#i am older i am bitter and so the world is all the more sour

[timelorddarthswagger]

These bad book adaptations have thrown me so far of my center. Uprooting the rage in me has been a year long process. I need to get back to reading. Far too long have feared a new foray into the literary world. I made small offering by way of new editions into ongoing series.

But even that was a preventative measure to avoid spoilers. The fear of reading something new. Immersing my self in that world as a form of detaching from reality to soothe my mind. Only to be thrust back into the chaos of a bad adaptation is crushing. I'd rather not read a book at all then to be disappointed with an inevitable adaptation. I'll avoid both. And we'll each be poorer for it.

One bad egg doesn't ruin it for the whole class. This is a mold that sits among the strawberries. I know how quickly it spreads.

[coolnonsenseworld]

This is kind of an answer to this ask

I think fiction is here to make us emotional and dramatic. But also, to be honest, I am a very bitter person and feel sour about VLD too. But in my experience - not the show disappointed me but the fandom.

Though, I think I simply didn't have expectations for the show to be honest, maybe because I was older watching it? I saw it as a story made up by a group of adults, it's not a divine scripture, my thoughts on it were separate from the story evolving, and when I am re-watching it now I'm having sometimes even more fun, re-learning details and setting them apart. So I can't compare myself to this experience.

My grandmother has a massive collection of books. I asked her once "Have you read all of them?" Mostly, she answered. "Are they all good?" And she sighed, took a pause and told me "All books are good, because even the disappointing ones teach you what you don't like."

As a youngster, she also took a bus to a paper, because she wanted to look a man who wrote an article about how amazing Pan Tadeusz is in the eye, but you know. She read Pad Tadeusz and had to decide what she thinks about it and was willing to have a conversation.

That conversation about it, the fandom, for me, was disappointing and I am happy I met a lot of friends I could talk with in private, and had my own resolutions about it, and despite feeling like some fandoms are not for me - characters I love always will be. Always will receive care from me, I will always draw them compassionate and hugging and laughing together.

It might sound arrogant, but I divide canon from fanon - these characters can have as many lives as you will write them. Even the original autor always shuffles through a few options, backtracks, revives their sherlock, you know. Writers will make decisions that won't make readers happy. I am personally against forcing a change in canon if I am not asked about the opinion. They wrote their perspective, they wrote what they saw in the world. It's a statement like any other, not an attack on my narrative.

This show had a lot of amazing people working on it - talented artists behind it - stunning backgrounds, creative mecha, captivating animation, epic fights, giving us sooooo many fun moments and emotions. It brought forward ridiculous amounts of fans who loved these characters, took what's best in them. Losing respect to all of it, because I didn't like the ending seems counter-productive.

So yes - being kind to a fictional character will be for me like being kind to yourself. I don't care who else wrote them and how, as long as I make them happy in my hands.

In fact, a closing thought - I don't think I would be drawing as much Klance if they were canon. I think their conflict makes me even more invested trying to figure out how to make them fit together, trying to figure out what comfort I saw in them.

I can't grieve klance, when their safety remains in my hands.

[wooobuddyletsgetnasty]

daemon targaryen x lifelong friend! reader

no one told me to shut up so i am blaming this on you all.

⚠️: canon-divergence, reader is a childhood friend of the prince, reader is considered high-class but no detail as to which house they belong to, hints to reader’s mother being absent/deceased, canon typical treatment of women (fem! presenting reader), mentions of unwanted marriage (reader is going to get out of it, no matter the cost), talks of virginity, mentions of explicit sexual contact (some of this takes place in a brothel but probs not what you think), sexual tension, kissing, dry humping, mutual pining, daemon is a warning by himself, reader is a menace and determined not to be wed to anyone that isn’t the rogue prince and uhhhh i think that’s it.

it is times like these, times when you bite your tongue and smile prettily like your mother taught you to, times when you swallow back what you truly wish to say, that make you miss being a child.

you miss running through the gardens, playing with the horses, sneaking away from your father— you miss the warped sense of freedom that childhood had brought.

‘but you are a woman now, you are no longer a child’, a voice echos in your mind, more like a memory than anything, ‘and women do what they must for their families.’

you feel nothing but bitter when you smile at the Lord your father is planning to wed you to, nothing but bitterness and despair.

your father had thought that one day, the prince you grew up with, the Rogue Prince himself, would ask for your hand. secretly, you had hoped that he would as well— but he had not.

with age, you had become wiser and it was when you were on the cusp of your womanhood that you realized he would never ask for you.

the Rogue Prince would never ask for you, even though you had wished for it— dreamed of it.

it felt like your world would come crashing apart when your father had given up the idea of wedding you off to the prince and started searching for other men to take your hand.

your father had said you were only growing older and with that, your time unwed was shorter with each passing moon.

————

out of all of them, all of your suitors, you despised this one the most.

the Lord whose name is a loss to you— an older one who had lost his second lady wife nigh four moon cycles ago; the one that knows nothing of you, of what you like, of what you wish for the future.

all he knows is you are young, untouched and malleable— he knows he can bend you under his hands and shape you into a perfect lady wife, one in his image.

your father favors him, thinks that he will be more than able to provide for you.

but this man, he is wretched when he leans down, yellowed teeth burning a hole in your memory, rank breath making you swallow a gag, “you are not a real woman just yet, but i will make you one.”

you feel sick, like when your prince had insisted that you could eat one more slice of sweet bread when you were children.

you remember looking up at him, like you always had, a boy who was only a few summers your senior but had enough of a hold on you that you believed every little thing that spilt from his lips.

he had said that you could stomach it so you had swallowed down the last piece, despite the churn of your stomach.

he was wrong, and you had retched up that piece of sweet bread on his shoes almost immediately afterwards.

that is how you feel in the presence of this man, sickly— your stomach souring more with each passing moment.

hot bile rises in your chest— all you can imagine is shackles, heavy and painful.

you will not be the wife of a man who is only after you for your virtue.

————

“i will not wed him.”

your voice is quiet, quieter than you would wish for it to be.

your father halts on the steps of your home, shoulders squaring in a way you know means he will not listen to your worries, “you will do as i say, daughter.”

your voice comes louder this time, more courageous than you truly feel, “i will not be wed to a man like that, a man who is only interested in what is under my skirts, Lord Father.”

your father turns on the steps, a look in his eye you have not seen before, “enough,” with the tone of his voice, all you hear is the lock of your shackles clicking in place, “you will wed who i say.”

his voice is definite and that feeling of despair comes rushing back.

your heart pounds loudly in your ears, and even if you wish to object further— you do not.

you swallow the words of protest down, and rush to your chambers.

later, after the moon has just barely peaked in the sky, that despair— that very hopelessness morphs itself into something else.

this new feeling is white-hot and fucking suffocating, thrumming through your veins until you are sure you will implode.

you have no sadness, no acceptance for your future with that old pig.

all you have left is your anger and it feels biblical.

you devise a plan, one that is irrational and childish— but you do not care. you grab your cloak, fastening it tightly to your shoulders before pulling your hood up.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you toe closer to your window, nodding in content. you look unrecognizable enough with the hood shadowing your face.

you steady yourself, swinging your lower half out the window, preparing to climb down and make a break for it, while you still have your nerve.

————

sneaking away from your home is no small challenge, but somehow, you still manage to get away unscathed.

it takes little time for you to find yourself in front of a man of the City Watch, and you pull your hood tighter to mask your features, “where is your leader?”

the way his face pulls tells you all you need to know, but you push forward, asking again for confirmation, “the prince, Ser?”

he answers slowly, like he is unsure he should give the information out to you, but he relents, “the brothel.”

not long later, you weave your way through the streets of the King’s Landing, determined to stay out of trouble, stay out of the push of the people moving along. you manage to avoid any danger quite well, in fact, you find that you move fairly quickly when you are motivated by nothing but pure spite.

it does not take long for you to find the brothel. you gaze at the doors, and for a very brief moment, hesitation heavies your feet.

you should not be here, you know that well.

your eyes linger on a couple seated by the door, their hands groping blindly at the fronts of each other, their clothing in utter disarray. it is a lewd show, and you find yourself more unsure of your plan than ever.

however, you bring yourself to swallow your nerves, hands stopping their fiddling with a stray edge on your cloak. the sooner you go in, the sooner you come out.

you steel yourself, you will not leave here with your virtue in tact.

the people outside do not prepare you for what it will be like inside. outside, there were few— inside, there are many.

it is nothing but bare bodies, writhing against each other in the throes of passion. all you can hear are the sounds tearing from their lips, ones that seem more animal like with each passing moment.

you feel diseased, tainted with each step forward.

you shoulder your way through the crowd, dodging the wandering hands trying to grab places they should not be. you ignore the looks of beckoning from strangers that grip at your skirts in an attempt to see what you are hiding under them. you keep your head down in an attempt to seem unwelcoming to any advances, trying to make quick work of finding what you came for.

by mistake, you make eye contact with a man as he laps at the confection of one of the common whores, and you fight off the urge to hastily run away from this place.

you are growing impossibly more uncomfortable with each passing second, but the feeling of imaginary shackles tightening around your ankles spurs you onward.

finding the Rogue Prince might be a more difficult feat than you originally thought.

————

time is lost to you and with that, also is the way you entered. you cannot recall how much time you have spent wandering when you finally catch a glimpse of the telling white of his hair. you make your way to the room you saw him being led to, shoulders lifting in an attempt to keep your identity concealed.

the room is secluded in nature, but not hidden enough for you to not see him over the crowd before the door closes.

and when you peer inside, hesitant in your movements, he is surrounded— three women flanking his sides on the bed, one mouthing at his throat, the other two grabbing blindly at the front of his trousers, too caught up in each other’s mouths to really pay attention to where their hands are.

they are nothing but a blur of bodies, writhing together in a way that makes you wince.

you feel foolish for coming, your hand tugging nervously at the fabric of your cloak again— but you decide you will not turn back now.

you let go of your hold on the cloth, press the door open farther, and step into the candlelight.

the creak of the door does not pull them away from each other, and you feel irritation suffocating in your chest.

you clear your throat in an attempt to draw their attention, it echos off the stone walls, louder than you expect— but it does exactly what you want.

the woman closest to the door, the lone one, turns to look at you, eyes every bit sultry and proud to have a prince in her grasp, “ah.. looks like we have brought an audience, Your Grace.”

you inhale deeply, hands pulling at your cloak once again, despite your desire to seem sure of yourself, “afraid not, my lady. i do, however, need a moment alone with the prince.”

her eyes narrow, features turning sharp, “the prince is occupied, whore. you can see yourself out, or you can wait until we have finished,” she pauses, mouthing again at his throat before finishing, “but that might take all night.”

you feel it again, that biblical anger, the one that makes you feel able to call upon a plague. your tone carries in the room, less kind than the one you had used previously, “you misunderstand. i am not asking you to leave— i am telling you.”

it is enough to draw attention of the other parties in the room, including the prince himself, who says your name in a tone that sends heat prickling down your spine, “well then.. what ever do we have here?”

you raise your chin, a show of defiance, “i must speak with you, Your Grace,” your gaze moves to the woman, “without the presence of harlots.”

when your eyes meet lilac, all you see is amusement, “i am otherwise occupied, sweet one.”

his mouth parts in pleasure at the feeling of one of the women finally making contact with his straining cock, and your irritation returns at his dismissal of you.

when you speak again, your tone is enough to worry him, ringing through the room with an anger he has not heard in ages, “i did not come here to jest.”

when Daemon gazes at you again, he must see something he finds displeasing, every hint of mirth disappearing from his features, “out.”

the three women, the whores, they think him talking to you— but you know better, moving further into the room, no longer blocking the door.

the woman closest to you, the one you find wholly unlikable speaks next, “you heard his highness, get out.”

“not her, whore— the three of you. get out.”

the smug little grin that pulls at your mouth does not leave your features until after the door closes.

————

you give the prince a few moments to collect himself, but he speaks before you can, “now then, after you have taken all the fun of my night away— what is it you need so urgently?”

Daemon settles himself on the edge of the bed, peering up at your restless form from his perch, and all you see when you look at him is your dearest friend— the only man you would ever trust with the task you are about to ask of him.

you pull down your hood in response, licking at your lips in the way he recalls is a nervous tick you have had since you were small, “my father wishes to wed me to a man,” you pause your pacing, anger melding back into hopelessness, “and he is just fucking vile, Daemon. he only wants me for my maidenhood. he does not care for me.”

you take in a deep breath, shoulders quivering with the movement, and in that moment, you remind Daemon of your younger self.

you remind him of the bright eyed nuisance that followed him everywhere like a little shadow, back when things were far more simple— back when his every thought was of one day being your husband.

“do tell, my Lady— what does that have to do with me?”

you answer with no hesitation, hands pawing at the latch of your cloak that rests at your throat, “i want you to take it, Your Grace.”

your cloak hits the ground with a muffled noise of rumpling fabric, “he will not take me as his lady wife if i have laid with another,” you halt your words, making heavy eye contact with the prince, your hands making quick work of the lacing on the front of your bodice, and when your words return, it is quietly, with a tone that makes the Prince’s head swim with thoughts of how you would look spread open at his will, “make me a woman, Daemon.”

he stands, moving towards you, wearing an emotion you do not recognize and a slow heat lights in your veins.

you answer him quickly, moving to meet him in the middle of the room, hands abandoning the lacing on your chest to feel at the broadness of his shoulders.

when he does not stop you, your head tilts in an attempt to press your honeyed lips to his. he does not let you, head moving so your lips press at his cheek and your irritation returns, hands opting to knead at the muscle on his shoulders. your gaze turns every bit tempting when you look up at him, trying to seem cloying with the words you speak, “have me, Daemon— my virtue is yours.”

he captures your hands in his own, his grip tight when he wrenches them away from his frame to hold them above your head and you shudder a noise of pleasure, figuring that he would finally do as you wished.

you do not miss the noise that pulls from his mouth, echoing your need for him back to you in a husk, one that makes slick drip between your thighs.

then, before you have the chance to try anything else— he is pressing you away from him, a sharp “no,” ringing through the room. it reminds you of the way he would scold when you were smaller, when you would do something he did not like.

he did not want you and you pause, your lustful haze disappearing immediately, shame replacing it, slithering down to settle deep in the base of your spine, until you feel nothing but embarrassed at your actions, “no?”

you jerk, attempting to get away from him, from this feeling of rejection. he lets you hastily remove your hands from his grip, turning your head away from him.

when you look back up at him, lip quivering with an emotion he cannot place, he feels guilty for turning you away, but he stands steadfastly, echoing the refusal back at you.

