slurs, “I can’t imagine you grew up wishing to be a Deathbringer, hmm?”

Ah, you thought, of course the wizard decided to get me drunk and ask me personal questions.

You narrow your eyes at him, searching his face for signs of manipulation or hidden intentions, but all you see is- curiosity? Gale was sitting with himself leaning towards you, making direct eye contact, and a look of utter fascination- a need for knowledge.

“Uh well-”

“Oh and what in the hells is going on here?”

Astarion comes up to you both- tiny splatters of blood on his shirt. He pouts as he looks at you.

“You drank a bottle of wine and started another one!? Without me!?” He puts the back of his hand to his forehead like a damsel in distress, “darling, I must insist that you repay me by letting me join this little social gathering.”

You hear Gale’s huff of frustration as you shrug.

“Makes sense.”

Astarion smiles widely, sitting himself right next to you on the makeshift log- you miss the shit eating grin he flashes Gale.

Karlach appears out of thin air, grabbing the bottle out of your hands. She smiles at you as she plops down next to Gale.

“A party and you didn’t even invite me,” Karlach shakes her head, “for shame.”

Karlach takes a swig of the wine before handing it to you. You fill your cup up and fastly drink the terrible (and probably very cheap) wine. Astarion scrunches his face in disgust as he takes his first sip.

He sighs, “Beggars can’t be choosers I guess.”

“Anyyyywayyy,” Gale says with annoyance in his voice, “did you always want to be a Deathbringer?”

All six eyes look at you with anticipation as you stare into the fire- contemplating what you are going to say.

Did you always want to be a Deathbringer? No- you didn’t want to at all. In fact, in your earlier years, you had wanted to remain in the village and become a healer.

Even now you didn’t want to be a Deathbringer. You had hoped you would be free of this life with Tessa. You had a plan-you would leave the night before the rite and you would flee with her to Baldur’s Gate. You had talked about buying a town home in Baldur’s Gate.

When you had enough money, you bought a town home. Still empty besides a bed and occasionally food.

You begin slowly, “No actually. When I lived with my parents in our small town, I wanted to become a great healer. I guess all I wanted was to survive Westgate once I got there. Then I met Dahlia and it was no longer about what I wanted. Well until I became a Deathbringer under the Faceless.”

You look up at your companions as they all look at you with varying expressions. Gale looks like he is exploding trying not to ask for more details. Karlach also looks at you as if you are on the verge of telling the greatest stories alive and then there was Astarion. Astarion’s face was unreadable.

“There really isn’t that much more to it,” you slur, “and anyway. It’s probably about time I hit the hay!”

Despite how inebriated you are, you manage to make it to your tent and close yourself in. You feel tears fall down your eyes.

Gods!

You definitely said too much and that’s why you booked it. In your previous life, Dahlia would have chastised and beaten you for your disdain over becoming what you are. You were always meant to be the next best Deathbringer- her favorite weapon of choice. Not to be loved. Not to be given the mercy of kindness. No matter how much you feel like you deserve it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You slowly creep into the sewer holding your breath in anticipation. Looking for the Mercenary that was hired to kill a powerful ally of the Faceless was no easy task. Dahlia had vouched for you at the meeting with the Faceless. Her eagerness to show you off won. Now here you are, looking for some douchebag Mercenary who probably wasn’t even that big of a threat to some Duke anyway, but having an easy fight with a mercenary was more preferable to the beating Dahlia would give you if you refused. You were going to be the next Deathbringer. She would make sure of it.

As you walk through the cave, the smell of rotting hits your nose. Something has been dead here for a moment. Possibly not very long considering the Gods awful heatwave you had been having in Westgate.

You continue your slow trek down the sewer when you hear her scream. You shoot straight up on your feet turning in the direction of the voice and you run. You run like fucking hells. Your head screams her name. Tessa. Tessa. Tessa.

Her screams became substantially more blood curdling as you hurled your way down the tunnel, but it’s too late. Her insides were sprawled across the sewer like a disgusting sculpture. Her face was lifeless and bloodied- the right side of it completely destroyed. You feel sick.

*Tear*

You turn slowly towards the direction of the horrific, wet noise.

A man in plain clothes and bright crimson red eyes looks at you. Her heart in his hand as he takes a bite out of it like an apple.

The scream rips through you as you rush forward and-

You wake from your sleep with a painful gasp. Your stomach is turning. You sit up and immediately turn to the side and nearly vomit. You manage to take a few deep breaths and get on your feet.

You push through your tent flaps and hastily rush in the direction of a lake you had found earlier that day.

When you are certain none of your companions have seen you, you begin to run.

The tears sting your face as you go racing through the forest. Your lungs are killing you- barely getting enough air to calm down-let alone run the way you are.

Your mind is swimming with thoughts of her. The way she laughed, her smile, her lips against yours, everytime she healed you when you snuck into her dorm.

When she came to your aide when you were left for dead- how she brought hope back into your heart.

Your body hits the cold water before your brain can register it. You lose the rest of the air in your lungs as the cold shocks your body. You push yourself back up to the surface, gasping for air. Your eyes are blurry from the water.

“You know darling,” you spin yourself around in horror as his voice cuts through the air, “I have had people try to get my attention before in a lot of ways, but this? This is a new one.”

Astarion is smirking at you in the water with his head cocked to the side. You scowl.

“I wasn’t trying to get your attention I was trying to-” you stop yourself, “no. Nevermind.”

You pull yourself to shore and begin to angrily charge away from Astarion. Except you don’t get very far when he grasps your wrist.

“Wait,” he says softly, “it was a joke… I’m not very good at asking people about why they are running like a maniac in the woods. I never thought I would need to… well, have that particular skill set.”

You smile despite yourself before giving him a gentle push. Your nightmare still sits heavily in your stomach, but his smile makes your broken heart feel only warmth and laughter.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion romance #bg3 spoilers #karlach

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outsideratheart · 2 years

Text

Deja Vu (Leah Williamson x reader)

A/N: I cannot believe the response I got for Eyes Open. Thank you! I never planned on writing a sequel but i got sent an idea and I knew i had to write it.

Based off this request.

Part 2 to Eyes Open

You were told it would take a minimum of 6 weeks to recover from your head injury but the doctors said it could take longer. 2 weeks after the incident you got your stitches taken out and was cleared from your concussion. 1 week after that you starting training with Arsenal but Jonas refused to play you despite your constant begging.

Soon enough a month had passed and you starting struggling with been on the sidelines. You loved being able to be an Arsenal fan but you wasn’t even on the bench. You were watching from the stands and with every game that passed you became more and more frustrated.

6 weeks to the day you received a call from Sarina. She wanted to speak to you but asked that you don’t tell anyone. You were the starting number 10 for England and with the friendly against Germany coming up she needed you and wanted you in her starting 11.

You told her you had passed every test and this was true but then she asked why you hadn’t played an Arsenal game.

“I passed my tests and my scans are clear. They are scared” you were in a meeting room at SGP. Sarina on side and you on the other.

“If you passed your tests, why are they scared?” Sarina asks.

Truth is she had already asked the question to the staff at Arsenal. She knew the answer but she knew the only way you make the team is if she can trust you.

“Because my head isn’t as strong as before. You saw the hit it took it was bad but the only way for me to get stronger is to put it to work. I’m ready Sarina. Watch me at training, you’ll see”

And watch you see did, like a hawk but Sarina failed in comparison to Leah, Lucy and Keira. Every time the ball hit your head they would pester you, asking if you were ok or if you needed a break.

You let them fuss and hover knowing that it made them feel better even though it made you feel worse.

The morning of the game you started to get a headache. Did you think it was related to the injury? Of course you did but then you reminded yourself that everyone gets headaches and you overthinking won’t make it any better.

After the warms up you get ready for the game. You wait until every player is out of the locker room before putting some cooling gel on your forehead and hairline then take some paracetamol.

“You have a headache don’t you?” Lucy asks.

You grab your chest in fright. Of all people to catch you it had to one of the three people you absolutely did not want to see you.

“I’m fine Lucy. It’s only been a few days and I can already feel it going away” you try your best to reassure her but the look in her eyes tells you that it was a waste of time.

“Are you being serious? Days! Im telling Leah. Hell i’m telling Sarina. You’re not playing” Lucy tries to leave but you grab her wrist, preventing her from doing so.

“Lucia Roberta Tough Bronze. You will do no such thing. We need to win this game and you know the best way to do so is to have you and Leah on the back line, Keira in the middle and me up front.” You change your tone. You weren’t appealing to her human side, you were appealing to her player side and she couldn’t ignore it given that the game was due to kick off in 5 minutes.

“You feel even a little bit off you call for a sub and go for a scan afterwards” this was her compromise.

You don’t get the chance to respond as a member of the coaching staff comes to get the both of you.

It was a rematch of the euros final and England wanted go prove that the win wasn’t a fluke and Germany wanted to prove that they are better than the champions.

It’s safe to say this lead to the match being very physical and intense from the first whistle. You had taken a few knocks courtesy of Giulia Gwinn so when the team was back in the locker room at half Leah is by your side asking you question after question.

She strokes her finger over your scar. It was something she had been doing ever since you got your stitches out. When you asked why, she told you it was because it reminds that you are ok.

“Leah” your word fell on deaf ears “baby, look at me. It was a few knocks but nothing I haven’t had before. I’m ok”

You quickly steal a kiss before running back out to the field.

“Something is wrong with her” Keira whispers to Lucy.

Although she doesn’t respond, the look on her face speaks volumes.

“What is it?” Keira asks.

“I saw her earlier, before the game started. She was taking paracetamol”

“Her headaches are back?”

Lucy nods even though you never told her.

“What do we do?”

“We let Y/N manage this. She knows her body and mind better than anyone. Just keep an eye on her”

“I can do that” Keira’s eyes scan the locker room before stopping on her best friend “do we tell Leah?”

“No” the certainty in Lucy’s tone tells Keira how serious she is.

Throughout the second half, the couple watches you as much as they can whilst playing the game.

During a Germany free kick you are told to get in the wall. You see the ball come at you but you don’t have the chance to move and it hits you square in the face.

“Y/N!” Leah comes running towards you as play is stopped.

“Ooo, that stings”

The medics are soon by your side. They do a quick check and are happy for you to continue playing. You see Sarina eying you up from the sidelines. She makes the sub signal and you shake your head.

From then on the team sees the affect the hit has on you. Your moves are sloppy, you aren’t running as fast. You are the most vocal on the pitch but after the freekick you are silent and they notice you are avoiding heading the ball.

After a Germany corner Mary quickly clears it and sends the ball up the field where you are normally making a run. The whole team push forward to make the most of the play given that there isn’t long left in the game.

You hear the crowd erupt as Meado slots the ball into the back of the net. It is the last thing you hear as the ringing in your ears gets louder and louder. You take a knee as you try to focus but it doesn’t work. You are unable to balance and you fall back on the floor.

“Y/N!!!” Mary sprints over to you “ MEDIC!!!“ she rapidly waves her hand.

The celebrations come to an abrupt end as each England player on the pitch runs towards you.

You lay there unconscious. Your body limb and the only solace comes with the fact that they can see your chest rise and fall.

“No, no, no. Not again” Leah kneels down behind you and lifts your head onto her lap. She moves the stray hairs out of your face.

“Y/N please wake up. I can’t do this again” Leah begs you as tears fall freely down her face.

The medics arrive and once again Leah, Lucy and Keira stay by your side whilst the others players give you space.

“I don’t understand. She has been fine for weeks. She passed every test why would this happen?” Leah asks to no one in particular.

Keira looks at Lucy and defender knows what she is thinking.

“Did she take any knocks we didn’t see?” The medic asks.

“No. She was perfectly fine”

Again Keira looks at Lucy. The older player takes a deep breathe.

“She had a headache before the game”

Leah’s head snaps up in the direction of the woman who is talking. The look of betrayal covers her face.

“She said she has had it for a few days” Lucy can feel Leah’s eyes burning into her but she refuses to meet her gaze.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Leah voice is low and stern.

Lucy shrinks in her place. Just as she is about to speak Keira cuts her off.

“She didn’t want you to worry. Y/N told her not to tell you”

“You — Ke — you knew and you didn’t tell me” the anger that Leah was feeling gets replaced by hurt at the thought of her best friend keeping something this important from her.

As the three of them go back and forth you slow regain consciousness. Leah is arguing that they should have told her whilst the couple argues that they were doing what you wanted.

You begin to regain consciousness.

Deja vu. That is what they call it. That is what you are feeling. You know the the voices before you see their owners.

You feel drops of water on your cheeks. When you look up you realise that they are tears and they belonged to Leah. Once again she was trying and it was your fault.

“Hey” you reach up and awkwardly grab her shoulder.

“Great you’re awake. Get her off the pitch. Don’t let her lie to you!” You can hear the hurt in her voice.

You are about to respond but she walks to the sidelines for a drink.

You try to get to your feet but the blood comes rushing to your head and you stumble back again.

Lucy grabs your arm to steady you but you brush her off.

“You told her” you snap.

“You passed out on the pitch again. You were unconscious again. I didn’t have a choice”

“Yes you did. You —“ once again you feel light headed.

The medics put a stop to the conversation or more appropriately the arguement that you and Lucy were having. They usher you to the tunnel. You try to grab Leah’s hand as you pass her only for her to recoil from your touch. Your head was pounding, you felt sick but knowing that Leah didn’t want you to touch her, that hurt the most.

“I’m sorry” you whisper.

“You need to get checked over. Go”

You get examined by the medics then they leave you on the physio bench. They turn the light out as they leave. You hear the final whistle blow and cheering. England must have won.

The sounds of boots on the hard floor get closer and closer. You can hear the team in locker room and you’re not sure who you want to see first. Well you do but you’re not sure she will want to see you.

“I’m mad at you”

You could only see her silhouette but it was more than enough.

“Would it make it worse if I say I plead the fifth” you say playfully.

“Yes it would” Leah turns the light on without warning. The brightness makes your headache worse.

“Hey!“ you quickly cover your eyes.

As Leah walks closer to you she takes her boots off as to reduce the noise. The notion lets you know that she wasn’t really mad with you. She was using her angry to cover her fear.

“You were getting headaches again”

“Normal people get headaches Leah”

“You’re not normal”

“Thanks”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it”

You did but you really didn’t want to talk to her about this. You knew that you would only scare her if you did. It was the reason why you kept it secret in the first place.

“I want you to know I’m telling the truth when I say I didn’t think it was serious. It was only a headache then on the pitch, i don’t know, it happened so fast”

When you sit up you are meet with red eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“You are ok. I can see it in your eyes” you see Leah visibly relax upon her realisation.

“I am but they still want me to go for scans. I told them I needed to speak to you first”

Standing to your feet, Leah grabs your waist. She looks into your eyes and moves her fingers whilst telling you go follow it. This simple test is one she saw the doctor do time and time again. She starting doing it whenever she needed reassurance that you were ok.

“I’m not the only one you need to speak to. You owe both of them an apology”

“I know”

You leave the physio room and enter the locker room. You scan the room until you come across the two people you are trying to find.

You see Keira standing in front of Lucy as the old player wraps her arms around the midfielders waist.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you” you say as you reach her locker.

“Apology accepted. How’s the head?”

“I feel like I have the world’s worse brain freeze”

All of a sudden Lucy stands from her locker and pulls you into her arms.

“Don’t do that again” it was a warning but you knew she was coming from a good place.

“Im sorry to you too Ke. I shouldn’t have put you in a position where you had to lie to Leah”

“You didn’t. She did” Keira point to Lucy.

You look at your best friend and laugh. Your girlfriend was mad at you and hers was mad at her.

“Looks like we’re both in the dog house. Fancy swapping room mates?” You joke.

“Absolutely not!” Leah cuts in “you are not leaving my sight until you have a full bill of health”

When Sarina comes into the locker room she tells you that you won’t be playing the next game and that she will be going to the hospital with you so that she can know for sure what condition you are in.

“You’re in trouble” Leah whispers in your ear.

“Trouble’s my middle name” you kiss her cheek before you begin getting change “care to help me take my shirt off” you raise your eyebrows playfully.

“If I must”

Leah happily strips you off your shirt. She carefully lifts the material over your head and placed a gentle kiss on your scar.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah Williamson one shot #engwnt x reader #engwnt one shot #engwnt imagine #awfc x reader #awfc one shot #awfc imagine

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 5 months

Note

whats your opinion on the UD being frozen as a metaphor for will's childhood and so when it's all released, he'll be free of it and therefore maybe his love for mike is still chaste and childish and that when it's all over he'll have released that love too?

with neither mike nor el or will ending up in a romantic pair at all.

That sounds rather ridiculous, in my opinion, like someone was trying to find a way to justify Will growing out of his love for Mike. If that's the case, then it's also homophobic, as it's very in line with the old standby of "it's just a phase" that gay kids had to grow up hearing.

The Upside Down being frozen in 1983 has been stated to be a significant plot point. While it may have connections to Will's feelings, since it seems to be connected to Will in general, its main purpose is in the central story.

We already know that the Upside Down does not naturally appear as the real world. When Henry was sent to what we are told was Dimension X, it was largely barren of any landmarks, looking much like a violent primordial world. The only signs of life were the small democreatures and the Mindflayer. Assuming Dimension X became the Upside Down, which seems likely since Henry, the Mindflayer, and the democreatures all are found there, then it stands to reason that it can be shaped.