Daemon watches desperate little tears line your bottom lashes in the way that reminds him of the tantrums you would throw when he could play with you no longer, “i will not sully you.”

you turn away again, whole body moving this time, feeling foolish at your measly attempt to seduce your oldest friend, the only man you have ever thought of, the only man you have ever truly wanted, “very well then, Your Grace,” something changes in your tone, something so cold it makes him stiffen, “i do wonder if some of the men in your City Watch would be interested in sullying me.”

there is a sharp intake of breath before he speaks again, voice carrying a reminisce of how he used to protect you when you needed it, “you will do no such thing— if any of them touch you, they will lose their hands.”

you turn, eyes lit with something that Daemon finds wholly attractive, and he cannot help the flicker of his gaze to the heave of your almost uncovered breasts, “you do not have the right to threaten that. if you will not take me, then i will find someone that will.”

you do not see the way his hand raises to grip at the chub on your cheeks until it is too late to dodge him, his hand pressing into the fat on your face until it is almost painful, “watch your tone with me, sweet one, i am not a man that will bend to your requests.”

you move your head in an attempt to get away from his grip, but find yourself unable to shake him off, and despite his remark about not bending to you, his lips are on yours before you can retort something back.

the scent of him— of leather, and dragon fire is so thick you swear you can taste it on his tongue.

it is so delicious, he is so delicious— and this, this feeling, the sharp bite of his teeth against your bottom lip is your salvation.

you find yourself pushing him back towards the bed before you truly realize, but the bed is where you fully intend to push up your skirts and mount him.

your voice is saccharine with desire, with need, “please, Your Grace— take me.”

you find yourself speaking between sloppy, inexperienced slots of your mouth desperately against his, “i want you to take it— i want you to have me.”

his back hits the bed first, your body following his dissent clumsily.

his hands move to your hips in an attempt to steady your weight against him, your own hands caging him between the softness of you, and the softness of the bed.

you wiggle against his iron grip until you are fully straddling him, wasting no time before you begin grinding your weepy cunt against the heat of his groin.

you press against him harder, desperate little jerks of your hips that feel good enough a noise that is nothing but depraved pulls from your throat.

he stops you steadily, with more force than necessary, his hands bruising against the doughy fat of your hips to prohibit the drag of your cunt against the seam of his pants.

his voice is clipped— dripping with barley there restraint, “i will take you, sweet one, when we are wed.”

you stare down at him, doe-eyed, debauched, and dripping with something so heady that it makes his cock jump against the smothering swelter of your cunt.

his eyes flutter, threatening to close, at the very feeling of finally having you after all these years and despite himself, Daemon shoves back the urge to push you face first into the bed and do as you ask, as you had plead for him to do.

instead of doing what he truly wishes, he brushes the fallen wisps of your hair from your eyes, tenderly, like a husband would.

he leans to press a kiss to your lips, saccharine and dripping with promise, and then his voice comes softly against the side of your mouth, something you have only ever heard in your dreams of him mingled in the tone, “i will come for you with the rise of the sun.”

you hope he means that.

[soaringwide]

Hello, Soaringwide, how are you?

I just saw your Get to know your tarot reader - ask game. The questions are really interesting so I want to ask a few questions (I actually want to know your answers to all the questions 😆)

✒️ What’s a quote that sums up your philosophy?

🐦‍🔥 What’s a belief you once held that you no longer do?

🦅 What does personal growth mean to you, and how do you pursue it?

Have a nice day, and thank you for all the insightful PACs and tarot posts 💐

Hello :D

Doing okay today, it's 6 am and I'm about to go to work, and you? :)

Haha feel free to post as well (haven't checked if you did but I will) so I can ask a few too! thank you for your questions :D

✒️ What’s a quote that sums up your philosophy?

I'm a massive fan of everything from Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet, but I've also been obsessed with Rimbaud's work every since I was a teenager. So, hard to pick but I'd say I keep coming back to this one:

“The poet makes himself a seer through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.” - Rimbaud

Idk there is something about embracing the chaos with all your senses and diving within you that I find extremely inspiring in Rimbaud's writings, and validating in a way, because it explains what animates me in life and explains why it seems I always look for intensity in everything...

🐦‍🔥 What’s a belief you once held that you no longer do?

There was a dark time in my life, the year leading up to the plague, where I was a bit too obsessed with a niche new age youtuber, some type of small scale online guru that i started listening because i thought she gave me spiritual insight on my life; which ended up confusing me and leading me astray more than anything.

Ever since I have a big dislike for anything starseed and magical alien related, because the whole thing left me a sour taste and comes with rotten ideas of like ''everything is meant to happen and will always be fine, you're destined for success if you just manifest it well enough, there is nothing but light, YOU are just so sPeCiAL, all your symptoms are proofs that you are ascending and everyone who doesn't believe that is in the matrix or whatever, ...", there is no critical thinking allowed and so many things that didn't fit with my world view that I was silencing because what she was saying was making me feel good in the moment.

Idk I just LOATH how that movement targets vulnerable people at the worst time for them to give them false hope and derail their real potential for recovery by masking everything with a collective lie that serves no good except making whoever is spewing them richer and more powerful.

What made me snap out of it is when covid started early 2020 and she (of course) started spewing conspiracy theories about what was happening, of the like of ''the earth is purging itself to ascend, you have nothing to worry about you will not get sick... and also it was made by the chinese...'', and I was like, this is getting weird I'm out. So I just unfollowed and never went back to that...

🦅 What does personal growth mean to you, and how do you pursue it?

As a 31 yo, I truly believe that while you can't do much about your body aging (yes cosmetically you can, but it won't stop you from dying at some point), you absolutely can do something about your Heart.

There is something I noticed in people who let bitterness take a hold of their Heart (which can happen at any time but gets worse as you get older), and it's that it changes you, and I think you lose something here. You're no longer longing for the future, looking ahead and hoping to make a change in the world and in your own life. You're just defeated and looking at everything pessimistically, judging the youth for being too this or too that. You lose the spark, the passion and the ability to dream the future. Life becomes that heavy routine that has lost all magic.

So at this point, personal growth means never to lose sight of that, and how I pursue it is to always have something going on within me that pushes me forward, a dream to hold on, a passion to cherish, for that keeps my Heart young while I accumulate wisdom in the right places and age without losing myself.

But yeah, it's difficult and some days I can't do it so well, but I'm determined and it's like, the goal of my life I'd say.

ask me a question from here

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Alice (Alice in Wonderland)

Tagged by anonymous

Note: These answers apply only to Alice from the original two books and the more faithful adaptations, not the Tim Burton movies.

Favorite thing about them: What a complex, three-dimensional character she is, despite being a child character in children's books. She's a sweet-natured, polite Victorian girl, but she's spunky too, and not afraid to call out adults when they behave badly – even if they threaten to have her beheaded. She's sensible and smart, but more naïve than she thinks she is, and full of childish wonderment and relatable emotions too. On the surface she's the only "sane" person in Wonderland and Looking-Glass Land, but her normalcy is only by comparison with the fantasy characters, as her inner monologues reveal that she's full of imagination and eccentric thoughts. And of course her adventures are dreams, which means that she's even more quirky and imaginative than we realized, because Wonderland, Looking-Glass Land, and all the nonsense in them are creations of her own mind. On the one hand, she can be seen as an embodiment of prim and proper Victorian culture, thrust into a new world where all the rules and values she took for granted are turned upside-down. But on the other hand, if we view Wonderland itself as a satire of Victorian British society, then she can be seen as a little rebel, protesting against bad or silly social conventions with her instinctive childlike sense of right vs. wrong and logic vs. nonsense. I could probably write several pages about what makes her an interesting, appealing character, and I think it's a shame that pop culture tends to focus more on the Wonderland characters and reduce her to just a bland audience surrogate. She's much more than that.

Least favorite thing about them: Well, in the first book at least, she has moments of childish callousness. For example, when she kicks Bill the Lizard out of the chimney (it's no wonder that the Disney version has her accidentally sneeze him out instead), or the fact that she seems to think it's cute when her cat Dinah eats birds, and thoughtlessly tells a group of sapient birds about it.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I can be curious.

*I enjoyed pretending and imagining things when I was her age (and to be honest, I still do).

*I sometimes talk to myself as if I were two people.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm not a child anymore.

*I've never owned a cat.

*Unlike her usual depiction, I'm not blonde.

Favorite line:

"Curiouser and curiouser!"

"I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!"

"Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people hot-tempered, and vinegar that makes them sour—and camomile that makes them bitter—and—and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that: then they wouldn’t be so stingy about it, you know—”

brOTP: Her sister, her cat Dinah, and Dinah's kittens Snowdrop and Kitty.

I also like crossovers that have her meet and befriend Dorothy of Oz. They have a lot in common, of course, and yet they're so different in other ways (refined upper/middle-class British girl vs. down-home American farm girl, cat person vs. dog person, etc.) that it would be very interesting to have them meet.

OTP: None until she's older.

nOTP: Any of the Wonderland or Looking-Glass Land characters, especially if she's not aged up from the books.

Random headcanon: This might be a cliché, especially from me, but... I think she might be on the autism spectrum. She's content to play by herself instead of with other children, has an incredibly rich imagination, talks to her cats as if they were human and to herself as if to another person, is precocious in some ways yet very childlike in others, shows slightly disproportionate emotional reactions to things (e.g. crying a literal flood when she can't get into a pretty garden, yet showing little concern about being alone in a strange land with no apparent way back home), tries her best to show proper etiquette yet makes glaring mistakes (i.e. talking about her cat killing mice and birds to a sapient mouse and birds), imitates other people in her attempts to be proper (she's clearly imitating the adults in her life when she scolds herself for crying or Kitty for misbehaving), and spends her adventures trying to make sense of a world that seems nonsensical to her. Some people argue that Lewis Carroll/Charles Dodgson showed signs of being on the autism spectrum, so maybe he put something of himself into Alice.

Unpopular opinion: I don't think Carroll meant to imply that Alice is a lonely or neglected child, as some critics and online fans claim she is. That's a valid interpretation, but not the only way to view her. True, her parents are never seen or mentioned, but only because they're not relevant to the books. And just because she plays by herself, talks to her cats, and tends to (almost literally) get lost in her imagination doesn't have to mean there's anything wrong with her life. For millions of healthy, happy children, those things are perfectly normal!

Song I associate with them:

"Alice in Wonderland" from the Disney film.

"In a World of My Own" from the Disney film.

"Curiouser and Curiouser" from the 1972 film.

"Loved All Day" from the 1981 musical Alice at the Palace.

"Welcome Queen Alice" from the 1985 TV version of Through the Looking-Glass.

Favorite pictures of them:

These classic illustrations by John Tenniel:

This illustration by Arthur Rackham:

These illustrations by Greg Hildebrandt (from an edition I owned when I was little):

Charlotte Henry in the 1933 Paramount film:

Disney's Alice:

Fiona Fullerton in the 1972 British film:

The Alice of the 1981 Russian animated version (I love this Alice – I love that she isn't a generic pretty girl, I love her upturned nose, rosebud mouth and buck teeth, I love her squeaky little voice, and I love that she's allowed to be just as quirky and imaginative as the Alice of the books):

Natalie Gregory in the 1985 TV version:

Tina Majorino in the 1999 TV version:

[bylightofdawn]

WIP

Okay so I'm a hair late mainly because today kind of got away from me.

Uhh, context: Fordo and Alpha are putting away Shaak Ti's trusty rancor mount, the ferociously named Petal. (named by a bunch of ten year olds so is anyone surprised) and there's a bunch of talking and some butting heads over what's happening in the world in general.

As one does when arguing with your adult siblings, its gets a little personal. Cause who else knows you well enough to really push your buttons.

Petal eagerly entered the stable and the loose corral, which didn’t really stand a chance if the rancor decided she didn’t want to be held by it any longer. Thankfully, she’d mostly outgrown her escapist habits as she’d grown older. The stable represented safety and food for the rancor now and she was eager to go home.

“I still think you’re crazy for keeping one around.”

“He doesn’t mean that, Petal.” Alpha mock-cooed at the beast because while he agreed with his brother, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Besides, he felt obligated to defend Shaak Ti’s decision to keep the rancor.

“But, can you imagine the look of terror on any Imp who tries to approach our base?”

“Okay, that would be hilarious.” Fordo conceded after a moment of consideration. “I still think it’s nuts, though.”

“I’m not going to get between the two of them, they have a bond. Dunno if it’s Force osik or whatever, but there’s definitely a bond there. Petal treats Shaak like she is her mother. Maybe it's because she was young when we found her and she imprinted but I am not worried about Petal going feral and harming her or anyone here, really.” Alpha pulled some meat from a nearby conservator and placed it in Petal’s trough.

The rancor was well-mannered enough to wait until he’d gotten all limbs out of the way before falling onto the meat with gusto. A look of horror filled the other clone’s face when the rancor chowed down, a sentiment Alpha understood because it was a pretty gruesome sight, but one he'd had grown used to over the years.

“Come on, we’re on KP duty since we’ve been layabouts all morning.”

“What?” The offense in his brother’s voice was endlessly amusing since he knew it went against his pride as an ARC. The joke was on Fordo because Alpha had served so much time in the kitchens here that he’d gone from nearly burning a pot of water to actually managing to cook a flavorful meal using real ingredients.

During his time in the GAR, the extent of his cooking knowledge was learning how to embellish GAR provided rations into something that tasted more palatable than soaked cardboard or meat-flavored mush.

“You don’t think meals just magically appear out of nowhere, do you, vod?”

“Of course not, but you’re a fool if you unleash me in a kitchen and don’t expect me to accidentally burn the whole thing down.”

“Sounds to me like someone needs some updated survival training: civilian edition.” Alpha teased and clapped Fordo on the shoulder to propel him towards the exit.

The other clone looked like he’d sucked on something sour.

“We’re not civilians.”

“We’re not GAR soldiers anymore either. We’re renegade clones, technically deserters in the eyes of the Empire.” Alpha pointed out without an ounce of mercy or sugar-coating and he didn’t miss the way Fordo flinched at being called a deserter.

“Maybe you don’t see yourself as a soldier anymore but I do.” The other clone shot back with a note of bitterness in his voice.

“Soldier of what exactly?”

“The Rebellion! The Hidden Path, something. I cannot believe you have given up believing in something, Seventeen. Not completely. You’re too damned stubborn to have given up completely, no matter what sort of osik you’re spewing about being a deserter.”

That accusation stung more than Alpha wanted to admit and he found himself fighting back a disquieted frown as he followed Fordo back to the trees which held their hidden base.

“I believe in what we’re doing here. It might seem small and inconsequential to you but it’s enough for me. Shaak Ti is raising a new generation of Jedi and I am going to protect her and those children with my life.”