The obvious source of this would be Henry. His first action when he got there was to bend the Mindflayer to his will. However, the problem with that is that he was in there for years before he had any (known) contact with the main world, apparently caused by El getting close to a demogorgon while in the Void. This causes a Gate to open, creating a physical connection between the two worlds on November 6, 1983. Will disappears into the Upside Down that night, and the dimension has appeared as a dark, twisted version of Hawkins forever stuck on that date.

The question we have is why hasn't the Upside Down changed since then? What is responsible for shaping it? If it is Henry, then why would he bother doing so? Why wouldn't he make it look more like the Hawkins he knew from before he ended up with Brenner?

The next suggestion is that Will is responsible. He wanted so badly to go home that the entire dimension shaped itself to be home. That would fit in with the idea that Will was more than just a random victim, that Henry wanted him for something. Unlike other victims of the demogorgon, Will was hunted, but not killed. We've seen enough of these beasts to know they are both mindless animals, but subject to control through the Mindflayer and, subsequently, Henry. We also know Henry can take the powers of his victims ("everything they will ever be"), so it's very possible he wanted to get this power for himself rather than let Will be food for his beasts.

The problem I see, especially with the Reddit community, is that they see Will as an artifact character. There's this idea that the writers just didn't know what to do with him after season 1, and that he's an unimportant character that they're giving side stories to in order to give him something to do. However, Will has always been important, only in a way that they've been saving for a big reveal, with only hints along the way. His love for Mike is part of his individual character arc, but it's not a weakness for him to overcome. Instead, it's being built up as his source of strength. Mike makes him feel like he's better for being different. It would be very bad storytelling to make this something he has to give up.

Will is central to the story in a way they haven't fully revealed. I'm banking on the Upside Down being stuck in time being a result of something he did, albeit unwittingly. Henry is going to want that power for himself, which is why he hasn't killed Will. I'm guessing that Henry will appeal to Will's repressed anger and resentment to recruit him in the same way he tried to recruit El (mirroring Palpatine tempting Luke in Return of the Jedi), but it's Mike and his love that will grant Will the strength to overcome this. At that point, we'll see the dark, twisted Upside Down either be destroyed, revert to its natural state, or become something beautiful as a reflection of Will's emotions.

#byler #stranger things 5 #will byers

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fellthemarvelous · 8 months

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A heaping spoonful of religious trauma...

What falling feels like.

You want to know what gets to me the most about "Before the Beginning"?

I remember being in first grade (6-years-old) and sitting through a religion class that I hated (to be honest, I despised every religion class I was forced to sit through in school) because the indoctrination process is not even fun. I just got to sit there for like twelve years listening to them tell me lies about Christianity (my world religions teacher in high school was like being forced to sit through a teacher say "Bueller, Bueller" for about an hour 4-5 days per week for an entire semester).

But I digress as this story started off relevant.

I remember sitting through my first grade religion class and (this was 1987-ish, mind you) and thinking "but how do we know that our religion is right and everyone else's is wrong?" By that time, they had made it clear that not believing blindly in Catholicism was worthy of getting into trouble over, so I already knew better than to ask that question because I knew I would be sent to the principal's office. I didn't ask because I was terrified of the punishment when I was only 6-years-old. I already knew there was a price to pay for asking questions. And I can't even remember why I was already so terrified by that point.

Crowley paid a price for asking questions.

It's not like falling is easy. I fully denounced the Catholic church and now consider myself an atheist (mostly), but I will never allow an organized religion to try and define who I am ever again.

There is not a lot of support for this.

Falling is more than just fire and brimstone (so far that's the most appealing part). The worst part of "falling" is the fact that at the age of almost 43, I have NO idea who I am. None at all. I'm falling at a speed and trajectory I can no longer control, and it's been absolutely terrifying. It's been lonely.

I've spent my adult life putting the needs of everyone else above my own. Now I'm trying to find a job within a career I actually want (writing), but that's going to take time. I was traumatized by the Catholic church in so many ways, and I have a lot to say about it.

"How do we know that our religion is right and everyone else's is wrong?"

I wasn't prepared to deal with the consequences of asking that question to the wrong person at 6-years-old. Now I'm wishing I had an adult who was better at being an adult than me to guide me through all of this because I'm currently a giant ball of jobless anxiety wondering if I'm ever going to amount to anything more than what the church told me I would if I dared to lead a life without a husband and children.

I am not responsible enough to deal with "my disaster" (also known as "my life") all on my own. It's an issue of motivation because I have no idea who I am or what I want from life. My identity was decided for me by the church, and I still don't even know what that means.

I just know I'm trying to survive in a literal dystopian world and trying to figure out who and what I am in the middle of everything else. It's confusing and exhausting and so frustrating.

"How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"

Once the spell is broken, there is no going back, and most of us end up making this journey on our own.

#good omens #religious trauma #crowley #what happens when you ask questions?#what happens when you figure out the right questions to ask?#what happens to your identity?#it has taken me 20+ years to reach this point after i walked away from the church

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 3 months

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Feyre is sent to a prison island after committing a murder. But she soon discovers that there is something far more sinister there than her fellow prisoners...

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Murder, Horror

Chapters: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (wip)

AO3 Link

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Chapter One: The Prison

Feyre was a murderer.

That was why she was here after all, staring out at the island that was soon to be her prison. She probably deserved it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t absolutely petrified to be here.

“Any advice?” She asked the marine unlocking her shackles.

He glanced up at her, considering, and then said, “Pretty thing like you? Find the meanest, nastiest fucker on that island and convince him to protect you.”

Feyre didn’t need the soldier to explain how exactly she was expected to ‘convince’ said man. She’d already had plenty of nightmares of exactly that scenario after her sentencing. The worst part was his advice was probably one of her better options.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly. I think.

He didn’t reply, only pulled off her shackles and then took a strong hold of her arm. She didn’t know why he bothered. It’s not like she could hijack this boat and sail it back home all by herself. She didn’t even know how to drive a car, let alone a boat. She supposed she’d never learn now.

The captain stepped in front of her then, weary and clearly wishing he was anywhere else.

The feeling is mutual pal.

“Feyre Archeron, you have been sentenced to life on The Prison. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?”

The woman in question stared at him blankly. What was even the point? He was going to throw her onto an island of rapists and murderers no matter what she said. She’d already screamed and cried and swore at her trial. What more could she possibly say?

The captain had the gall to look annoyed. As if she were the one ruining his day.

“Right,” He turned to the marine holding her arm. “Toss her and let’s leave this fucking place.”

Toss her?! “Wait, what?!-” But it was already too late and before she could react the marine was hoisting her up and shoving her overboard.

Icy seawater hit her like a ton of bricks. The shock froze her limbs for precious seconds as her mind tried to reorientate itself. Kick! She thought frantically. After a few terrifying moments her body obeyed.

Salt stung her eyes as she broke the surface and sucked in oxygen but she still managed to see the blurry shape of the boat as it passed her and glided off towards the horizon.

“Fuck you!” She shouted after it. It was petty, but who was going to care about her behavior now? Her dead mother? Her absent father? Her sisters she hadn’t seen since she’d been hauled off by the police?

The island loomed large a quarter mile behind her. She supposed it didn’t matter to the courts if their prisoners actually made it onto the island. Just that they’d been dumped within its vicinity so there was no hope of them ever escaping.

How far even was the mainland from here? Thirty miles? Forty? Fifty? It had taken at least a few hours to get here. They’d left at 9 am sharp and if the sun was anything to go by it was barely noon. Not that any of this mattered. She was never going home.

No one escaped The Prison.

For a few indulgent moments Feyre considered letting herself drown. As terrible as it seemed, it certainly had its appeal compared to eking out a miserable existence on an island full of dangerous criminals. After all, they didn’t send just anyone to The Prison. Only the worst of the worst for this place. Murderers. Serial killers. Violent rapists. Enemies of the rich and powerful.

It was dizzying to think she was considered one of them now.

She let the moment of self pity linger and then let it go. Right. She’d never been a quitter. She wasn’t about to start now.

Resigned, she pointed herself towards the island and started swimming.

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Feyre arrived upon her new home’s doorstep looking, for all intents and purposes, like a drowned cat.

It had taken her at least an hour to swim to shore, fighting six foot waves and avoiding what she desperately hoped were not sharks. She couldn’t be sure but she swore something had bumped up against her in the water at some point and hadn’t she read somewhere that sharks bumped into their prey before they circled around to take a bite out of them?

Shivering, she glanced down the beach, hoping against hope none of her fellow prisoners had seen her, but almost immediately she spied two men melting out of the tree line.

Well fuck.

Adrenaline flooded her veins and she scrambled to her feet as one of the men crept closer, holding his hands up as if she were a spooked horse. He was older, hair grayed and skin weathered by the sun. Clothes barely more than rags. Was this what awaited her if she managed to survive as long as him? Rotted teeth and preying upon new arrivals like scavengers?

“Easy there doll. We’re not gonna hurt ya…”

Either he thought she was a moron or he was one himself because Feyre knew exactly what that man had planned for her and quite a lot of hurt was involved.

“Bet you’re real hungry after that swim,” the other man said. He was younger than his companion, but in many ways he looked worse off. Starved and mean looking. “We’ve got some food over at our camp. We’ll share it…”

Even if she were desperate enough to take him up on his offer, his hollow cheekbones and bony wrists led her to believe that statement was a load of bullshit.

She waited, muscles coiled and tense as the men drew ever closer. Suddenly the skinny one reached out, attempting to make a grab for her but Feyre was ready for him. She kicked the sand and it arced up and sprayed straight into his eyes. He howled, clutching at his face, and stumbled forward but she was already bolting out of reach and into the forest.

“Wait, come back!” The older man shouted.

“I can’t see!” The other roared. “I’ll fucking kill her!”

But Feyre was already putting as much distance between her and her would-be captors as possible, not knowing which direction she was going except that it was ‘anywhere but here’. She heard the older man crashing in the underbrush just behind her, shouting at her like she were an unruly dog set loose.

She didn’t even realize his shouts had stopped until she was halfway up the hill. She dared a glance over her shoulder and saw nothing but trees and ferns.

Good.

She kept climbing.

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It’s getting dark.

That was all Feyre could think as she wandered the woods in search of food and shelter. So far she’d found a tiny stream of questionable quality and a crooked stick. She supposed she could poke someone’s eye out with it if she was very lucky and her attacker were very still but she wasn’t holding out much hope in that department. Unfortunately the other items on her survival list had yet to be discovered.

Though with the way the sun was going down she was starting to worry. The temperature was dropping rapidly and though her clothes had long since dried they weren’t exactly made to keep one warm in near freezing weather. When she’d first realized they intended to send her off to her final destination in only her prison uniform she’d nearly fought them.

“You can’t be serious!” She’d raged at the officers escorting her onto the boat. “How am I supposed to survive without a coat? A knife? A lighter?”

The officers had been silent but their message was loud and clear: You don’t.

They expected her to die out here. They expected them all to die out here. Well clearly they hadn’t met Feyre. If there was one thing she was good at it was survival. And spite.

Especially that last one.

Still, if she didn’t find shelter soon even sheer undiluted spite was going to have trouble keeping her warm.

It took another hour before she found what she was looking for.

In the dying light, she spotted a little burrow under a rocky outcrop. It would be a tight squeeze, but it was better than her current options which were…nothing. It wasn’t exactly the Four Seasons, but it would mostly protect her from the elements and, more importantly, keep her out of sight. The last thing she needed was another of her fellow prisoners happening upon her while she slept.

As she wormed her way into the muddy crevice, she wistfully reminisced upon her bed back home.

To think, just a year ago she had been sitting in an upscale dining hall, celebrating her sister’s marriage. If someone had told her then what her future held she never would’ve believed them.

And still, she couldn’t fully regret the actions that had led her here.

Perhaps if she hadn’t seen the bruises littering Nesta’s arms things would’ve been different, but she had. And once she had seen them she couldn’t unsee them, no matter how many long sleeved dresses and cardigans her sister wore afterwards. Feyre still had the image of purple fingerprints dotting her sister’s wrist branded into the backs of her eyelids. Nesta never said a word about them. No matter how many times Feyre and Elain begged her to. She had been the very picture of the quiet, demure wife.

And Feyre had hated it.

Perhaps it would’ve gone on indefinitely like that, Nesta’s stoic silence and her sisters’ outspoken concern, but then it had happened.

It had been over something innocuous, his breakfast not being done on time, his coffee being too hot, or his newspaper not being laid out on the table the way he liked. Whatever it was, all Feyre remembered was the way her sister had reacted to her husband’s ire, braced and waiting for a blow. She’d seen it in her eyes. The hatred. The fear. The self loathing of having her sisters here to witness her humiliation. And then he’d grabbed her by the chin, fingers pressed deep enough to leave marks and Feyre had seen red.

Perhaps she truly deserved to be here for what had happened next. For the sheer satisfaction she had felt as she’d watched him bleed out around the butter knife in his eye socket. All she had known then was that this man would never touch her sister again.

She had never lost a moment’s sleep after doing what she did. When she had closed her eyes in her cell after her arrest the only thing she had regretted was the looks of horror and disbelief on her sisters’ faces. She hated that her final memories of her family were those.

But she still couldn’t regret it. No amount of wealth was worth broken bones. Nesta may have been willing to live in gilded luxury for the price of her battered body, but that wasn’t a trade Feyre agreed with. Better her sister live a rich widow who hated her. Better she was thrown to the rapists and murderers.

And I’d do it again. Every time. Feyre thought as she curled into the mud and let her exhaustion lull her to sleep.

Elsewhere, in the gathering dark, something stirred. The other prisoners retreated to the shoreline. They knew better than to enter the forest at night.

There you are. A voice whispered into Feyre’s dreams. I’ve been waiting for you.

#my fanfiction #my fanfics #the prison #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feysand #fanfiction #fanfic

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ironladders · 24 days

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palestinian gofundmes to donate to

i've had several fundraisers for palestinians in gaza sent to my inbox so i'm going to compile them here in this post; if you have the means to, please go through and send some money + love to these people, whose stories i've briefly summarized here. otherwise, please share this post so it may come across someone who can help

ibrahim (@ebrahimyasseralangarsworld) and his family have a goal of €10k, with ibrahim specifically wishing to be able to continue his education in peace. right now though, donations to their campaign are only at €286/€10,000.

farah (@farahh2003) is using current donations so her family can pay for rent and food, as prices of both have risen, but they're trying to get enough money to evacuate and rebuild their lives at the first chance. they are currently at only £2,041/£50,000

mahamoud (@mahmoud91hilles) has a very large family, many of whom are children, and is collecting donations to both provide for his family and have crossing funds for when the rafah border is open again. his campaign only has €187/€50,000

mohammed (@mohammednasers-blog) is just 17 years old and has been displaced multiple times along with his 7 siblings and mother. he is raising money to buy food, water, medicine, and to evacuate when possible. the campaign is only at €3,819/38,000

ehab (@ehabayyad23) and his family of 20 have been displaced and living in tents for almost a year now. he is asking for donations to secure daily needs and be able to evacuate. his gfm is currently at only €2,147/€50,000

mohammad (@yasermohammad) and his 5 children have been left without a home, employment, or proper education. a relative of mohammad's started a campaign to help them recover, and so far they are about halfway to their goal €19,841/€35,000

islam (@islamgazaaccount3) is a physical therapist with a family of 6, including an 85-year old grandfather who lost his hand to israeli occupation's violence many years ago. their gofundme page details what exactly they plan to do with the expenses. his friend mohammed is the one who set up the campaign, which is currently only at €1,842/€30,000

alternatively, you can donate to islam with this paypal link:

mahmoud was studying IT before the university of gaza was destroyed, and is currently caring for his father + siblings. he has hopes of being able to escape with his family, and continue his studies down the line. it is at only $1,145/$25,000

majed (@majedgaza1) and his family already fled gaza, but due to having to pay so much to cross the border & losing their homes they are still struggling in egypt. because of the economic situation, they are raising money to rebuild their lives and secure stable housing. their campaign is only at $2,118/$70,000

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iibonniee · 10 months

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Day 5 | Lee Hoseok

Paring: Lee Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Rating: G

Word Count: 953

Prompt: Christmas Movie Marathon

Masterlist

Tags: @doveslittlekpoparchive @choicethot @xosunny @heaviihamonii

It was roughly 6:30 in the afternoon when Y/N walked through the door and was greeted with the smell of freshly made popcorn and an array of snacks on the coffee table. For a moment, she paused, trying to think of what made the occasion so special for such a feast for two people.

Turning her head only slightly to meet the home screen of a festive Netflix line-up, her eyes widened momentarily with surprise. Snuggled on the plush couch, Hoseok had set out their favorite fuzzy blankets, and softly glowing fairy lights twinkled from behind the TV set, casting a warm glow across the room, inviting a glow against the dimming evening light.

“You did all this?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with astonishment as she took in the cozy ambiance, her lips curling into an appreciative smile. Hearing the door close, Hoseok looked up, his face splitting into a dimple-showing grin.

“You texted me saying you had a stressful day. I thought this might help,” Hoseok explained, his voice soft but firm in its sincerity. He simply shrugged, the grin never leaving his face, and opened his arms in invitation.

Gently, he tugged her down to join him on the couch. Their hands instinctively sought out each other’s, the familiar intertwining of their fingers comforting her instantly. As they settled under the warmth of the neon-colored fuzzy blankets, the aroma of hot chocolate wafted from the side table, and the snowfall outside seemed less intimidating.