“It’s not going to stop, Seventeen. They won’t stop. You haven’t seen how the universe has gone to complete shit while you’ve been hiding here. The Empire has spread across the galaxy like a cancer. Their Inquisitors hunt Jedi like your Shaak Ti without mercy and they don’t give up. One day they will find this place and will burn it to the ground. They’ll kill her and anyone who gets in their way and those kids? If they’re lucky they’ll die.” Fordo said with a certainty that had icy fingers of dread crawling up his spine.

His first instinct was to go on the attack, to deflect and call Fordo on his self-serving bantha-shit but a calmer voice of reason in the back of his mind won out over that knee-jerk reaction. Shaak Ti had been working with him on trying to control his deep-seated anger issues, which was the only reason he didn’t take Fordo’s head off right then and there, even though the angry, black rage was there simmering beneath the surface.

It would be easier to punch him than continue this frustrating conversation but what would that net him? A physical altercation that would end in them both no doubt beating one another black and blue, but it wouldn’t solve anything, would it?

Stars, he hated this.

“Stop trying to sell me, I ain’t buying.” Alpha finally managed, his voice a dangerous growl and Fordo must have heard that danger in the other clone’s tone because his mouth thinned to a grim slash.

The walk back to the camp was tense and filled with icy silence that only started to defrost when they reached the kitchen and Alpha started to tersely instruct Fordo on how to do the most basic of kitchen tasks.

[januaryembrs]

DREAMS OF WOLVES AND LIGHT | Geralt x Assassin!reader

Description: When a misunderstanding leads to you having to fight a Witcher of all people, you encounter the last person on the continent you’d ever expected to.

Length: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: fighting, blood, aggression, swearing?,

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MORE OF ‘THE ASSASSIN’S CREED AND THE WITCHER’S CUB' UNIVERSE

Note: I am heavily basing my character design/backstory off Assassin’s Creed lore so its abit of a cross over. I am in love with both of the games so I felt abit of a crossover would be interesting.

Your mother. That was all you could smell. It brought you a comfort you hadn’t known in decades, the sweet scent of her hair oils filling your senses like a soft kiss to your face; that was the first sign you were dreaming. Nothing in your real life was so gentle as this anymore.

“Mother,” You heard yourself ask, not in the adult tone you knew by now, the one rugged with the scars of growing up. No, this one was young, tiny. Innocent. You barely remember being this age. “What did the seer mean, that thing she said about my destiny?” You asked curiously. You couldn't have been older than five.

This was a memory, you were certain of it, though the edges were blurred with the mirage of sleep, marred with the curse of losing one's memory as a long time passes. It was so dark in this dream, the image of Mother all but a shadow. You felt your hands run through her long hair, the trellises as soft as ever. You knew she was dead, but this all felt so real.

A honeysuckle laugh met your ears, calm and liquid: “You shouldn’t worry about destiny just yet, sweet pea. It’ll make sense someday,”

Your voice, your real voice, called for her in your slumber. It was perhaps this loud noise or the rumble of speaking in your chest that started to wake you, but it didn’t stop you clinging to the dream that bit tighter.

“But what did she mean? I don’t understand, there’s no wolves around here, are there Mama?” You heard yourself questioning frantically.

She simply chuckled again, and you felt a soft stroke of a mother’s touch on your forehead, soothing your qualms about what the seer had predicted for your future.

“Hush, pea. Nothing bad will happen to you while I’m here.” She soothed. You felt the cold of the outside, the real world, calling you home as she began fading into the deepest part of your mind once more, “Now enough talk of light and wolves and other such nonsense. It’s time you slept, little one,”

And yet, in a horribly ironic turn, it was then that you awoke.

The feeling of the scratchy, cheap sheets of the bed grounded you, finally bringing you out of your solemn reminiscence of that day, along with the horrid realisation your feet were practically like ice under the thin duvet. Your eyes scanned the room for the culprit of your discomfort until your eyes snapped on it. The window was open, letting a biting cool breeze nip at your skin.

You sighed, sitting up from the bed with a groan of effort. Yesterday’s journey had been particularly exhausting and your muscles were paying the price for it.

You thought about your dream as you packed up your things to travel once more, and took a deep breath of sourness as you exited the tavern and began climbing up a nearby church steeple to survey your area closer. You took little notice to a few townsfolk below you gasping as you expertly scaled the tall tower, as if your hands were made of hooks. There was no trickery needed, you simply had years of practice. It’ll make sense someday, the soft voice reverberated around your head tauntingly, and you gave another bitter sigh.

Because your mother had lied. She had died, and yet you still had no clues to what the seer’s vision meant. It had taunted you for years since she had passed, each turn of the phrase in your head as riddling as the last. Her old croak of a voice had uttered such an illusion to you, one you would never forget as long as you would live until you found the answer you wanted.

Dear Child, she had said, The wolf and the pup will guide you to the light or drag you to the darkness.

Your eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of someone travelling through the woods, just as the target you were here to kill supposedly had been for the past three days.

Your brotherhood had informed you of a cloaked figure moving between towns in the area, said to be slaughtering villagers in the night like some human shaped grim reaper. But the villagers weren’t just chosen at random, they just so happened to be informants for your creed, those who had happily given you and your brotherhood information over the years about your targets.

You called them the Keepers. They were an order of knights and lords who managed to find themselves in high courts all across the continent, whispering in the ears of leaders to control the continent as they pleased, starting wars and slaughtering people at a flick of their wrist under the titles of advisors to the court. Your creed had been able to keep them at bay for the time being, but they were getting stronger, smarter, and now you were losing your key informants at the hands of your enemies.

So it was only logical that the brotherhood decided to send their best assassins out to hunt the killer. Or killers perhaps. You had your private suspicions that this was a much bigger plot than it seemed, that many malevolent leaders had their puppeteering fingers on the strings of these killers. They weren’t working alone.

There! Your eyes caught sight of a small flume of smoke coming from amidst the trees, around a two hours ride away from here. In all likelihood, it was nothing, yet if they were simply a traveller they may have some more information on where your newest target was.

So, the woods it was then, you decided.

“If only mother could see me now,” You almost laughed to yourself cynically at your words, checking the street below for a soft landing, your eyes narrowing on a deep enough pile of hay that would break your fall well, “So much for that destiny bullshit,”

And with that you leapt.

»»-----------►

Geralt watched Ciri contort in her sleep, frowning as he heard her mumbling empty threats to some unknown assailant. His heart went out to the cub, it really did, he just had no idea how he was supposed to defend her from figments of her own mind. Goblins and ghouls, he could handle, but Geralt knew more than the average man that the biggest threats we faced were often the darkest parts of ourselves only we could confront.

“Stay back,” The blonde girl whimpered, her legs thrashing on the woodland floor. Geralt minded how her boot got a little too close to the hot coals that was all that remained from their fire last night and decided he needed to wake her up for her own good. As if hearing his concerned thoughts, the Cintran girl’s eyes snapped open without prompt, taking in the bright new morning they had awoken to.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Geralt started, packing the few items he had into his rucksack ready to load Roach up for another day of journeying towards Kaer Morhen, “How did ou sle-”

“Someone’s coming,” Ciri rushed, giving little explanation as she sat upright, disturbing the dry leaves around her small body. Geralt seemed to tense up in alert in synchrony with the worry in her voice.

“What do you mean? Where?” He asked sternly, golden eyes flicking between the trees frantically to see where the problem was.

“I don’t know, I just saw them in my dream,” Ciri frowned, her eyes trying to chase the source of her vision just as much as her protector’s were. “A man in a black cloak and a mask, he was reaching for me. I couldn’t get away,” Her voice wobbled with the trace of the fear she’d felt in her dream, knowing it was about to become a reality before her very eyes. Her visions always started like this.

Geralt sighed, looking at the younger girl’s startled frame. He had forgotten what children were like when they had convinced themselves the monsters in their head were real. He was so sure she was just on edge from her morbid sleep, “Ciri, I’m sure it was just a nightmare,” The older man tried to reassure her, but the girl had since hopped up to attention, her heart racing with fear.

“No! No, Geralt, it wasn’t like the black knight. It was different this time, you have to believe me! I saw him,” Ciri said fiercely, eyes flicking through the trees as more snippets of her dream started playing out before her until… “There! A rider!”

Geralt looked at where she was pointing, her expression somewhere between triumph and fear as she locked in on the man from her dream. His attuned senses caught up to him as the sound of fast approaching hooves met his ears, and he made out the figure of a dark cloak atop a grey horse, an omen of death if ever he’d seen one.

“Go stand behind Roach. Don’t reveal yourself until I tell you it’s safe to.” Geralt ordered, blindly following the girl’s intuition. He had no idea who this person was, but the accuracy of the Princess’s dream told him to trust her word nonetheless. She followed his command, standing behind his mare’s large, muscular legs and using the surrounding bushes as slight cover from whoever this man may be.

He drew his sword as the rider approached, lifting his own dark hood over his head and hiding behind a large tree in order to size up this mystery passenger.

Geralt heard Ciri’s heart pounding from her hiding place, rhythmically in time with the hooves of the approaching horse. He felt as if he were holding his own breath, waiting for the assailant to hopefully pass by with no qualms on their position, the sound of the footfall only getting louder in his sensitive ears. He didn’t doubt his skills necessarily, he knew he could protect Ciri from any regular foe, but his time with the Cintran girl had been nothing but a handful of surprises, even the gift of her herself. It unnerved him that she had seen this man approaching them; why him?

It struck him then what was odd about the approaching fiend. He couldn't hear a heartbeat.

There was something different about this enemy, he could feel it in his gut.

The rider slowed their horse down to a trot, then to a walk as they neared the camp he and the girl had slept at. He heard them dismount gently, their feet much lighter than expected as they closed in on his makeshift campsite.

He tried to listen for any other clues as to who the target was, but all he heard was a brief fumble of a hand on the forest floor as they felt around the dying fire, no doubt trying to gage from the heat in the soil how fresh or old the flame was. They were smart, skilled at tracking it seemed.

Geralt decided it was now a good time to confront the man in question. He couldn't risk him advancing on Ciri.

The white wolf rounded the tree, sword bared and ready for a fight.

Except there was no one there.

The horse they had rode on still stood obediently, so they hadn’t left, he would have heard if they had anyway. There were no tracks, the ones that remained seemed to have been swept away by the man’s long cape that Ciri had noted immediately.

They had just … vanished. Like a ghost or a flume of smoke simply fading into the air around them. No trace they were really ever there.

Geralt stood to attention, ears pricked like a wild animal on the prowl for its prey as he took in every minute movement around him. His head snapped to a small movement in the tree above him, only to see a small crow hopping between the branches innocently. Sure, that very well could be them considering some mages were well known to shapeshift, but Geralt’s eyes flickered around the perimeter unconvinced.

For a moment, there was just silence. Ciri’s heart pounding in his ears from her spot, Roach’s much slower heartbeat overlapping it. He was sure even he was holding his breath as he searched for any sign of the assailant.

And yet nothing.

He had but a millisecond to react as he heard a faint twig snap above his head before it was too late. A body - the body he had been searching for in fact - landed on his shoulders with a diligence he had only seen in professional killers. The unexpected force of a figure damn near knocked him to the floor, though luckily he was more than built enough in his legs to handle the weight. He did, however, drop his sword in shock, and was left grappling with the perpetrator with his bare hands.

The, who he now guessed was an assassin due to their expertise skill, wrapped his cloak hood over his face, effectively blinding him and suffocating him at the same time. He reached out for any part of their body he could grab hold of, satisfied when he felt the culprits waist, grabbing it with both hands and heaving them forward with a heavy buck towards the forest floor.

The assassin was flung to the floor, though they had the good sense to grab his cape in just the right place from around his neck to take him tumbling to the ground too. The figure kicked out a heavy boot into his stomach as he careered almost on top of them, and even his quick reflexes felt numbed as they skillfully pinned him to the ground. He felt a set of thighs wrap around his neck, arm yanked upwards towards a surprisingly well endowed chest, before they began to squeeze like a muscled constrictor around his neck.

Geralt groaned in effort as his throat began to pay the price for his opponent's quick work. Luckily, his eyes caught sight of a small blade in the side of the assassin’s boot, and he was smart to yank it out of its holder before his airways could be shut off. He plunged it into the figure's thigh, making them grunt shortly and loosen their grip on his neck. Just as he'd wanted, he grabbed the figure by the scruff of their own cape and threw them to the ground next to him.

The pair of them stood, Geralt only equipped with the assailant's own blade, as he watched the figure in question pull another two long knives out of their waist scabbards. He debated drawing one from his own boot that he knew lay hidden, but their smaller, more nimble stature told him his odds were against him at a knife fight. He was good with a sword, gods know he was good with a sword, but this assassin clearly operated with small, fast movements, something his brawny build worked against.

Instead, Geralt chose a smarter route. He moved his hands into the symbol of axii, pushing his hands forward to thrust the wind in their direction to knock them hard away from Ciri.

The white haired man felt his mouth drop open when the galeforce current he sent towards them was deflected by a cross of their wrists, as if they had bounced the wind off their being with the action.

Instead, the spell he had conjured was sent straight back at him, launching him backwards, further into the forest. His body dragged along the floor with the weight of the spell, ironically knocking the air out of his lungs in both force and shock at the action he had just witnessed.

What in the continent was that?

He barely registered the fact the movement had thrown him past Roach and Ciri, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened, but he didn’t miss the young girl’s worried eyes following his falling figure, nor did he fail to see the way the assassin ran at him with their blades drawn.

Geralt barely had time to sit up to defend himself before the dark hooded figure had jumped at him, their weapon pressed against his throat oddly delicately. He could barely make out who was beneath the hood from the black sheath they wore over their mouth and nose, and the clothing was draped too far down to see any eyes. The figure looked like what he imagined the grim reaper to be, the omen from the stories he and his brothers used to tell each other before bed back when they were just young ones. The other hand brought the twin blade careering down towards his head, and Geralt prepared himself to take the stab to the hand when Ciri spoke up.

“NO! STOP!” The young cub yelled, revealing herself even though it had been clear from their new position that they were not at all alone.

Geralt watched the figure freeze for a moment. It seemed a shred of humanity gleamed through the assassin’s behaviour as they heard a mere child beg for mercy. Their head snapped towards where Cirilla stood, false bravery on her expression as she watched the figure look straight at her, their attention diverted away from the white wolf.

“Ciri?” The assassin said, though the voice was muffled from the mask and much higher pitched than Geralt had imagined.

It was then that the small frame, the voice, the quiet, nimble movement they held, it all wove together in Geralt’s mind.

It dawned on him that this assassin was in fact a woman.

A woman who had stupidly taken her eyes off him.

He knocked her clean off her feet as she stared at the princess for much longer than he felt comfortable with, her smaller body rolling clear out of the way of Ciri and Roach, dropping one of her knives in the process.