“So, what’s the plan for this grand feast?” Y/N questioned, her curiosity piqued.

Hoseok laughed light-heartedly, his eyes twinkling brightly under the fairy lights. His following words were barely a whisper as he leaned in closer, “A Christmas movie marathon - of the shitty sort,” he revealed with a chuckle, snuggling into their blankets, one hand reaching over to quickly press play on the remote. “I hope that sounds great.”

As the opening credits began to roll, Y/N could only laugh along, knowing full well that this would be an evening she definitely would not forget. Even though the prospect of watching questionable quality Christmas movies wasn’t exactly appealing, she already felt the tension from her workday ebbing away, replaced by a sense of comfort and warmth. In the end, she knew it was less about the movies and more about the company and the atmosphere Hoseok had so thoughtfully created.

They nestled deeper into the blankets, Y/N’s head comfortably resting on Hoseok’s shoulder, her laugh muffled into the thick fabric as she caught a glimpse of the cheesy holiday films they were about to endure.

They began the marathon with a film whose plot revolved around a reindeer getting lost in New York City. Not even 15 minutes into the movie, and they were both chuckling at the ridiculous storyline. In between mouthfuls of popcorn, Y/N mockingly commented on the movie characters’ unrealistic reactions, resulting in spirited debates that had them both giggling uncontrollably.

Hoseok, feeling the playful tension, cheekily threw a popcorn kernel at the screen just as an actor made a hilariously dramatic declaration of love. They laughed so hard at this that their sides hurt. This playful banter became a pattern as they cycled through a series of films that were each more ludicrous than the last.

At one point, they came across a movie featuring a Santa who forgot it was Christmas Eve. Y/N jokingly said, “Now that’s a plot twist,” Hoseok, unable to control his mirth, sent a cascade of popcorn kernels toward the screen in response. Their laughter echoed in the warm atmosphere, a beautiful symphony of joy more captivating than any movie plot.

As they made their way through the stack of movies, their laughter sounded like music against the backdrop of the softly playing TV. Amidst the flickering fairy lights, this was their perfect sanctuary under the warm blankets as they let the cheesy films wash over them in a tide of shared amusement and pure contentment. And so, the evening wore on, with no sign of the cozy movie marathon ending anytime soon.

As they spent more time, they noticed how each movie seemed to have its own unique brand of cheesy charm. The plotlines were predictable, the dialogues hilariously cliché, and the characters uniformly over the top, but in their own way, these elements made the experience all the more fun. Because with every exaggerated plot twist and over-acted line, it was another opportunity for Y/N and Hoseok to jest, their banter flowing easily as they picked apart

The quirky universe of each film. As another implausible plot twist unfolded on the giant screen, Hoseok leaned over, whispering, “My theory is all these characters are secretly alien spies.” Y/N stifled a laugh, replying with a raised eyebrow, “And their mission is spreading the worst fashion trends in the universe?”

They found joy in the harmless ridicule, every shared laugh bringing warmth into the room. Their playful exchanges initially stemmed from a need to lighten the mood, but with every comment and shared smile came a sense that they were becoming something beyond friends. It was a silent evolution, subtle yet profound.

The last end credits began to roll. Hoseok turned to Y/N, his eyes seeking out hers in the dim light. He asked, uncertainty coloring his voice, “Did it make your day any better?”

Y/N glanced at him, a small, still somewhat sad, yet noticeably happier smile gracing her lips. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady. “It did.”

Hoseok paid close attention to her smile, a smile soon flicking on his face once he realized hers was genuine. He nodded, pulling her into a soft and loving kiss.

“One more movie?”

“Yes, one more movie!”

#kchristmas #kvanity #monsta x imagines #monsta x x reader #monsta x fluff #wonho imagine #wonho imagines #wonho x reader

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mariyekos · 2 months

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Fic time. Chapter 1 of many. In the middle of revising so I don't want to post on AO3 yet (that and I'm uh. Still debating on whether I want to post this on AO3 at all or keep it to myself) but for followers who like DMC if you want a preview here it is. This is supposed to be an adaptation of a response I had to a prompt way back in February of this year! (oh man I've been working on this for 6 months). Also if this sounds familiar I've posted the first 3k before, but this time there's more like 7k words. I cut out about 1400 words today so it used to be longer too 😅

Summary of the whole fic will probably be:

"After defeating Mundus, Dante finds himself stuck in Hell. While looking for a way home, he finds something- or someone- unexpected and proceeds to make several bad decisions. (A DMC1/DMC5 fusion)".

Chapter 1

Mundus is dead.

Or as close to it as he can be, at any rate. For a being as old and powerful as Mundus, millennia of conquest and victory and tribute fueling his lifeforce and abilities beyond what he’d have accumulated by simply living that long or inheriting strength from his forebears, can’t really be killed by something as simple as what Dante did to him. Not when it boiled down to ‘hit hard and fast with all that you can’ and not much more. All that could do- all that will do, has done, however you’d want to phrase it when the deed’s been done but the effect’s still going- is delay him for a while. Force him to take a nice long nap while he gathers back his power. A reprieve for Dante but not a panacea for the world in general.

Sure, Dante packs a punch, especially when down in the demon world and fueled by the sword bearing his father’s name and legacy, itself fueled by the sword and amulet that for two thousand years sealed and separated two once-joined worlds, but in the end he was just brute forcing it, and that wouldn’t cut it when it came to something as strong and storied as Mundus. That’d be too easy.

To truly kill Mundus, he’d need something a lot more complex. Elaborate. Drowning in preparation and ritual and kind of magic that could seal Mundus to the point of erasure. And though Dante knows a handful of helpful spells and has made up a few wards here and there, he’s far from an expert on the stuff; more a dabbler than a practitioner, if he had to put a name to it. So if he really wants to blast Mundus from this plane of existence, he’ll either need to come back in a few years once he’s learned some new tricks, or convince someone who already knows them to take a dive into the other side for a quick kingkilling trip. That or send his more-magically inclined son to clean up his messes once he’s ready, if said son ever ends up existing. Who’s to say? That’ll all depend on whether Dante ever manages to escape his current predicament.

That predicament being the fact that he’s very much stuck in Hell with no way home. ‘Least, not as far as he can tell. That’s why goal number one right now is to find some portal that’ll pop him back where he needs to be before he loses it.

Which is. Well. Something! Dante’s trying to be an optimist about it right now but he’s not going to lie and say he’s very happy about it. Interesting as Hell can be, he chose the human world for a reason. Hell- the Underworld, the Demon World, whatever you want to call it- it just doesn’t have the same appeal.

It’s Mundus’ fault anyway. Maybe if Dante had killed him it would’ve reversed whatever spell Mundus had used to drag him here and sent him right home, but he didn’t and now Mundus is gone so he’s going to have to figure this out all on his own unless Mundus comes back with a quirky ‘surprise! And goodbye!’ real soon, which, given Dante did beat him about three inches from oblivion, is very much not going to happen.

Back to Mundus and his semi-unkillability, the reason why killing Mundus is such a tricky endeavor is that he’s more than just your average demon. He’s King of the Fire Hell, for one. Important guy right off the bat. Strong. Impressive. Titled and storied, ranked and elevated, high brow and high class and all that jazz. He’s also Demon Emperor to top it off, whatever that means, which makes him the highest ranked demon Dante’s ever heard of, not to mention faced, and that comes with its own perks of bonus survival.

(It should perhaps be noted that that does, technically, leave room for higher high ranked and higher strength demons Dante hasn’t heard of to exist, by virtue of them either not attacking the human world in recent times and thus staying out of his path, or by them being a whole lot more subtle than the guy who burned down his house, murdered his mother, kidnapped slash brainwashed his brother, and sent a demonic clone of his mom to lure him in after years of sending his lackeys to ruin his life before that, but that’s a different topic for another time. If Dante has to deal with anyone else like that before he’s able to get home, sit down, maybe cry a bit, and take a nap, he thinks he might spontaneously explode).

Mundus is a capital-E Entity, a legacy, not exactly cosmic but definitely beyond the rest of the rabble Dante’s faced over the years, and even though he knows Mundus could still be beaten into hibernation by someone without all the fancy know-how to permanently off him- Dante just did it, after all- it wouldn’t and didn’t really kill him. Not in a way that would stick. Not in the way that would truly, fully, permanently eliminate him from existence.

See, if demons are the Underworld’s equivalent of men, then Mundus is the equivalent of a god, and gods don’t simply dissipate when there are still hordes of believers left to will them back into existence with their body (and souls) as fuel. So the texts Dante’s found say. Or so he’s translated them. Linguistics isn’t his strong suit.