You groaned as you felt the effect of his hard punch land hard where your nose was, rattling your brain inside your head. It couldn’t be, surely you were seeing things. That couldn’t be the princess.

As your thoughts raced, you were unceremoniously picked up by the scruff of your neck like a pup in a litter. Your most obviously concealed weapons thrown to the ground next to you as the Goliath of a man handled you with revenge in his piercing golden eyes.

He ripped your hood down revealing your neatly braided hair and partially covered face, though you simply looked over his shoulder at the girl who had shouted for mercy.

You had to know if it was her. What on earth was she doing so far from Cintra? She had grown so much since you'd last seen her. Why was she with your target? Your heart plummeted as you feared the worse for your sweet girl: Had she been kidnapped by this man?

“Eyes on me,” He growled at you, watching as your gaze had ignored him and gone straight to his child surprise. “Now, who sent you?

Your head snapped back to him at the hostile mutter of his question, “Who sent me?" You snarled, "I should be asking you the same thing,”

Geralt huffed, bringing one of his large hands up to your throat as you kicked viciously against his brutish strength. “If you want to talk in riddles, I have no use for you,”

You prepared yourself to start wrestling against his grip when a figure appeared over the shoulder of the man, exactly the one you could have sworn blind you'd heard. Your eyes widened at the girl you had left all those years ago.

“Y/N?” Ciri asked cautiously, as if the mask that lay on your face deceived her. But the way you’d looked up at her had her curious, and she was so sure when she’d gotten a closer look at your cape and facial features, the years came back to her in waves of nostalgia.

Geralt’s head turned to the young cub who approached carefully, her grey fur coat dragging behind her slowly. He felt his hands loosen from around your throat as he saw the saddened glint in Ciri’s eyes, and something tinged with recognition as she said your name again. He put you down the minute he saw her reaching for you longingly, and the second your feet met the floor she had rushed forward to take you in by the waist, burying her head into the crook of your hood as if she was greeting a family member.

You hugged her back just as tenderly, pulling your black mask down to reveal quite a beautiful face indeed, bar the bruise that was quickly forming on your nose thanks to Geralt’s heavy hands. “Sweet girl, what on earth are you doing here?” You asked in a voice so soft he couldn’t believe you had been grappling to kill each other not five minutes earlier.

Geralt’s head swam with lost thoughts. How on earth had you escaped and left no tracks in the first place? How had you deflected his axii like that, he was so sure that was impossible, and more importantly, why was his child surprise holding onto you as if her life depended on it?

Nothing about you made sense, not one single piece of information and so Geralt, in his whirring mind had nothing else to say to you except: “Who the fuck are you?”

-----

taglists:

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicarthayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra--mae

This was part 2 for my 500 follower celebration! I hope you enjoyed I lowkey hate it

[fluffytriceratops]

Random facts about Monet. <3

Couldn’t help myself, I drew an older Monet. I love this bab so much. She deserves the world. Raph is definitely a proud papa. And Kristina feels lucky to have raised such a strong young woman. 😊❤️

I’ll be doing Nefertiri next, so stay tuned for that! ^~^

I drew this quite a while ago, I just never had the time/chance to post it. But since my job is done with, hopefully I’ll have more time to come online. See my pinned post for more details hehe. There’s quite a bit that went down the past couple weeks. I’m on vacation rn, so I won’t have a ton of time, but I’ll come on when I can! Expect to see a lot of spam from me because my notifications are overflowing— I’m talking way over 500 lol. So if I accidentally missed something you tagged me in, I apologize profusely. 😫 (also I am in no way trying to brag or anything about how many notifications I have, if it felt or seemed like that I’m sorry that’s not my intention I’m just trying to explain why I might miss something someone wanted me to see— 😅)

Tags: @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @digitl-art-monstr @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mysticboombox @drowninghell @squirrelfurs @lec743 @raphslovemuffin80 @bibiz82

(If you want to be tagged in my future TMNT/Raph&Kris related posts, feel free to let me know and I’ll happily add you!)

Have a wonderful day/night! Sending all the virtual hugs to you!! <333

—

- She was named after Claude Monet, a famous French painter.

- She is super strong, like really freaking strong. (Mystic power strong?) She can take a hit and she can deliver one too. When sparring with her sister (Nefertiri) she has to continuously remind herself to take it easy and not use her strength to its fullest. Otherwise she could accidentally really hurt her. This probably goes for other family members as well, especially those that are human and can’t really handle the brunt of her attacks when she is using 100% of her strength.

- Monet loves her strength but sometimes she’s scared she’ll accidentally hurt someone. (Something that’s happened on a few occasions, especially when she’s upset/angry or overly excited, she tends to forget how strong she really is) so she usually dials her strength down a lot if she can remember to. One of her biggest fears is to accidentally go too far and really hurt someone she cares for.

- Definitely a secret softy. Very few people in her inner circle have seen this side of her. It’s not something she’s comfortable with sharing. However, a lot of her family and friends knows she’s like this. She just heavily denies it. (Classic Raphael move hehe)

- She has anger issues and they only get worse the older she gets. She can be very violent and sometimes needs a reminder to take a step back and breathe. This is usually given to her by one of her family members.

- She is not afraid to put anyone in their place. She will speak her mind, no matter the consequences. Her bark is just as big as her bite. Monet is brutally honest and has a hard time keeping her mouth shut. She will snark the shit out of someone and loves a good banter. She loves to poke fun and tease people and doesn’t mind it if they do so in return.

- Please challenge her to an arm wrestling battle or spar with her. She loves it and will forever be your friend.

- Hates bitter and overly spicy or sour foods. She has an enormous sweet tooth. Loves baked goods, chocolates and candies. (All except the sour ones) Also prefers cold foods/drinks over hot ones. For example, iced coffee over hot coffee. Or milk/boba teas over regular hot tea.

- A good way to get on her good side is by bringing/making her something sweet. Whether you bake her some cookies or buy her a boba tea. Whatever. She might not show it right away, but she would be very grateful and happy about it.

- Loves to pull jokes and prank people, especially with her cousin Noa ( @rheawritesforfun ‘s OC).

- Monet is obsessed with horror/gore. She loves the genre, they’re always her favourite movies/books/video games. Halloween is her favourite Holliday. She goes all out for it. Candy and horror? That’s her shit! And it’s one of the only times she gets to be out on the surface. Which is awesome.

- Second favourite Holliday is April fools/Loki day. Everyone dreads the first of April because they know it’s about to go down. She prepares months in advance and anyone and everyone she knows will be suffering from her pranks. No matter who you are or how old you may be. No one if safe on that day. She goes all out.

- Bares her teeth at people often. Monet has sharp canines like her father, and sometimes they poke out of her mouth. But when she’s angry or in a bad mood, she will bare her teeth threateningly at people. Especially when she’s fighting.

- Queen of resting bitch face. Even when she’s in a good mood she’ll look the opposite.

- Often tells people to go fuck off or to go fuck themselves. Her mum hates her potty mouth, but Monet loves to curse/swear. She likes to come up with weird or creative comebacks too.

- Just like her mother, she is not the best singer. She’s definitely better than Kristina is, maybe even average? But she wouldn’t consider herself as someone with a good/great singing voice.

- Shows her affection with actions rather than words. Doesn’t hug often, but she will give head pats (or ruffle someone’s hair) as signs of her love and adoration. Same thing goes for fist bumps and secret hand shakes n stuff. If she is more physical with someone, they better not mention it because she’ll most likely immediately pull away and brush them off out of embarrassment. If someone continuously teases her about it, she’d snap angrily and storm off.

- Monet will get into a physical fight with someone. She tends to lash out and sometimes it can get quite aggressive. She gets better at storming off and walking away the older she gets, but it’s definitely very hard for her to do so. Her anger isn’t a party trick. It’s serious. And it’s something she battles with every day.

- She also tends to rant/vent A LOT to those she’s closest to. (Noa is definitely one of em lol) she doesn’t like to express her feelings openly to most people but she will to a select few. And those select few better be prepared for an ear full.

- HATES being bossed around and controlled. Especially if it’s involving someone she doesn’t like, or if she’s forced to do something she doesn’t want to. If it’s an order, she will do it. She’ll just bitch about it while doing so.

- Door slams are very common with Monet. And because of her strength, she has broken waaay more than anyone would care to admit. There’s a jar labeled “Monet’s doors” filled with cash from Monet because she usually has to pay for a new one. Or at least, help pay for one. It’s like a swear jar but with doors. They’ve given up on her swearing long ago hehe.

- Monet can be described as being erratic emotionally. She is daring, brave, and free spirited but she can also be quite sardonic and sarcastic. And of course, a classic rebel. She is very athletically adept, and can be quite friendly/kind to her family and friends. However, Monet is also very willful, stubborn, incredibly rude and aggressive. She is also the most relentless out of her siblings. It is her relentless ferocity that makes her such a deadly fighter.

- Monet loves to fight, wrestle, and trash the place. If there’s a brawl, she would love to join in the fight. Because of her passion for fighting, she would fight first and reflect and ask questions later.

- She can also be very cocky and competitive. When she wins games and duels against her friends and family, she will rub it in their faces, much to their dismay.

- Monet can be unpredictable, and her ferocious temper can sometimes frighten enemies even her friends/family. She can be very aggressive when trying to solve problems, even with her family and allies. Sometimes during training, Monet can get hostile, and she would do anything she can to beat her family in sparring matches. When she feels misunderstood or irritated (which unfortunately happens a lot), she tends to storm out and go topside or roam the sewers on her own. Despite the fact that her parents don’t like this considering it can be very dangerous.

- Despite all of this, she is the most loyal friend anyone could ask for. She will do anything, literally just about anything to protect those she cares for. Even if she might not ever admit it, in order to stay “badass” and “hardcore” and to protect her pride. She will do everything in her power to protect her friends and family.

- Basically she’s Raphael 2.0 (more so the other iterations, but still—).

- Because of her anger, and rebellious nature I do not believe she would be chosen to be the next leader. Whoever would be picked, she’d feel a bit resentful towards. They’d definitely have a bit of a rocky relationship. Especially if it’s a certain someone (cough cough Milo cough). (Another of @rheawritesforfun ‘s ocs). Due to their relationship already being a bit rocky lol. It’d definitely be a classic Leo vs Raph thing. And she’d probably be like “of course you’d get the role, you’re the former leaders son. I call favouritism.” Or something like that lmao. She’d defy his orders a lot, that’s for sure. Honestly, she’d defy anyones orders. Except maaaybe Noa. Cuz they’re as thick as thieves.

- Her weapon of choice would be the tetsubo. And she’d also always carry brass knuckles with her wherever she goes. Specially made to fit her hands by her wonderful uncle Donnie. She’d probably have a whole collection of them in her room somewhere. All of which she got as gifts, most likely all made by Dee. Unless she somehow got her hands on some regular human ones, then they’d only be there for decoration. Since she can’t wield them for obvious reasons. Along with the other classic side weapons the ninja carry (I.e. throwing knives, smoke bombs, grappling hook, etc.)

- Has two male pet rats named Zeus and Poseidon. They are her babies and she will die for them. And they were a gift she received from her Granpapi Splinter, and yes it was an ironic gift and she loved it for that.

- Like her ma, she also thinks Greek and Egyptian mythology is super cool. It’s one of the few things she’ll totally geek over. Another good way to get on her good side, get her to talk about it or get her a gift involving it. Even if it’s simply watching a movie with her. She’ll adore it.

[yeoldontknow]

the light keeper’s daughter | jhs (m)

A/N: written as fulfillment for the july house games at @bangtansorciere  ❂ To The Lighthouse      ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee @inkedtae through @bangtansorciere​ AU Type: Trident’s Tides (soulmates) Themes: God/Goddess (goddess reader); Secret Relationship Kinks: clit biting; pain kink; size kink; masturbation; degradation; overstimulation; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing

↝ Creative Content Contributor: @jamaisjoons​ for this incredible banner. its literally so stunning ;~; ↝ Pairing: Lighthouse Keeper!Hoseok x Goddess of Light!Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: soulmate au; secret relationship au; gods/goddess au; mentions of an arranged marriage; heavy angst; smut; romance; pining ↝ Rating: NC-17 | 18+ ↝ Summary: For years, you’ve kept your relationship with Hoseok a secret. As the daughter of the God of Light, you are destined to marry anyone who slays the beast in the Gloaming Isles in your honor. When that day finally comes, you go to Hoseok to tell him your relationship must end and you are set to be married. One last time, Hoseok reminds you no one will love you as eternally, as enduringly, as he. ↝ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; pregnancy; unprotected sex; creampie; masturbation; clit biting; oral sex (f receiving); pain kink; size kink; overstimulation; light degradation; a brief handjob; impreg kink; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing; crying; biting; marking; scratching; brief mentions of blood ↝ Word Count: 14.7K        ↝ special thank you to @softyoongiionly​ and @kithtaehyung​ for reading through this and being amazing betas! if there are any mistakes left over they are absolutely my own and the fact that 98% of this was written while sprinting owo

Looking at Hoseok, you think, is exactly like being struck by lightning. Which is to say, every time, all the time, looking at Hoseok means you feel him everywhere, all over and all at once. 

Inside the lighthouse, there is no escaping him. 

Pressing your back against the rough concrete of the small light room, you tilt your head to the side as the totality of Hoseok’s warmth, ardor, and fidelity blossoms over you. He flowers deep in the nodes of your lungs, your breath constricted as you take him in, studying the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the way he wears the night as though he is the stars.

In the distance, waves rush to the shore, kissing the land with the same enthusiasm you wish to be kissing him, only to pull away from land; the water shy, anxious of the earth’s response to its affections. Over and over, the sea rolls like thunder. Every now and then, the light that spins overhead refracts downward, illuminating the blood that has rushed to his cheeks. Flushed, his lips part as he processes the words you have just told him, all red and red and red with understanding.

As though he is burning, as though you are not burning for him, your hands clinging tightly to your skirts as you hold your knees against your chest. It should be utterly unfair, you think, for him to appear so beautiful, so exquisite, even as he remains painfully stricken by your words. The searing ache in your chest germinates alongside your love, mind racing with the apologies he deserves. Your bones tremble with the force of remaining still, prepared to reach out and hold his face and tell him it was a lie. You want to smile for him, want to tease him, want to say you’d been terribly silly and that such jokes are best kept for nights when the sky is not clouded, not cold, and instead warmed by your shared rapture. 

How you would like to give him all the kindest, all the softest, words in the world.

‘It can’t be true.’

He’s said this twice, the disbelief in his voice only just winning out against the grief. Hoseok repeats it again, taking a step towards you, eyes cast down to where you have slunk in shame and sadness. Hands limp at his sides, his fingers quake, torn between balling his hands into fists or running through his hair, their resting place for his worry. Deciding on neither, he simply stands tall and stoic, appearing so small in the light that cascades around the room.

You’d glow for him if you could, if you felt like you deserved to illuminate any part of him at all.

Looking away from his woefully dejected expression, you turn your attention to the small gap in the wall beside you. A window once blocked the wind - stained glass, exquisite. It shattered during a storm, on a night when he pressed himself so deep inside you traces of his essence lingered on your tongue. He was deep enough it hurt, rolling into you with enthusiastic vigor. Tonight, the breeze smells of low tide, acrid in the back of your nose and sour, just like your mood.

‘We knew this would happen,’ is your quiet reply. 

A weak and pathetic excuse, you hate the words even as you say them. Shameful, you think with a grimace, to have pretended that you could have a happy ending, that convincing your father would have been simple. The lies you told yourself and Hoseok, the platitudes that fell from your lips to comfort him, turn on your now, betrayals stacked against you that weigh heavily your judgement. You’ve been childish, so childish, to assume you could have ever been happy.

Hoseok shakes his head, refusing to accept your answer. All fury and rage, he comes to stand before you and lowers to his knees, demanding you look at him. His presence is a live wire, the heat and energy from his skin is vital, a pull against yours that makes you regard him once more, confronted by his enduring beauty. Flooding your vision, he is all you see, all you can fathom, your world beginning and ending with his pleading eyes. 

‘But it’s been years,’ he argues, the high pitched tone of his voice wavering and taught with emotion. He’s older than you, physically, but at this moment he has never been so young, so small, so gloriously human. ‘Centuries even. It’s unfair to you.’

A huff of breath rushes through your nose, your scoff ripe with bitterness. ‘Someone finally slayed the Sydral, as archaic as this ritual actually is. My father said I should have always expected it.’

‘And so now…’ Hoseok’s voice drifts, falling back onto his knees crestfallen. The corner of his lips drop into the beginnings of a deep frown, all manner and will to fight rapidly dissipating.

‘I have to marry them,’ you nod, answering his unspoken question.

For a long while, you hold his gaze, allowing yourself to get lost in the umber of his irises and missing the mirth that usually ignites their sparkle. It is just his breath that cascades over your skin, just the waves that rush beyond the light room, just the world that seems to turn onward, without you, time passing without either of you truly acknowledging it. In this silence, you see your history, your every moment spent with him: the day you met; the day he could not help himself any longer and kissed you soundly, without restraint; the first moment you told him you loved him; the first moment he said he needed you; the plastic ring he won at the pier arcade - extraordinary in all its ugliness - and the gentle, reverent, way he slid it over your finger, calling it a promise of fidelity. 

In Hoseok, you see it all. 

Similarly, he drowns in you, the pink of his cheeks deepening to rose with each passing breath. Posture falling slack, the strap of his ride suspender slips from his shoulder, the collar of his linen shirt loosening with the lack of restraint. A sliver of his collarbone becomes exposed, golden and rich, a tantalizing patch of skin you would caress and kiss if only the circumstances had been different. You wonder idly what he remembers of you, what he sees in your own dispirited expression. You wonder if he remembers the way he loved you, the way he loved you beyond your light and into your darkness. 

You wonder if he remembers the way he ate your shadows - with his whole mouth, with fervor, with pride. You wonder if he remembers the way you devoured him just the same. 

‘This is ridiculous,’ he announces, finally. Turning to look out the window, he regards the sky solemnly, the curve of his profile imposing in its majesty. Eyes narrowed, it is the harshest he has ever looked, devoid of forgiveness. ‘It’s supposed to be me.’

Swiftly, you shake your head, adamant in your disagreement. You reach for him, leaning forward to rest your hand against his chest, against his heart where it thunders in his sternum. Warmth from his skin radiates into your blood, taking root between your joints. Hoseok worms his way into pieces of your spirit long left abandoned, and you swallow thickly, wondering if such affection as this is normal, if it’s always this way.

‘I’d never have let you.’ Your dispute is biting, sharp enough Hoseok turns his eyes back to you, jaw clenched and tight with silent fury. ‘You’re human. It would have killed you. And then where would I be?’

‘You’d be sitting where I am,’ he argues, emphatic. 

Reaching for your hand where it rests, he covers it with his own, lifting it slightly to twine his fingers with yours. Unable to help himself, he inches closer, running his thumb over your knuckles and sending shivers along your nerves. Like always, his touch is a wildfire, the electric kinetic energy needed to set you aglow. Your mind swims with him the same way your body becomes whelmed by his devotion, but he does not let himself become distracted. 

‘Do you even understand?’ Voice little more than a whisper, Hoseok’s gaze is penetrating, a bite to his veneration that demands your complete attention. Tilting his head to the side, he continues. ‘You think I wouldn’t die for you?’

You squeeze his hand with tenacity, acknowledging his sentiment, but he does not see all the things you have witnessed. He does not know the true menace of the Sydral, does not know its tricks, its many heads, its speed, its cunning; Hoseok would die for you, and death would find him quickly. 

Instead, you offer him a small smile, one that is so fragile and close to breaking. Hoseok’s intensity burns within your chest, transforming his softness into the valor of a man that leaves you breathless. Salvaging your own strength, you lower your gaze to the white collar of his shirt, to the soft linen and the expanse of his throat where he swallows. This you can regard with pleasure, can regard without fearing you may shatter.

And so you smile, finding the will to fight him once more. ‘The problem,’ you begin, hoping the earnestness of your smile is enough to cool the rage that boils in his throat, ‘is that I know you would. And I would live my life alone, married to him while knowing you are gone. Would you really condemn me to such misery? My darling, I would die to keep you safe.’

This feels like anguish; this feels like dying, you think to yourself, growing ever more despondent the longer you feel Hoseok pleading with the emptiness that lurks behind your eyes. You can’t bear to face him, not when the tightness in your throat becomes a threat, tears lingering on the precipice of spilling. Every time his gaze meets yours it is brutal in its honesty, violent in the way your love and lust tumbles so completely into grief.

‘How long?’ he manages, breathing life to the very question you’d been hoping to avoid. 

Your future is still so far away, distant enough it makes this moment, and every moment to follow, heavy with the pain of imagination. Still, you’ve never been able to deny him anything. 

Once more, you turn to view the window, regarding it with a vacant expression as though you are regarding time itself. ‘You know this is the last time I can see you.’

‘I know,’ he bites out, unwilling to let you dodge the answer. ‘I mean how long until...you’re not mine anymore.’

‘That’s...not possible,’ you offer gently, casting him a solemn, detached grin. ‘I am always going to be yours. Even when I’m in his bed, even when I’m thousands of miles away, even in death, I am yours.’

Hoseok pulls you against him, compelling your complete attention. Eyes wide, you study his face - the resolution of his passion fierce enough to be an earthquake against your sternum, a collision of meeting worlds. His arm winds itself around your waist while he still clutches your hand, the strength of his grip stinging against your knuckles. You tremble against his powerful frame, inhaling the deep scent of cedar and ambergris that always clings to him, the salt of the ocean that lingers on his skin, the dust that has saturated his shirt from the lighthouse, and you; your vanilla and lemon, the brightness of your own natural scent that emanates from your light and always seems to find him, not unlike rays of the sun. 

Your mouth waters at this closeness, his own eyes darkened to a rich black as he studies you seriously. You’ve wounded him - worse, you’ve denied him - and he presses the tips of his fingers into the soft muscles of your back, ensuring you cannot leave him. Not until he is ready to let you go.  

‘You know what I mean,’ he breathes, words lowered to a hiss. If he were a vengeful sort of man, he would be full of venom. Instead, there is only remorse in his insistence.

Closing your eyes, you sigh. ‘Months, most likely. Tomorrow the rituals begin - the seven days feast, the Fate Tying, the Blood Gathering.’ 

When you look at him again, your lower lip begins to quake. Saying the words makes it all feel immediate, tangible, as though your father stands in the dark corners of the light room casting his judgements. You almost feel him there, his presence always so sinister for a man blessed to command the light; he resides in the silent places, giving birth to shadows, prepared to pull you from bliss at a moment's notice. 

‘All this pomp and circumstance from eras bygone,’ you continue, grounding yourself in the firmness of Hoseok’s arms and chest. The bones of his knees press into your thighs; your hand caught between your twin heartbeats; you immerse yourself in the pain of this connection and remind yourself it hurts because he was always meant to be yours. ‘It’s been centuries since a goddess has been married off, and yet somehow I’m the first for such a sentence. The wedding won’t be for at least five months.’

‘Then we have time.’ Hope saturates his words, his hold on you growing ever more unyielding. ‘You can still come to me, we can still see each other,’ he explains quickly, speaking in a rush. ‘No one will have to know.’

Biting your lips, you raise your hand to the soft strands of his hair, carding your fingers through it. All silk and satin, you relish the texture as his desperation soaks into your pores. 

‘I wish that could be true.’ Even as you speak, you focus on his hair, committing these small details to memory. The curve of his bang in the center of his forehead, the deep amber and dark sienna and all the golden highlights that come to life in the daylight, the way all of him, every piece, is soft enough to break you. Yes, you focus on it all. ‘All the Old Gods will be gathering in Teylim. There will be more eyes on me than ever before. Ladies coming to fuss over my hair, my clothes, the oils I wear; men worshiping Daeus like he’s some kind of king when, really, he’s just lucky enough to be half of a god. I won’t be able to get away.’

Hoseok’s eyes roam your face, wild and storming, waiting for you to amend your answer. When you do not speak, his brow furrows and he exhales, a small whimper released from the center of his breaking heart. ‘So this is it, then? This is really it?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ you whisper, moving your hand from his hair to cup his cheek. 

He presses himself into your touch, turning just slightly to kiss delicately at your palm. The sweetness of his tenderness splinters the last of your courage, the tears you’ve so valiantly held back starting to burn as they spill over to your cheeks. 

‘I wish it could be different,’ you plead - with everyone and no one at all. ‘I wish for it everyday. Hoseok, I can’t -’ Distraught, you choke on your own words, and Hoseok pulls you firmly against him, resting your head against his shoulder. ‘I can’t breathe without you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.’

Hoseok says nothing at all as you dampen his shirt, tears spilling into the linen as you struggle not to collapse against him completely. When you are finally alone, you will succumb to the sorrow that has learned to occupy every chamber of your heart. When you are finally alone, you will eat the spirit of rage with teeth and fangs, and you will let the darkness have you, refusing to let the light erupt from your skin. But for now, you let the tears arrive of their own accord, aware that you are suddenly too sad to even weep, tears dripping into his shirt as means to remain a part of him.

Against you, Hoseok’s breath becomes uneven, his own shoulders shuddering as he minds his own heroism, fighting back his own tears. He quivers against you, his stuttering breath exhaled through his nose as he maintains his composure. The light room becomes almost too quiet, the blood rushing your ears drowning out the sound of the sea, narrowing your focus to just the shared heat between your bodies. You inch closer, removing any space that could exist between you, extinguishing any oxygen that would dare to separate you from him. What you would give for a thunderstorm, any sound at all to give life to the end of love, to the start of the war of loving. 

Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, your mind seems to become unhinged. All the tiny, miserable little thoughts Hoseok’s love kept locked away worm their way past your lips, erupting to life as though your heartbreak has given them permission to persecute you. 

‘I wish you never found me,’ you mumble, almost incoherent. Your tongue fumbles with the words, caught between weeping and speaking, making a mess of so much more than just his shirt. ‘I wish you never saw me. I could love you like that, on my own, from a distance. I could be strong enough to move through life not knowing you, loving only the idea of you. You’re so much more than anything my mind could have fabricated out of childish desire. The reality of you is heaven. And now, I’m hurting you. I should die for such a transgression.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Hoseok pulls, easing you back and lifting both his hands to cup your face. Briefly you mourn the loss of his fingers and knuckles so rough against yours, but cradled between his palms, your skin tingles, making a festival out of this contact and celebrating the nuance of his fingerprints. He looks down into you, deep enough you feel him taking root in the center of your belly. You love him most when he looks like this - fierce and unforgiving - and you cannot help the way your body responds, aroused simply by the passion of him. ‘Don’t you dare wish that,’ he commands, voice thick. ‘The day we met was the day my life started.’

‘But...’ you struggle to find the words, drifting off with the implication that, now, his life is surely ending.

‘I don’t want to know who I would be without you.’ Hoseok takes his time as he speaks, an art you cannot comprehend. 

Behind his eyes, his mind races, words living and dying before they can reach his tongue. He has so much to say, so many more promises to make, so many more words of affirmation he’d like to give you. You see them all, recognize them all - for they mirror yours, are born from your own likeness; you know them all so well, you feel as though you could reach out and touch them. 

‘I can’t fathom it, I won’t even consider it.’ Shaking his head, he denies this completely, holding onto your stare with a fixation that borders on zealous. ‘You came to me, and it felt like I could breathe. You came to me, and I felt like myself. Loving you makes me better, loving you is partly why I am alive.’

It’s difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat, its size and prowess growing ever larger in the wake of his words. In the oncoming quiet, you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t reminded you of the way you the oncoming storm of his presence before you met him. One look at him and you had seen it all, a life designed by the Fates - marriage, children, hope, happiness. In death he’d have joined you in Teylim, youthful, young, yours. With eternity before you, you’d bask in the rapture and the joyful silliness that comes with forever. 

He felt it, too, saw it in your eyes. On your fourth meeting, he held you against him and promised you his life.

‘I will put my child in your belly,’ he announced, deliberate in the way he enunciated his words. You waited for the shock of such an exclamation to overtake you, but it never came. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he chuckled, amused by his own enthusiasm, ‘but I’m certain of it. I see my unborn children in your eyes. I think this is what the elders mean when they say there is always a plan, and you will always know it the moment you find it. I’m so certain my whole life is tied to yours.’

The memory burns within your mind, a scorch of greed mixing immediately with longing. You wish the fire of it would incinerate it to ash, that it would vanish altogether before the Fate Tying. You can handle all of these frivolous little rituals, sure of yourself and your own strength, but the Fate Tying means to unmake you. At just the thought, your stomach begins to sink. 

You will sit, hands clasped on your amber throne with the sunlight seeking your hair, your cheeks, your lips; Daeus will smile, wrapped in oak and evergreen, in the earth that flourishes beneath your light; and you will weep, watching as the Moirai unstitch your soul from Hoseok’s, peeling it apart inch by horrible inch, to thread it with the ugliness of Daeus’ strands. You will wonder, mouth dry and eyes wet, why the Moirai would bother making a man for you, would bother weaving your spirits together, only to unravel the work they had done, the love you had found. 