(That had always been-)

But if any two demons were to be considered gods of the true sort, those two would be Mundus and Sparda, and Sparda is gone, gone, lost to the winds, deader than dead, never to return- at least as far as Dante can tell given the guy disappeared and never came back with milk or cigarettes or ancient artifacts or even his just his body and soul, and Mundus seemed to think so too, because he kept gloating about that during their fight and the various demons Dante has met over the years never stopped yapping about how the traitor which spawned him had died and left behind a disappointment in his place- so if Sparda can die, Mundus can probably die too.

Dante just doesn’t know how to cause that.

Yet.

Maybe one day he’ll unravel the mystery behind all that and use his newfound knowledge to stick it to the bastard who came into his life swinging and lit the candles on a birthday cake that would consume the rest of his life in its flames. Maybe he’ll lay out all the pieces that make up god-killing for dummies and have a little scene when he realizes it’s way more complicated than anything’s he’s done and requires a way larger skillset than he has at his disposal, meaning it’ll probably be beyond him no matter how hard he tries to prepare. Maybe he’ll discover the secret to killing a demon-god is actually stupidly easy- if obscure- and just stand there dumbfounded by the fact that his father apparently died from something so basic after two thousand years of romping around a world that he’d split himself. Maybe he’ll discover it was some sort of freak occurrence that had never happened before and would never happen again- unless either Dante got insanely lucky or Mundus got insanely unlucky, which knowing Dante’s luck will never, ever happen- and decide to go back to cleaning up his father’s messes in other ways because there’s nothing he can do about it and that’s what he’s been doing for the past ten plus years depending on how you look at it, so why not? Revenge done, Mundus (not) killed, it’s time for cleanup duty and to carry a cross he never asked to bear but has never been able to bring himself to set down. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Being miserable does not count as being broken. It’s just unfortunate.

Basically when it comes to taking what happened to Sparda and applying that to Mundus, Dante has absolutely no idea where to begin. To do that he’d need to know at least something, and the closest he’d ever gotten to unraveling the mysteries of his father’s death and Mundus’ slaughter had been a day or so before when a scantily-clad version of his mom showed up on his now in-pieces doorstep spilling out the sob story that was his past and inviting him to the place where she said he could explore it and earn his revenge.

Getting revenge? Sort of happened. He fought Mundus, even if he didn't exactly kill him, and that’s way more than Dante’s managed to do in the past twenty years. And he certainly did do the whole exploring thing. A lot. Probably more than he had in nine years.

(Since the-)

Mallet Island had been a hassle at the best of times and a maze at the worst. Had Mundus been the one to plan out all those keys and thingamabobs needed to open up all those doors? Or had he found a random castle with a conveniently obtuse set of navigational tools and thought ‘Ah, yes, this is the perfect place to torment the son of my greatest enemy by making him not only fight his way through my army but exhaust himself trying to figure out how in the world he’s supposed to get through the lion door in the courtyard that speaks in tongues from a statue beneath alongside the other fifteen weird entry things this castle for some reason has’? If this were any other situation, Dante might’ve had a good time going through those puzzles. They were clever. Dante’ll admit that much. But when you’re trying to fight and kill the guy who ruined your life? Clever puzzles just turn into annoying obstacles, if he’s putting it nicely.

What was the point of all that anyway? Did Mundus think it would be funny to watch Dante struggle? Did he want some entertainment before the actual show? Some fun advertisements to tide him over before the movie began? Or was there some sort of judgment or valuation thing going on? Did he decide Dante needed to go through a special trial before he was worthy of bowing before him? Was Dante’s ability to put a trident in a stone and a sword in a statue some sort of measure of his worth?

Maybe if Mundus wakes back up in Dante’s lifetime he can get the answer to some of these questions. Maybe he should’ve just asked Trish during one of the handful of times they saw each other between their arrival and her- betrayal.

(Death. Sacrifice. Why do the women who wear his mother’s face seem to think he wants them to die for his sake-)

But he didn’t. He’d just gawked and marched on.

Now Mundus is as good as dead, Trish is dead and on another plane, and Dante’s alone with no one to ask anything of. So there’s not much he can do besides wander.

That all wraps back around to his current predicament. The whole “stuck in Hell with no way home” thing.

See, right now he’s cruising through the Demon World mowing down any and all demons that are so unfortunate as to cross his path, because whatever fancy magic Mundus had used to send them to Hell apparently didn’t have an automatic reverse button, so with Mundus down Dante’d lost his world-crossing express ticket, and now he’s stuck in the world he doesn’t want to stay in with no idea how to make it back.

It’s not all bad. Flying’s pretty nice. Fighting too. It’s been ages since he last has so many good fights in a row.

Fighting and flying also feel like his only options at the moment, which does definitely put a damper on how good they sort of are since it’s that or leaning back on his well-practiced habit of sitting in misery, but he’ll just say he’s having a (not) good time to give himself a moment of reprieve in this otherwise crummy situation.

The high of killing Mundus had clearly done something to his brain and body that put them on full go-mode, because right now he just knows that if he doesn’t blow through as much energy as he possibly can in the next however-long period of time it takes to blow through it, he will either Actually Explode or go full on Demon-Mode in a way he’s terrified he won’t be able to come back from. So fly and blast away it is. At least until the feeling dies down and he’s certain taking a break will not lead to the Death of Dante in the most pathetic way possible besides just lying down to starve or something equally unpleasant and unepic.

Man. Could the scenery at least change? Dante’s been zooming through Hell for what’s gotta be at least five hours at this point and for all he knows he’s been going in circles because everything still looks indistinguishable from the place he started out, all lava plumes and giant rocks and the occasional craggy pit. It would be nice to know he’s at least going somewhere, even if he doesn’t come across a portal right away. At least that way he’d be able to say he was theoretically making progress.

If he had to describe how he’s doing, Dante would say he’s having both a wonderful and terrible time. He feels better than he’s ever felt. He feels…not the worst he’s ever felt, because nothing compares to the fire or the Temen-ni-gru, and the whole Mallet thing hasn’t hit him fully yet because he shoved everything that happened during this big yet-to-end trip to the back of his mind to keep from having some sort of mental breakdown that would be really inconvenient for his get-home-plan, but he feels awful too and it’s just too much to process so he’s just going to say he feels A Lot.

In the Underworld, Dante feels stronger than he ever has despite the exhaustion that by all rights should be forcing its claws into him, sliding in under his skin and pulsing its grip to either tear him limb from limb or at least gore him a bit as it drags him down and pushes him under the lovely pinkish water of Hell and gift him with the lovely burning sensation that comes with taking a dip. He’s never maintained his Devil Trigger this long, never pushed himself this hard this long, never kept fighting and flying- and it’s the flying thing that’s the most out of place, probably, because yeah he’s fought for really long times before even if not while expending so much energy and putting as much effort in as he is now, but when it comes to flying he usually prefers to stick to the ground or maybe glide for a few minutes but not stretches that are probably in the hours- this long. This kind of effort and expenditure should come with the sort of exhaustion that would have him collapsing onto the couch instead of walking the few extra steps to his desk and the comfy chair there. If he was on a normal mission, it’d be the sort of thing that would have long since sent him stumbling for the nearest Divinity Statue desperate for a Vital Star of whatever size he could get his hands on.

But it hasn’t. Dante’s still got a star in his pocket, untouched and undesired, and he feels like he’s on top of the world. Exhilarated. Delirious. All-powerful. High.

Was it killing Mundus that did this to him? Did Dante absorb some sort of special demon energy from him when the Demon Emperor not-died? It’s been ages since the last time he’d done something like that- not since the Geryon and his evil clone back in the Temen-ni-gru whose powers he hasn’t used in an age because they don’t really make battles any more fun- and he can’t remember exactly how that felt or if that feeling was the same as the feeling he’s feeling now. He doesn’t think it was. What he’s feeling now is unique.

(What he’s feeling now is like the battle high he’d felt the last time he was in Hell turned up to ten, back when he’d fought-)

It could also just be because he’s in Hell. Maybe Dante’s demon side is latching onto whatever sort of ambient energy exists in the Demon World and is having a field day with it while the human side of his brain just doesn’t know how to process it all. One side high, one side confused. Dante the single man left with mind a whirl.

It reminds him of when he’s stocked to nearly bursting with red orbs, having killed so many demons in so short a time that it feels like his body’s filled to the brim with so much energy that if he doesn’t either slow down for a bit or get to a Divinity Statue to spend them, he’ll have to Trigger and toss some fancy moves around just to burn through enough to gather all the rest. That’s the sort of feeling that will send him rushing down passageways high and careless, ready for slaughter and bouncing off the walls to look as cool as possible while doing it.

If by some chance any of that sounds somehow pleasant, it’s really not.

Not emotionally. Not before he’s started or after he’s done. It’s that sort of indulgence that feels so good in the moment but so bad at every point when you’re not experiencing it, and one that Dante both longs for and loathes.

It’s the longing that makes his distaste cross to disdain. Annoyance to hatred.

(Though not enough to keep him from ever shooting for it when he realizes just how close he is. For as much as he likes to say he hates the high in the before and after, he loves it in the during, is addicted to the feeling in a way where the temptation’s easy to ignore until the bottle’s right in front of you and there’s no one to yell at you to put it down, and the hatred that follows is a more a mix of disgust at his indulgence and inhumanity and a longing for the feeling of power and fulfillment and rightness to flow through him once more).

When Dante loses himself like that, when the high of battle crosses over him and the flair he puts into every fight he’s ever in goes from something meant to make a battle as fun as possible while he’s stuck putting something down to something where he’s toying with enemies who would probably be begging for mercy were they intelligent enough to ask for it- and with some of the big ones, sometimes they do beg for mercy, promising to stop attacking or to leave him alone forever or even to bow down in subservience if he’ll only let them live and not either smite them on the spot or entrap them in weapons he’ll sell the next time he runs out of cash- in those moment, or after those moments are over, Dante’s left feeling inhuman. Like his demon side has won. Like the side of himself he wishes didn’t exist had taken over without his permission and caused him to do things that don’t actually sicken him nearly as much as he feels they should.

That’s a problem he faces a lot more than he’d like to admit.

Feeling like he should feel one way or another, but not actually feeling that way or the other. Moments where he arrives at a mission to find the contorted remains of the five hunters who failed before him and thinks ‘huh, I should probably be horrified right now’ but only feels mildly disgusted by the sight and smell. Moments where he hears a demon’s nest has been cleared out before he can get to it and thinks ‘aw, but I wanted to be the one to do it’ instead of being happy that said nest was destroyed before any more people could be hurt. Moments where he realizes he should feel bad, and does feel bad, but only because he’s feeling bad about not feeling bad, in a twisted sense of the word.

Basically, Dante is a very messed up person trying his best to be human but occasionally failing terribly and that realization does not make him a happy man.

He doesn’t want to be a demon. As fun as it can be when he indulges, he spends way, way more of his time not wanting those things and not being happy about that kind of stuff, and the joy of indulging does not outweigh his disgust at that joy. When Dante chose the human world, that was not a temporary choice. He didn’t do it just to sound good. It’s a promise he made and one he plans to uphold until the day he dies. It’s the person he wants to be. It’s the feelings he wants to have.

It’s just a matter of how much choice he really has in the end when those demon instincts sometimes have such a more powerful hold than the human ones.

(Supposedly, he’s fifty-fifty. Logically, each side should have equal claim over him.

But based on the beings he’s encountered, demon instincts run a lot stronger than human ones, and sometimes he feels like even with the fifty fifty split it’s more a seventy thirty or eighty twenty when it comes to urges that the demon side of him loves and the human side stares at in horror.)

Back in the present and his merry jaunt through Hell, he finally gets a change in pace when a pack of Blade descends upon him and gives him a chance to burn through at least a little bit of his battle high.

It’s not that much of a battle. For all they’ve given him trouble in the past, he rips them to shreds before they can lay a finger on him.

His claws dig into the tail of the first to reach him as he snatches it out of the air, launching the beast at its brethren with enough force to both tear its spine from its body and fling said body not just into but through the Blades trying to get the jump on him from the side. The move practically douses him in various liquids that Dante does not want to think about; blood is blood and if he had any sort of significant (well, actually, he does have a pretty significant reaction to it, but it’s one that’s good-bad and one he can tamp down because he doesn’t want to be that person) slash visceral reaction to that he wouldn’t have survived a day in his current profession, but he thinks there might be spinal fluid too and for some reason the prospect of getting that in his mouth is absolutely disgusting, so he scrunches up his face as he tricks away. Not that that gives him a reprieve. A lot of demons don’t have particularly strong self-preservation instincts, so what Blades remain launch themselves past the bloody remains of their fellows to get an attack in on the thing that decimated their brethren and Dante deals with them much as he had the first. One by one, or sometimes in twos or threes when they’re feeling annoying, the pack descends. And one by one, or sometimes in twos or threes if Dante aims just right, the Blades fall and die.

Something about Hell makes their energy disperse in an odd way. It’s like an express delivery right to Dante’s heart, a rush of power bursting forth as their corpses burst into a million tiny specks that fade into the non-existent wind an hour or minute later. Really the stagnancy of the air is one of the things about Hell that puts Dante most on edge. It’s unnatural. Unreal. Dead.

(There’s a part of him that urges him to shove his own power into the corpses long enough to keep them solid; to break apart their ribs instead of just their spines, shoving Ifrit-clad fingers into their chests to part the bone and expose entrails rich in whatever it is demons feed on down here, before popping them out with a little fiery flare like they’re nice breakfast sausages ripe for the taking.

Dante not-so-politely yells at that part of himself to shut up.

He’s half-demon, but he’s not a monster. He’s not a cannibal.

Because while he’s half-human and it’s the human side he wants to indulge, he’s still half-demon, so eating a demon would basically be cannibalism and that’s a line he has no interest in crossing.

Not yet at least.

Hopefully not ever.)

The high lasts through the Blades, as it’s lasted through each and every fight Dante's thrown himself into since Mundus had gone down and Dante had been left wanting. Again, he wonders whether this is from Mundus or just Hell itself, and if it is from Mundus, if there’s an actual physical component or gain he got from the killing or if it’s all just in his head. Killing- felling, defeating, whatever-the-hell it was, Dante was just gonna say killing from now on because he liked simple things- the guy who killed your mother, almost killed your brother, then tortured your brother, and brainwashed your brother, and enslaved your brother- (but not killed! Because no, twisted wretched bastard as he was, Mundus hadn’t been the monster who had killed Vergil. That had been Dante. His own damn twin-)

Well whatever it was that he’d done to Mundus, Dante feels half like he’s on top of the world and half like he’s going to burst into a million tiny pieces if he doesn’t rip everything in sight into a million tiny pieces first, and he wonders if maybe it is all just from satisfaction at achieving at least some degree of revenge. If that’s the case, he’s in for one hell of a crash when the mental high finally wears off and Dante’s subjected to whatever kind of terrible backlash-exhaustion he’ll face once his body finally finishes processing all he’s forced it through and lets him know just how badly he’d overextended himself.

Dante continues forward. He doesn’t really know where he’s going. Just forward. Maybe if he goes far enough he’ll run into a portal and make his way home. Maybe he won’t and he’ll be stuck in Hell forever.

The latest in the series of bottomless, fiery canyons Dante’s passed eventually gives way to a fiercely boiling lava lake- or some sort of large body of not-water, Dante can’t see the end so maybe it’s an ocean, he doesn’t know, doesn’t think he can figure it out with the way his brain is still buzzing and body is still humming with an excess of power he can’t figure out what to do with- and in the center of the lake is something that throw Dante off nearly enough to make him nose dive because oh. Oh boy. Finally, finally there’s something that’s not only different, but looks promising.

For in the middle of the lava lake stands a castle.

A grey-stone, big towers, fancy crenellation, a few bretèches, honest-to-the-potentially-nonexistent-god castle.

It’s the first sign of civilization he’s seen since he landed in Hell. The first one recognizable to his human-raised brain, at any rate. It’s reminiscent of the one on Mallet Island.

(Does this mean Mundus did have his people built Mallet? That this was a long con? Or did he instead choose it because it reminded him of the architecture back home?)

The castle reeks of Mundus, even from miles away, and Dante’s certain it’s a prominent part of Mundus’ domain. Maybe even a summer home or something. He’s not there right now- again, Dante can just tell, his demonic senses are even stronger down in Hell to no one’s surprise- but it’s chock full of demons and Dante’s going to hope that means there’s something worth protecting inside.

There are a few enticing things about the castle, which run through his mind as he speeds through the skies:

First, that maybe a place as human-looking as a castle might have something as human-adjacent as real food.

The hunger he’s facing right now isn’t that bad yet, but the ‘yet’ is carrying a lot of weight, and he doesn’t want to get to a point where he ends up doing something he’ll regret. Even demons need to eat, and Dante’s seen enough invasions that involved a kitchen raid to know they don’t only subsist on the flesh of their brethren. Hopefully Mundus and co. have tastebuds Dante can appreciate and the guards haven’t cleaned out the pantry in their master’s absence.

Second, that castles usually have bedrooms, and if there’s a bedroom, there will probably be a bed, and maybe being in a bed in a real room will allow Dante to relax enough to get some sleep.