The movement of Hoseok’s gentle caress, pads of his thumbs running across the bones of your cheeks, returns you to the present moment. Once more he whimpers, doing his best to keep you grounded with him, unwilling to lose you before he absolutely must. Digging your nails into his shoulder as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, you wallow with him, knowing that, just like him, you don’t know who you would have become without him.

‘What do we do?’ you manage, reduced to a more pathetic version of yourself as you plead with him. Anyone else, and you’d be ashamed to appear so weak. ‘How do I do this?’

‘I don’t know,’ is all he can provide. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Promise me -’ You cut yourself off, not entirely certain where the idea comes from, what part of you would willingly propose such a request, the meaning of what you had intended to say catching up to your mind the moment you heard your own voice. Hoseok waits patiently, and you lower your gaze to the curvature of his lips, wanting to kiss and kiss and kiss him, knowing your next words will scar you both. ‘Promise me you’ll find someone else. Promise me you’ll be happy.’

Without any hesitation, he scoffs, dismissing the idea altogether. ‘Don’t ask me to tell a lie.’ 

‘I can’t, Hoseok.’ Now, it is your turn to hold his face, cupping his cheeks with veneration. Mind reeling, you envision it, certain you could take it. You are certain you would die for less. ‘I can’t do this if I spend my life knowing you’ll be unhappy. I can’t do this knowing you’re alone.’

Slowly, gently, Hoseok lets the tip of his nose press against yours, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth. Breath  a deluge down and over your lips and skin, he somehow finds it within himself to smile, empty of all amusement. 

‘It’s so unfair of you to expect that I could be happy with anyone but you,’ he chastises. ‘I’d rather be alone, utterly and completely, than to be lonely with someone. They deserve better than someone who is with them out of loyalty to another person - a promise kept to the person they truly love.’

His rejection and refusal of your plea inspires a thrill in the pit of your stomach, all manner of possessive pleasure coursing through your veins. How easily he turns you into a selfish woman, how quickly his promises of fidelity make you lose all sight of strength and future vision. What sort of man is Hoseok that he should have such dominion over you, you think to yourself. But then, you know. You know as you have always known: Hoseok is your man, your lover, your soul.

Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, just as he had done, reverently, adoringly, you bite your lip and feel your exhale shake. ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll do as I’ve always done,’ he shrugs, as though the very thought is not a bruise within his ribs. ‘I’ll keep the lighthouse. Every night, I’ll let the beacon burn, and keep the light on. Even on clear days, I will let the light shine.’ Hoseok smiles as he says this, the first real smile he has managed since he saw you on the shore this evening, waiting, just like always. ‘When you’re up there, perhaps you will see the light.’ 

He shifts his gaze to the roof of the light house, looking up and beyond, past the clouds, up to the seat of the gods. Furrowing his brow, he hardens his jaw just slightly, eyes turning dark as he demands your father witness him. 

When he looks at you again, he is a changed man - a boy trapped in the throes of love, and a man on the verge of letting himself perish.

‘Maybe up there,’ he murmurs, ‘you will see my light and know that I’m burning for you, just as I’ve always been. I’ll continue to love you. I’ll be good, I’ll be pious, and maybe when I die we will meet in Teylim and even in death I’ll watch you, staying close to your light like a bird in flight.’

‘Hoseok.’ The quiver of your bottom lip disrupts the cadence of his name, besmirching it to little more than a sob.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hoseok leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes fall shut. At such close proximity, you study the almost feminine length of his eyelashes, the pores of his skin, and wonder who or what god or demon you could barter with to stay inside him forever.

‘You’re supposed to be mine,’ he whimpers, the sadness welling up in him like a mountain. ‘You are mine, but…I will always be yours. Even when they untie us, I’ll be yours. They can’t thread me with anyone else. I don’t think my soul will allow it.’ 

Unable to sustain it any longer, your desire for him rises to a swell, erupting beside your sorrow - just as fervent, and even more unyielding. His words are a comfort, an echo you will revisit over and over when you have long departed, but your skin has learned how to ache for his touch, learned how to anticipate the way he moves over you like water, and you need it. You need him. 

The rest of your pitiful existence looms out before you, days and months and centuries passing without Hoseok to hold you and keep you, and you despise the very notion of it. You rebuke it, refusing to let yourself continue on without knowing how it feels to have him. Tonight, you do not want him as your lover.

Tonight, you want him as your husband.

‘Kiss me,’ you announce, guiding his forehead away from yours, skin prickling with the lack of his warmth. ‘Kiss me like it’s our wedding. I -’ The tightness of your voice steals your breath, words hot and heavy in your mouth as you say them. ‘I want to know what a marriage bed truly feels like. I want to know what our marriage bed would be like.’

Mad with an unbearable passion, no longer contained, Hoseok heeds your words and lets his tongue wander over the seam of your lips. You cling to him, clutching what you can of his shape, his body, and you sigh in woeful euphoria, granting him unspoken entry to the recesses of your mouth - but he does not enter. Your lover has always been disobedient, reckless in the evening when your skin and your lips and your heart are presented to him, and tonight he is no different. Tonight, he scorns the hour, taking his time as he traces over your cupid’s bow with his tongue, rendering the turn of the earth meaningless. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, a cascade in which you luxuriate, and your eyes, blurred by the urgency of your desire, lose all sense of your surroundings until there is only Hoseok. 

Hoseok - on you, around you, all over you, the rain and the wind all at once.

Only when he has had his fill of your lips does he press the whole of his mouth against yours, sucking languidly at your bottom lip. Skin growing tight, you keen into his kiss, consumed by greed. Slowly, he moves his hands down and down, letting his fingers trace indeterminate lines over your cheeks, your jaw, your bones until they rest at your neck. With his palm over your pulse, he holds you still, his touch a fever, his touch the sun, radiating deep into the caverns of your heart. 

Filled with him, you think. Absolutely alive with him, Hoseok lets his palm cradle the tether of your life until you are certain he is the oxygen made to sustain your mortal form. You, living and breathing, are little more than remnants of departed touches, composed entirely of his affections, his affirmations, his adoration.

So, too, do you kiss at him, battling against him for any semblance of permanence, demanding that you be remembered. Feeling you writhe against him, insistent in your need for closeness, he hums in pleasure, a musical sound that traverses your synapsis with unhurried ease. Gooseflesh raises on your arms, either by a passing breeze or the way Hoseok leans in, harder, rougher, all manner of dominance in the way he so desperately seeks to have you, and you shiver, delighted by the peak in your senses; delighted, fundamentally, that you will commit every moment of this last evening to bodily memory.

Willing to be devoured, you surrender to him, feeling arousal leak from between your folds as though his savagery has given it permission to spill over. It soaks into your underwear where you briefly mourn the fact that it will not coat your thighs, not yet, and that Hoseok must wait to see how easily you could paint yourself in your wanting. Like always, he anticipates you and ardent your longing; perceptive and always acutely aware of the way you have grown wanton. depraved by the strength of his kisses alone. 

Hoseok eases his hand to the back of your neck, determination apparent in his grip, and guides you forward to rest in his lap. Letting your legs settle on either side of his thighs, you straddle him, unwilling to break any contact he has with you, your skin, you, your hands on him. You come together like a cataclysm, the burgeoning tip of his erection firm and stubborn where it presses against your core, assertive and tantalizing even beneath the fabric of his trousers. 

It’s lewd the way you crave him deep inside you, jaw dropping as your mouth opens wide to gasp in delight. Hoseok wastes no time in letting his tongue glide against yours, explorative and eager, utterly deliberate in his stroking. Slowly, the tips of his fingers move from your neck to your hairline, ever deeper and ever more intrusive. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he runs his tongue over yours, grazing the roof of your mouth before he forms a fist in your hair and tilts your head back, swift and aggressive. 

All at once he pulls away, face hovering just centimeters above yours and gaze hooded as he explores your lustful expression. A flush creeps into your cheeks, the control he has over the flow of your blood is always surprising even if it is to be expected. Hoseok seems pleased, evident in the familiar way his eyes have become blackened by the force of his yearning and the smile that has worked its way into the corner of his lips, a secret for only you to discover. He takes a pause, disregarding his haste, to regard you: your parted lips, your heated cheeks - a fire that has spread itself over your chests and breasts.

‘You are a vision of sin,’ he murmurs, cocking his head to the side and tightening his grip in your hair. ‘What would all the gods say?’

Your own nails scratch tenderly into his scalp, gripping his hair to mirror his hold on you. Futile, you know. The strength in Hoseok is silent, a gift that makes him appear merely pretty until the seat of his power is fully revealed, a fortitude you could never mimic.

You swallow, preparing to speak, and watch the way Hoseok studies the movement of your throat. ‘They would call me a harlot.’ 

His gaze returns to yours, an otherwise thoughtful look turned menacing by the terror of his passion. ‘And are you?’

Tongue heavy in your mouth, you struggle with the few words you can manage. ‘They will make me out to be,’ you begin slowly, poignantly, ‘and it will be your fault. You’ve made me a slut.’

You hold onto the word - draping yourself over the “s”, tapping your tongue against the “t” - ensuring it lingers in your mouth long enough for him to taste it. It’s his fault, really, that you will be judged and scorned and shamed for coming to your new husband wholly impure, the construct of your virginity eradicated by Hoseok’s insatiable appetite. It’s his fault, you think, that you want him this much. That you love him this much. Your tongue caresses the word slut like it's your dearest companion, familiar with its shape and texture, and you lean upward, hoping to put it in his mouth. 

If he is half of your soul, then he should learn how it tastes to be utterly reprehensible. 

But he dodges the trajectory of your desires, moves away from your lips and your face entirely, diving down to your chest where he lets his teeth traverse the expanse of your sternum. Lifting his hand from your pulse, he trades one beat of your blood for another, fisting his hand in the collar of your dress to pull it down and expose the thin bit of flesh covering your heart. It thunders in your ears, your body a storm of his making, and you tremble as he positions himself to ravage your very spirit.

His teeth leave scars upon your nerves, eternal echoes within your pores that have you rolling your hips downward in encouragement. Again, you feel him, his cock against your core, enough to have you whimpering as though you are small and fragile, not the maker of your undoing. As punishment for your impertinence, Hoseok takes aim and bites down harshly at the slender bone of your clavicle. 

‘Hoseok!’ 

‘I know you, Sparrow.’ The husk of his breath is an avalanche into the marrow of your bones, the memory of his teeth still reverberating into your lungs. ‘You always like it when it hurts.’

Your skin still stings, yet he is relentless. You quake in his hold as he bites at the bone once again, teeth inlaid perfectly where they had been before. Your skin bends beneath the force, ecstatic hiss descending into a low moan, giving away the truth of how well he truly knows you. The pain grounds you in the moment, allows you, too, to ignore the passage of time, the ebb and flow of the waves as though the tides have halted altogether. You are prettiest when you are red and purple, black and blue by the marks he leaves in his wake, and not once, not even when he breaks your skin to bleeding does he tarnish your light.

In his arms, you are illuminated, glowing with the same intensity as the lighthouse beacon. He’s called you the heavenly sky for the way you glow under his affections, your inability to control your power when he makes you feel so impossibly good turning you into an evening star. You often forget you are blessed with a holy gift, the goddess of light as though your title has any meaning beyond providing you a seat at the table in Teylim. You often forget this is who you really are, someone happy, someone made of magic - a light kindled only under joy.

‘I will make you ache for me,’ he breathes, pushing the collar of your dress lower and lower, threatening to expose your nipple. ‘I want you alight, burning for me. Only me.’

Hoseok kisses deftly at the supple softness of your breast, diligent and greedy. His breath comes ragged, thick in the center of his lungs where he struggles around the insurmountable longing that puts force in his handling of your body. Working his tongue over the skin, he licks the stars out of the constellations of your pores, tasting the dust, the salt, the sea. Your hands run through his hair, messing the thick strands to a state of perilous disorder in your eagerness to move downward to the comforting solidarity of his shoulders.

Grinding your hips into his lap, the tip of his clothed erection slides along your slit, and you release a whimpered exclamation as the cloth of your underwear slips between your folds. Biting your lip, you breathe deep, Hoseok’s own groan of dissatisfaction vibrates into your chest. You feel him deep in your throat, his voice alongside yours, his desire matching yours in intensity. 

Hand leaving your neck in favor of your waist, his grip tightens, fingertips pressing deep circles into the muscles of your back. Thrusting upward, he teases you, laughing darkly to himself with a rough nip to your breast. The motion sends your underwear deeper into your cunt, a pressure to your clit as erotic as it is cruel. It sends a shiver down your spine, inspiring tremors in your nerves that have you clenching your walls around nothing at all, seeking the bulbous head of his cock in need. 

Pleased with himself, he raises himself from your chest to work at the buttons of your dress. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your own rolling back to present you breasts to him like a preening cat. Hungry, he takes the bait, slipping a palm under your dress to cup your breast. He presses against your nipple, a small wine tumbling from your throat to mingle with his whispered expletive. Rolling your nipple between his knuckle, he regards you momentarily, studying your dazed expression. Against him, you are an earthquake unto yourself, a cosmic shift of longing ravaging your blood, and you are pleased by it, offering him a smile of gluttony. 

Abruptly, he releases your breast, hands falling to your hips as he raises to his knees, keeping you against him. Hoseok pushes your hips roughly against his, cock a threatening force against your core as he guides your bodies down to the floor, careful to keep the shift in position painless. Once more, he thrusts at you, and you feel yourself becoming soaked, juices no longer dripping into your underwear but instead crawling slowly down to your ass. The concrete of the floor is chilled, cold enough your back and hips arch indelicately in retreat, causing you to carelessly meet his thrust. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, returning his hands to your front as he sits back on his knees. 

Hoseok avoids the buttons over your breasts, choosing instead to undo the buttons just beneath. Continuing onward, he takes his time unwrapping you, hungry for the pieces of your body he will mark as his. The heart of his lips parts on a silent exclamation, mouth falling open as he unveils more of your ample flesh. The light from your skin mixes with the lighthouse beacon, casting shadows of desire in his eyes, rendering him beastly. With his eyes only, he devours you; your body, the fruit of his immense craving. 

Leaving your breasts covered, Hoseok exposes your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Your hardened nipples strain against the fabric, begging for release the same way your core clenches once again around nothing at all, swallowing more of your underwear in an effort to lure him deep inside you. He meant it this way, all too aware your sensitive nipples will tease you to a point of aching the longer they rub against your dress.

The sea breeze cools your skin, so much of you exposed you feel as though you have been submerged in wind and sky. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mourn momentarily that it is not Hoseok that covers you, not yet. Still, you enjoy being naked for him like this - naked, vulnerable, safe, and his. You open your legs further, letting the wind kiss at the wetness of your cunt, your answering grin borderline salacious. How glorious to give everything and hide nothing from him. How glorious to let yourself be worshipped, his eyes starved for the pleasure of your sex. All this joy, and yet your frustration runs over, an overflow occurring with little thought. 