Sleep would be more than welcome. He’s not about to drop or anything. He could keep going for days, maybe even weeks if he conserved his energy. Hell’s powering him in a way the ambient Human World never has. But despite having been born a half-breed, the two halves that make up Dante’s whole haven’t always worked very well with each other, and right now Dante’s human side feels like it’s seriously lagging despite the overwhelming energy keeping his demon half raring to go. And again, his human side is his favorite, so it’s the side he wants to pamper, and also the side he does not want to lose if it comes down to it. Who knows what might happen if the human side of his brain undergoes the whole saying about how if you don’t choose a time for your body to rest, it’ll choose a time for you? What will his demon side do? Will it still feel like Dante doing it? Will he do a bunch of terrible stuff while thinking he’s being perfectly reasonable, until the human side of him wakes up and he gets slammed by guilt and horror once it processes everything he’s done? Will he black out entirely while doing whatever demon stuff his demon side wants to do, like it’s an actual split personality instead of just a voice that he thinks is probably slightly more vocal than most people’s impulsive thoughts but has never really considered a separate consciousness (since he’s never given it an opportunity to prove it’s nothing more)? Will he flip some sort of switch so Demon Dante is the Dominant Dante and will remain that way until he encounters some sort of soul-sucking orb or annoying demon-sealing sigil again that quiets it down enough to let Human Dante rise back up and go ‘What have I done?’

After that train of thought derailed off a cliff and took all of its passengers with it Dante’s not really sure what his original third thought was, but the quick replacement is that maybe the castle will be occupied by demons that will put up enough of a fight to sate his own demon side, burn off some of the energy that has left Dante feeling like he’s stuck in someone else’s skin, and let him calm down enough to come up with a better plan for escaping Hell. He’s tired of the Wrongness in the air and what it does to him.

(He’s scared by how the Wrongness feels Right.)

The castle is guarded by some sort of giant serpent that Dante can’t help but compare to Cerberus despite the utter lack of visual similarities. The thing doesn’t even use ice. Or speak. Really it’s only similar in that it’s a guard and that it seems to be sneering at him when he tries to rile it up. The fire it uses is the opposite of the old pup. It’s a lot more level headed too.

(Really he’s only making the comparison because he’s spent the last several hours trying so hard not to think about something that that something is trying to worm itself into every other thing he does spend more than five seconds considering.)

The serpent rears its head at Dante’s approach, launching itself from the point where the castle’s bridge would be were it to have been lowered. As it is the castle is sealed tight, so the bridge and the serpent are Dante’s best bet of getting into it and he isn’t going to pass up the grace of convenience. Its tail makes some good swings for him, and the fire breath does make Dante all toasty warm, but the thing never does manage to squeeze him tight enough to make him pop, and though the acid-like venom that shoots out from its mouth when it dives for him with teeth bared and mouth letting out an earsplitting screech does manage to sear an unfortunate hole into his coat, it ultimately misses skin. He’s had more than enough practice dodging projectiles to keep out of the thing’s way. So many flying scythes. So many globs of bug juice. Acid spit’s just another thing to add to the list.

The fight gets his heart rate up even if it doesn’t draw any blood, and Dante would say it was a nice little reprieve from the monotony of his latest jaunt. When the thing dies from one last shot to the head Dante thanks it for the entertainment. He feels a little less jumpy now that he’s gotten a more significant chunk of his energy out. Wonderful. He’s finally making progress. Points to the castle even if its only redeeming quality is the gate guard and the inside’s a complete bust.

The bridge falls open once the serpent is dead. Convenient. The dirt it sends into Dante’s eyes is annoying, but it’s worth not having to circle the castle for ages looking for a suitable entrance so in he goes.

Unsurprisingly, Dante’s jumped about five steps into the castle walls. Though the minions prowling the halls are child’s play in comparison to the serpent guardian, what they lack in strength they make up for in numbers, and while it’s not too bad when Dante’s in a large room, the wealth of corridors make things a little more tricky which is in this case more an annoyance than a pleasant source of entertainment.

It reminds him of Mallet, just without the puzzles. Thank god for that. He doesn’t have the brainpower for puzzles right now. If he has to face one he thinks he’ll just turn around and walk the other way.

Violence though? Violence is laced through his blood, entwined with his essence in a way it can never be torn from. Just because people like to say that violence is the thing of beasts, that doesn’t mean humans can’t be violent and can’t enjoy it too; the word depravity wouldn’t exist if humans weren’t around to do deprave things, violence and maiming and killing and tearing among those things which are frowned upon yet still extant and unfortunately common, so that’s a part of him that has support from both sides and clings to him like sap to a tree.

He blasts through hall after hall, the static flowing through him letting him know that he won’t be able to rest until each and every potentially-interesting but highly-doubtfully-challenging demon still alive in the castle is dead and gone. It’s died down somewhat in his most recent bout of pistol fire and evisceration-by-sword, the multitude of red orbs that do neat little dances to hop toward him whether he goes for them or not actually seeming to quiet the burning need in him for once rather than just charging him even further. He’s not sure of the mechanics of that. Maybe it’s some sort of overflow situation; once you get so high, you go back to zero. He’d be cool with that if it means he can rest. And hey, Mallet had some annoying orb doors that could only be broken if you had the cash, so maybe his new stockpile of orb-energy will prove useful making progress in the castle if he’s barred by a glowing door with a phantom hand that demands payment for progression. Maybe that’s what’ll get him back home.

He continues onwards.

And onward.

Hot damn this castle is huge.

He goes through the castle level by level, clearing out the entire ground floor before ascending to the next, then the next, then any towers or protrusions as he encounters them, et cetera. His exploration hasn’t revealed an end to the flow of lesser demons committing suicide-by-Dante, but it has revealed a few somewhat useful looking bedrooms, so he files those away in the back of his mind to use later. The beds look cozy enough to stay in if his searching doesn’t reveal any magic portals.

Other fun rooms include a giant hall for dining with a gargantuan throne at its head, an armory, a completely foodless kitchen (boo), a room full of enchanted chests and barriers that he leaves be after they don’t shatter with a few hits from Rebellion- and oh, he has Rebellion, when did that happen? Did it sense he needed it after gifting the Sparda and thus Force Edge to Trish and somehow make its way back to its wielder? He has no idea when he swapped to it from Alastor, just that it’s in his hands- and a trophy room full of things Dante doesn’t want to think about.

From the looks of things, he’d say this castle was very recently in use. The demons populating it seem more like guards than fellow looters, though Dante can’t help but feel like they’re missing a few big guys who’d be better at beating back actually competent intruders.

He’s not sure whether he’s happy or disappointed about that.

Still he moves forward, ascending and clearing room after room until he finds himself doing a little loop up the staircase of the last tower left to check, muttering under his breath about how there better be something actually useful in the room because while a bed would be nice the castle has been an overall disappointment and he really, really would like to get home.

The tower is immediately unsettling. It doesn’t look notably different from any of the others, but it instead feels completely and utterly muffled. As in, from the outside, Dante hadn’t felt anything from it at all. No guards. No inhabitants. Nothing. And going up the tower, Dante can hardly feel his own power either. It’s like the whole tower has been enchanted to suppress whatever’s stored within it. It doesn’t siphon his energy, but it feels like it might be setting him up for that to be done by another power. Dante doesn’t like it one bit.

If you’d mentioned the suppression concept to Dante ten minutes ago- or ten hours ago, probably, he’s not sure how long he’s been in Hell because whatever sort of weird day and night cycle that may exist here doesn’t align with the human world’s and his internal clock has fallen off the wall- he’d have said he was all for it. He’s so over the buzzing. Going into some sort of sensory deprivation chamber sounds nice after dealing with however long it’s been of feeling as he felt.

But while actually ascending the tower? It makes him feel nauseous. Rather than tamping down on his power, the tower does something to make him feel almost separate from it. Like it’s forced his demonic energy into a box too small for it, locked it away, and then kicked him and the box so they went tumbling down the hill in a way that couldn’t help but leave you slightly motion sick.

Whatever the tower is for isn’t a good thing. More than anything else in the creepy castle, it feels like a prison. That includes the bloodstained cells he’d seen in one of the other towers. It’s just Wrong.

As he finally reaches the door at the top of the staircase, Dante resolves to just peek in, do a quick check to see if anything jumps out at him, and then turn around to make a break for one of the bedrooms so he can sleep all of this unpleasantness away.

He kicks open the door, unlocked and unsealed, and doesn’t even bother taking a step into the room as his eyes quickly run over the contents and he preps to leave.

But he doesn’t.

Because as his eyes run over the room they land on something he could never mistake for something else- never again- and the world falls out from under him.

Because there, still, limp, and lying in a heap on the ground, is-

“Vergil?”

#erurandomness #erubabbles #eruwrites #my document is currently 87k words long. i have one chapter left to write and 7 chapters to revise #ahhhhh. i really hope i can get over myself to post on ao3 bc i've spent 6 months on this and would like to share but #i've tried posting it here before and got nervous and deleted so who knows how it'll turn out

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