‘It’s not fair,’ you whine, raising your arms to reach for him. ‘Let me undress you.’

Sitting up, you press your hands flat against his chest, becoming attuned with the ample hills and valleys of his muscles. Hoseok sits still and proud, lips reddened and wet from kissing you. Your light ignites the flush that dapples the tips of his ears, skin flushed by lust and longing. Throat running dry, you swallow thickly, committing his unrivaled beauty to memory. You refuse to forget a single moment of this, unwilling to relinquish a single detail of him. 

Slowly, you ease the suspenders from his shoulders, humming in approval at the way the loose linen of his shirt relaxes in its newfound freedom, offering you more of his neck and collarbones. As your fingers work earnestly at his buttons, Hoseok takes his time admiring you, a piercing look both penetrative and heartsick. His hand comes to cover yours, unable to help himself, and he holds it tightly, raising it to his lips. His eyes remain locked on yours as he kisses the pads of your fingers, one by one, before slipping your index and middle finger into his mouth. Your lips part on a sigh that fades just as quickly as it came, feeling his tongue swirl over the digits with purpose. 

And much the same way you did not expect his touch, so too are you caught off guard when he moves your fingers from his mouth and guides it down your stomach. Lower and lower, he guides your hand between your bodies where he slips it beneath your underwear. Your breath hitches, skin wet from his saliva and clit throbbing at the prospect of tangible contact, your own hand an ominous presence resting upon your mound.

‘Touch yourself,’ he commands.

Hoseok is so often the picture of tenderness in the way he makes love to you, always gentle and always mired in the totality of his affections. Occasionally, he is sharp and, occasionally, he is in control - only on days when he is starved, only on days when he is completely ravenous. Tonight, there is no room for argument. Tonight, he makes himself an unrelenting devil, unafraid to exert dominance.

‘Eventually we will remember little of how we undress,’ he explains, pressing your fingers over your mound, dangerously close to your clit. ‘Right now, I need to see the way you will touch yourself for me when I’m no longer around. I want to see it. I want to memorize it. Touch yourself for me.’

Removing his hand from yours, he nudges softly at your shoulder, and you obey immediately. Leaning back on your right elbow, you keep your hand in place as he grabs the band of your underwear and pulls it down. Lifting your hips, your tongue licks at your bottom lip where the skin has become dry and chapped, struggling to catch your breath as your desire becomes oppressive. Falling back on your tailbone, you spread your legs wider still, proud and impish as you slide your fingers down your slip, separating your folds to display your core. 

But he sees nothing as he lifts your underwear to his nose, fisting his hands in the fabric and pressing it against his face. Hoseok breathes in deep,eyes rolling back slightly in the effort of keeping his eyes open, a growl rumbling in his chest like a warning. Exhaling into the cloth, he laughs to himself, a high pitched, small sound of amused embarrassment before he falls completely silent once more. And then, he breathes in again, just as deep, just as fervent, lips kissing at the wet patch you have created.

‘I’m keeping these.’ Easing your underwear away from his nose, he crumples the garment and buries it in the pocket of his trousers. Cocking an eyebrow in pleasure, he takes in your exposed cunt, licking his lips. ‘I’ll fuck myself with them, imagining it’s you and your wet pussy.’

‘Pervert,’ you tease, jutting your chin forward in mock derision.

‘Whore.’ Inspired by your nakedness, he begins to undress, gaze heated and focused on your wet cunt. ‘I told you to touch yourself.’

Your fingers easily breach the barrier of your folds upon their release, wet with Hoseok’s spit and your walls slick and dripping with your juices. Years ago, you would have been ashamed of being so soaked, a damp patch expanding in the concrete beneath you in visible proof. But you no longer care, not when Hoseok’s expression of thirst is so incorrigible. 

You fuck yourself with your hand, fighting the urge to tilt your head back in relief - small as it is. In the heat of your lonely nights, you find it tragic your fingers never reach as deep as Hoseok’s slender digits; yours are too slim, knuckles not nearly as rough or pronounced. And when your mind drifts dangerously to thoughts of girth, your eyes drop swiftly to the pronounced shape of Hoseok’s straining cock. Swallowing the weep of appreciation that builds in your chest, your teeth chew at your bottom lip, clinging in anticipation.

Pressing the base of your palm against the hood of your clit, you whimper. Mild and meek as it is, your fingers bring a temporary relief, this satisfaction fleeting, and it will not be long before you are begging him to fill you. 

‘You’re dripping,’ he comments, interrupting your thoughts and removing his shirt in one swift motion. ‘Are you sure you’re not the princess of water? If I kiss your cunt I might drown.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

While not truly a detailed explanation, the words carry the weight of your whole chest, erupting with little thought. Your mind offers the only logical explanation for your wetness it can manage while your body grapples with the implication of Hoseok’s mouth upon your core. 

‘Say it again,’ he orders, hands tugging harshly at the zip of his trousers.

A slow smile spreads over your lips, head cocking to the side as you admire his eager expression. ‘I’m in love with you.’

‘Again.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

This time, you say it with venom, as though you want it to hurt and hope that it will leave scars in its wake. Hoseok tugs his trousers down his thighs, rising to his knees, appearing regal and godly. Freed from its cloth restraints, his cock springs upward to rest against his stomach, and he smirks, chest and neck flushed as your focus shifts immediately to the purpled bulbous head. 

Without hesitation, you remove yourself from your folds, the ache at your core only minutely grieving the loss of your small hand. Instead, you reach for him, fingers slick with your juices as you grasp the base of his cock with a gentle squeeze. He’s heavy in your hand, rigid in the solid way that makes your walls clench and drip once more, mirroring the way your mouth waters. Slowly, you move your hand up and down the shaft, letting your thumb rub over the leaking tip with care. 

Hoseok’s breath hitches, his hips thrusting slightly into your hand as you pleasure him. His own hands clutch at his discarded clothes, doing his best to exercise his dwindling patience, and you repeat motion, admiring the smoothness of the skin in contrast to the veins of his shaft.

‘I always wonder how you will fit inside me,’ you comment, moving your hand back down and studying the way your fingers do not meet your thumb. ‘You’re so thick.’

He rolls his shoulders back in the aftermath of your praise, inhaling sharply through his teeth. Hoseok is always free with his praises, showering you in worship and stating it is his duty to devote himself to the goddess in his favor. Always, he does this, and always he seeks nothing in return. But you have always sensed, as attuned to him as you are, that praise from you sets his soul afire. One word of praise from you and you are certain he could eat the god of Daeus entirely, rendering him completely human.

‘You were made for me,’ he explains, voice taught and words strained. Unable to hold back, he fucks your fist, seeking relief. ‘You will always stretch to accommodate me, just like your life was meant to. Just like your belly was meant to, stretching with my children.’ His gaze is penetrative, deeply serious for such an obscene state of being. ‘You were meant to take all of me. My true home is inside you.’

Your grip loosens slightly at his admission, lips curling into a small pout. ‘I so desperately wanted to give you a child.’

A choked sound rumbles through his chest, and his hand reaches yours, pulling it from his cock to wind your fingers together. With his free hand, he nudges at your shoulder, easing you back to the ground with a darkness in his eyes that has your throat running dry. Automatically, your legs spread wide, offering him space to settle between them. The tip of his cock rubs carelessly against your slit, and your focus fades, mind emptying with the single desire to have him inside you taking root. 

‘Promise me you won’t give him children,’ he commands, words thick with purpose.

He walks his hand languidly down  your body, grazing over your chest, your covered breasts, to the flat of your stomach. Beneath him, you tremble, the tectonic plates of your spine shifting beneath his touch. Splaying his hand over your stomach, he eyes your skin with parted lips and a furrowed brow. Hoseok wars with himself, his thoughts tangible behind the darkness of his irises, expression swimming with strife.

‘Promise me,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t think I could survive the thought of someone else's baby growing inside you.’ 

Raising your hand from the floor, you card your fingers through his hair while you squeeze your joined hands, determined to win his attention. 

‘I promise,’ is your soft whisper. ‘I shall bear no other child than yours.’ 

Invigorated by your promise, he returns his gaze to yours and maintains it as he works his way down your body with his tongue, kissing everywhere his hands have been. Without warning, he buries his face between your legs to bite gently at your clit, this contact a thunderclap in your spirit. Back arching off the floor, your voice shatters around his name, teeth chewing over the syllables as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your bones hum with the stimulation, very existence stinging and resonating, while he sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the pain into a deep, soul burning pleasure. He swirls his tongue around it, mouth greedy and impatient, the fullness of his lips a heaven unrivaled by Teylim, and your hand tightened in his hair, body writhing in passion. 

Hoseok releases your clit with a wet pop before he kisses his way down to your folds, thrusting the flat of his tongue between them, impatient and hungry. Mindlessly, your legs spread wider, small gasps escaping from your chest as your lungs take in the scent of your sex and your hips roll upward, feeling your juices mix ceremoniously with his saliva. Consumed by the sheer power of your need, you feel yourself howl like a moonless wolf, rolling your hips against Hoseok’s face in erratic motions, inspired by the promise of your orgasm.

But Hoseok releases your joined hands, moving it quickly to your hips where he holds you still, growling against your cunt.

‘You shall not wander from me,’ he says, moving his lips against your slit as he presses you into the ground. ‘Keep still and let me feast on you.’

Once more, he thrusts the full length of his tongue between your walls, sucking eagerly at the juices spilling into his open mouth. He’s velvet and silk against your core, sturdy and solid while still gliding against all the places you have needed him most, and your voice careens off the ceiling, loud enough to drown out the ocean waves. Scratching your nails down the soft skin of your thighs, you fight back the desire to thrust against his face, wishing you could fuck his mouth and press yourself against the tip of his nose. All of it, every thrust of his tongue and every roll of your hips you suppress has you moaning, voice high pitched and growing erratic.

The feel of his tongue inside you inspires the deep desire for something larger, something thicker. Your orgasm is a threat in the center of your belly, spine tingling and tightening as each press of his tongue against your walls tames the beast of your racing heart. Hoseok buries himself between your legs with a diligence that borders on hysteria, holding you down and indulging in your

Still, his tongue only just hits the place inside your core that needs him most. You want him hard against your cervix. You want him deep enough to leave bruises on your softest pieces.

Tonight, you want the thick girth of his cock to splinter your bones. Tonight, you want his cock pressed against your cervix, a bruise you will carry for the rest of your life. Tonight, you want his cum so deep inside you it burns.

Tonight, you want him to love you and you want it to hurt. 

‘Hoseok,’ you whimper. ‘Please, I -’

Hoseok thrusts two fingers into your cunt beside his tongue, silencing you with the rough skin of his knuckles spreading your walls even wider. The contrast between his fingers and tongue elevates your hips from the floor with force, disregarding the strength of his hand. You are beastly beneath his ministrations, finding yourself caught in a wild hour and feeling as though you have abstained from him too long. He forces your hips back down with the palm of his hand, groaning against you loudly enough you feel his voice reverberate up to your tongue, and you cry out, distraught. 

Having left the top of your dress buttoned, your nipples strain against the cloth, sensitive and sending electric ripples down your arms, your shoulders - all along your nerves. Another breeze moves through the lighthouse, and it kisses at the sheen of sweat that has broken along your hairline. 

Desperately, you want him. Desperately, you need him. But still it’s not enough. 

‘God,’ you keen, ‘I need to cum.’

Hoseok hums in understanding, the vibration of it moving deep inside you once more. 

‘Oh,’ you whine, so small and so close to breaking. 

Hoseok’s tongue leaves your cunt, only his fingers remaining, and he moves his mouth to your clit where he sucks at the swollen nub deftly. Again, your hand scratches down your thighs, harsh enough to draw blood. Red and angry, the sting of these scores against your flesh makes you smile, a manic and monstrous expression you hope your father, Daeus, and all the gods can see. Frustrated and feeling the coil of your orgasm tighten, your other hand slaps into the ground, gripping at the linen of Hoseok’s shirt. You dig your nails into it, pretending it is him, his skin, his cock, anything substantial to torture him as he tortures you.

Against your cunt, you feel Hoseok begin to laugh, wearing the smirk of the devil as he sucks diligently at your clit.

His name begins in your mouth and dies on an exhale, eyes open wide as you stare up at the ceiling. Vision glazed and vacant, your body trembles as your orgasm lingers dangerously on the precipice of your nerves, skin growing hot and bordering on a point of pain. You hear yourself crying, you feel yourself pressing harder and harder against Hoseok’s eager mouth, and you struggle to discern if the rush in your ears is your blood as it moves swiftly to find him or the ocean that works swiftly to keep your coupling secret. 

And then, without any warning at all, Hoseok once more latches his teeth to your clit.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a wave of heat in your blood and skin, your juice cascading into Hoseok’s waiting mouth. This orgasm is an eruption, a shockwave in your soul that leaves you trembling while his relentless motions of tongue and hand milk you to completion. The tears you have held back begin to spill, soaking your cheeks as you soak his lips, a great wave over you that leaves you breathless.

‘Come up here,’ you gasp. ‘Come up here and kiss me.’

Slowly pulling his lips and fingers from your cunt, you hiss as he eases his way up your body. Using the tip of his tongue, he traces the shape of your parted lips with careful strokes, still messy and dripping with your slick juices. At your core, his cock presses, the contact sending tremors up your spine and causing a whine of pain to splinter in your throat. Granted permission by the sound alone, Hoseok delves his tongue inside your mouth and demands you taste yourself - you, your cum; him, his breath, his spit, his flavor; all of it, mixed together. Your walls clench as you kiss him, devouring him, as your folds seek to lure his cock inside you. 

Gasping against his mouth, you feel his tip press roughly against your core, your walls still sensitive but your body and spirit eager for his fullness. Hoseok pulls away from your lips to whine a low expletive, his resolve shaking and unstable, close to shattering by the force of his desire. His lips part on his sighs, breath slow and shallow, and still shimmering with you. Already, he had devoured you, drunk his fill and yet he still appears starved. As he lingers above you, Hoseok rolls his cock against your walls once more, a challenge, a reminder that he is exhausted by the prospect of not having his fill of you.

Moving your hands to his shoulders, you press your fingers into the soft skin of his back and muscles, letting them wander down and down until you grip the rounded flesh of his ass There, your grip tightens, threatening to push him inside you lest he waste any more time. 

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

‘You want me to fuck you?’ he mumbles, running his tongue over your jaw before biting at your chin. ‘Tell me how badly.’

‘Please,’ you whimper, rolling your hips up against his cock, a warning against the tip. ‘I need you so badly it hurts.’

Wordlessly, Hoseok thrusts himself inside you to the hilt, balls pressing against you with a loud slap. You feel him shake inside you, body shivering with the sudden heat enveloping his cock. Hoseok’s moan is a deluge, an ecstatic exclamation howled victoriously into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, and you smile blankly at the ceiling, mind empty of all things that are not the feel of Hoseok against and inside you. 

His stillness is a tease you cannot endure, and so you clench yourself around him, his teeth biting at your skin as you release and repeat, urging him to move. The feel of his mouth at your skin, the feel of his heaviness pressed so roughly inside you, as your cunt leaking over him, back down into the floor where it coats your ass in its stickiness. Still, you pay little attention to anything other than his immense girth as it stretches you, your walls strained to accommodate him like always. 

Feeling you drip over and under him, he pulls out and thrusts back in, a knock at the door of your cervix and the sudden feel of him so deep as you groaning his name. He challenges you, repeating the motion as your bodies slide back along the floor with the force of his thrusts, the piercing sensation stealing your very breath. You are gasping as you clutch him, breasts moving against the fabric and nipples aching with the sensation, letting him push your body to its limits. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ he grits out, an echo of your earlier promises.

‘I love you,’ you choke, the words incomprehensible. 

‘Say it again,’ he hisses, executing a piercing thrust that has you gasping for breath, nails digging into his skin for purchase.

Squeezing your eyes closed, your hands move to the wings of his shoulder blades and you cling to him, a flightless bird. ‘I love you.’ 

When you hear yourself say it, you realize you are crying, your voice a sob of affirmation around tears of grief. It should be impossible to love someone this much, with the devastating whole of your existence. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ you plead, barely able to speak around the way Hoseok punishes your cervix, a punishment for abandoning him. 

‘I love you.’ Equally affected, his voice warbles over the words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he presses the words over and over into your pulse. 

‘I love you, I love you.’

Slowing his pace, Hoseok accentuates his proclamations with brutal thrusts against your cervix. Slow as his thrusts may be, they are full of power and force, a pain against your walls and muscles ensuring you will never be free of him. Tears falling freely, your breath is as sharp as his thrusts, a burn in your lungs as you struggle to contain the cosmic feeling of love you hold inside. 

‘I know you like it when it hurts,’ he grits out, thrusts relentless. 

All you can manage is a nod, a moan, the dig of your nails into his skin, the acknowledgement that you would prefer it if he shattered you. You would prefer it if he left nothing behind of you at all.

‘I know you like it when I stretch you, when you can’t walk for days.’ 

‘I do,’ you nod weakly, legs automatically spreading wider - until your hips hurt, until you are certain your bones will bruise from the way you have spread yourself open just for him. 

Hoseok moans as a harmonic response to yours, the sack of his balls slapping diligently at your ass. You cling to him, holding him against you in despair, the vice grip of your hands matched only by the grip of your walls. Pleasure ripples through your synapses, an overload to your very synapses, little else registering in your mind apart from the places Hoseok penetrates within your core.

‘Do you want me to cum inside you?’

The pleading nature of his tone does not go unmissed, his own anguish evident in the way his hand cups your breast and his nails scratch at the flesh, wishing for entry. 

‘Yes.’

‘What if I get you pregnant?’ he muses, though he remains completely sincere. What if I fuck my baby into you? What will they do?’

‘I hope you do.’ It takes all your strength to speak without losing your breath. Once more your orgasm has started to build gloriously around the pain of taking him against your cervix, and you need him to know that you mean it. ‘I don’t care if they scorn me.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he bites out - not a threat, but a promise. ‘I’ll knock you up, fuck my baby into you. They’ll have to watch you grow someone else’s child. What a sight, huh? Bet Daeus would love to see you deliver another man’s baby.’

‘Do it.’

You see yourself, heavy and round with his child, glowing brilliantly like a constellation unto yourself. Carrying your offspring, you would be a supernova, the cradle of the very universe and you would celebrate it with every word breaking over laughter. Daeus would snarl at you, a sneer reserved for your growing belly; your father would find himself in a rage so beautiful and blinding, you think darkness would befall the earth, this winter sudden and unforgiving. The other gods would ignore you, this you are confident of and would take with pride. You’d tease them with it, finding yourself immensely confident in the power of being pregnant with Hoseok’s child. 

You’d carry his child as though this were your real pilgrimage within Teylim, your true purpose. 

And Hoseok, you know, would be your chosen king, god of the sun because he deserves it.

He deserves you. 

‘Yeah?’ he moans, hips picking up pace as he begins to chase his own high. Still, he loses none of the strength in his motions, seemingly motivated by your affirmation of desire.

‘Get me pregnant,’ you plead, biting your lip with shame at this impossible ask. A fool’s errand, a childish plea to change the way of things. ‘Make me stay with you,’ is your final whisper.

Together, you both fall silent as he fucks you with vigor, silent and awestruck by the violence of your coupling. With each thrust, your voices become a symphony of your union. Gripping him tightly, you hope it reaches the gods, your father, all of Teylim. You hope they see the way Hoseok fucks you, absolutely unforgiving. You hope they see the way you make a mess of yourself for him, that you have already decided on a husband and he is no god, no hero, but a man who loves you as though you are the whole of the sky. 

Hoseok trembles against you, and you sense his orgasm approaching in the way he gasps against your skin, thrusting harder and faster and, somehow, harder into your core. You are burning with the ache of containing him, but your own orgasm is cosmic, making its steady approach with each brutal thrust. Hoseok wanted to live inside you, wanted to give you a child, wanted to watch you swell with him alone - and it is these thoughts that send you over the edge, the universe apart from Hoseok melting into a white. In this orgasm, there is no air, no sea, no sky - only Hoseok; his breath, his smile as you cum around him, his ecstatic laughter.

You imagine yourself pregnant, learning to contain a sun inside your womb. You imagine him laughing, hands and lips at your belly. You imagine him happy. You imagine him happy, and your orgasm moves over you with the strength of a lunar tide, the same way your tears move over your cheeks, torn between sobs of bliss and sobs of grief for a life you will not have.

Hoseok continues to thrust into you with purpose, the last of your orgasm leaving you in shockwaves as the motions of his hips overstimulate your walls. It hurts to contain him, not nearly as much as it hurts to leave him, and you dig your nails into his skin, demanding all you can from him with enthusiasm. The world is tilted on its axis as he cums inside you, wave after wave of seed spilling into your core as you stroke tenderly at the hair at the base of his neck. Teeth chattering, you mumble his name, shivering as he spills himself inside you, and you pray, woefully, that he kept his word and left you with a piece of him.

‘Mine,’ he says, stilling inside you as the last of his orgasm quakes his mortal form. 

As his cock begins to soften inside you, the hand at your breast moves gently to the buttons. Your skin burns with the heat of the saliva he dripped against your neck, and he presses his cheek against your neck as he unbuttons the last of your dress. Exposed, now, to the sea breeze, your back arches slightly as the wind and his breath moves over your nipples. His hand cups your breast, too tender for the way he fucked you, and you are certain he is imagining your breasts full of milk, your body heavy, his wish granted, too. 

Pulling his cock free, you both grimace at the feeling, and he removes his hand from your breast to instead smear the cum from your core that leaks from between your walls over your folds. He strokes the tips of his fingers against your slit, the stimulation making you hiss and writhe beneath him in retreat, before you are crying out his name, his fingers dipping inside to scoop his cum from your center. As he pulls his hand free, his studies his fingers carefully, smirking not unlike the devil, before he guides them over your breasts and lets it drip.

And then, without warning, he begins to write his name along your breasts.

‘I am sanctifying you,’ he explains. ‘Anyone who pulls down your clothes will find me. I have already laid claim to your temple.’

Your smile is composed entirely of sadness, a hope that has made a home of despair evident in your expression. Holding his hand in yours, you guide his soaked fingers between the valley of your breasts to your stomach, where you hold him still.

‘With any luck it will be visible here,’ you offer, hoping he cannot hear how remorse has consumed you.

Hoseok frowns. ‘My biggest fear is that you do become pregnant and that I cannot see my baby grow in you. That I won’t be able to raise our family with you.’

Furrowing your brow, you tilt your head to the side in consideration, battling the new found grief that consumes you. ‘Did you not mean it?’

‘I meant every word,’ he promises, moving his hand from your stomach to cup your cheeks. ‘I’d put twins inside you if I had any control. But you are mine, our family is mine. I curse the gods for taking it from me.’ Hoseok falls silent, and you press your cheek into his hand, turning to kiss his mount of venus in encouragement. ‘The day I met you I saw my life with you,’ he continues, so quiet, and so unlike your Hoseok. ‘You are half of my soul.’

Abruptly, Hoseok lifts himself up and pulls away from you. As he rises to a stand, he is still warmed by your touch, the glow from your magic still draped over his muscles, turning him amber and yellow. He’s incandescent, as much as a god of light as you, more regal and more royal than any man who was lucky enough to slay a beast in your name. Running a hand through his hair, he regards you with dark eyes - embers burning in his rises of lust and longing, devotion and despair. He says nothing at all as he moves, naked and vulnerable, to the back corner of the room where he gathers his tools. 

‘What are you doing?’ you hum. Reaching your hand out, you curl onto your side, writhing in the pillow of your discarded clothes, beckoning him back to you. ‘Come back to me. It’s cold without you.’

He says nothing at all as he roots around, pulling out a thick screwdriver and hammer. 

‘He will give you rings,’ he says, more to himself than to you. 

The words come softly, barely a whisper that cuts through the air. Settling in front of the fog bell on his knees, he begins to hammer the end of the screwdriver into the metal, carving and carving. 

‘He will give you flowers,’ he grits out bitterly, ‘and will see your smiles in the morning. He will bring you food and nectar, and he will watch you glow your brightest. He will watch you glow each time you remember my hands on you, my lips on you. In bed, he will watch you glow, thinking it’s him, letting his own ego grow so immense he will get off on his own power rather than you. But he won’t know, not like I do. Not like we do.’

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your naked body, the breeze from the sea cooling your dampened skin. Licking your lips, you watch as his muscles strain with his pound of the hammer. Brow narrowed, jaw set, and hands gripping his tools with confidence, he marks the metal with a certainty born from a man learning to combat loneliness. 

‘He won’t know,’ he continues, words a grunt of demand and dominion. ‘No one will know that each time he touches you, you are comparing him to me. You will be remembering me. I want you to remember me. I want you to think of me, I want you to look for the light from this beacon, and I want you to outshine the anguish. I am destined to look for you the way so many people look for the North Star. My every storm is guided by you. So don’t you dare forget.’

The fog light spins overhead, clouds passing by and changing the refraction just enough to see the shimmer against his cheeks. Hoseok weeps as he carves, jaw unflinching, and hands steady with determination. A lump rises in the center of your throat, chest tight with the pain that comes from loving someone too much, entirely too much. Gasping for air, you move towards him, wanting his body pressed tightly against yours in comfort.

On instinct, you give him light - more light, so much light. From beneath your skin, you become torchlight, neon, candle flame; wrapping yourself around his back and shoulders, you rest your head on his shoulder and cling to him, becoming sunlight and firewood, banishing the darkness from his mind and mouth, a lamp unto his feet to lead him home. Pressing your lips at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you feel him tremble beneath you, mindlessly leaning into you for more, endlessly more. 

As you turn to watch his hands, your own tears soak the corner of your eyes.

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe, regarding his craftsmanship.

‘He can’t give you light like I can,’ he murmurs, suddenly so small and so young, weakened suddenly by the ever looming distance between you. ‘He can give you all the falsehoods of husbandry, but he can’t give you light. He can’t give it back. He is not your equal like I am.’ 

Beneath the careful, diligent work of his hammer and screw, your name begins to take shape, just beneath his. The markings are deep, thick scratches unlikely to erode in any substantial length of time. Wind and sea will not wipe your names away, nor snow nor sand. Not even heaven, you think, could cause your names to smear. 

When he finishes, the bronze bell glimmers beneath your light, your names encased in a heart he artfully crafted. You imagine it in a wedding band - silver, and not gold. Gold, you think, is too soft and too malleable. The gods prefer it, a sign of eternal wealth and glory, but gold bends. Gold is too impermanent, value placed in all the wrong places. You would give Hoseok platinum, would give him silver, would give him bronze. If you had the power to move the earth, you would give him iron and steel, anything equally as enduring as the way you will be immortalized in ardor. 

‘I can’t believe this is all I will have of you.’ Hoseok stares at your names, at the jagged lines he carved into the bell, mourning. Shoulders slumped and hands folded neatly in his lap, he laments quietly to himself as though in prayer. ‘At the end of all this, this is all I have. Your name and a memory.’

Raising your hand to his chin, you turn his face to yours, biting your lip as he cries freely, tears staining the softness of his cheeks with salt. 

‘No one will have me, not like you.’ ‘He can take me, he can take my light, he can take my name, but he will never have my heart. All of me belongs to you. I am yours. Swear to me that you are mine.’

The hammer and screwdriver fall to the ground at his knees, a loud clank so disruptive for the quiet paradise you have built at the top of the lighthouse. Enveloping you in his arms, he buries his face in your neck, lips at the center of your throat - a place he has been so often this night you are determined to call it his home - tugging your hair back to make space for him. 

‘I’m yours,’ he swears passionately. ‘Not a single person will have me the way I’ve given myself to you. In a thousand summers, not a single one will pass in which I’m not yours.’

The conviction in his words undoes you, your eyes wide as you stare up at the ceiling, at the base of the light, feeling as though there is no difference between the moon and the sun, not anymore. For you, they are interchangeable, each burning in an hour of love; which is to say, there will be no hour that passes in which you do not love him, no hour passing in which your light does not belong to him and his does not belong to you. 

‘I wish I could stay like this.’ These affectionate speeches tumble from your lips, your mind empty of misgivings, wishing to be as honest as you are naked. ‘I wish I could stay this way, forever touching you.’

‘Time is meaningless,’ he muses, detached and distant, even as you hold him. ‘For me, this is the end of my life. There will be nothing else after this. For me, it will always be this way. My arms will always be around you.’

For him, you are glad. For him, you are relieved that there shall be no other moment than this. 

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

The seaside feels like the edge of destruction after so long away from it, gravity pressing at your bones. From where you stand, the unchanging nature of the earth makes a mockery of your nerves, the past beating against your sternum like a second heart.

You are poised and still, relearning the way the earth is unforgiving compared to the heavens. Too long have you been removed from such a tangible feeling of living, such a tangible reminder that you, too, are made of flesh and blood and all the things that break so easily, just like ocean foam. Your toes bury themselves into the rocky shore, rooting yourself like a tether as a promise that you will not run away, that you will not leave - not again. As though it senses your presence, the sea rages beneath a cloudless sky, the sun’s rays reflecting off the water, illuminated without any need of you.

The lighthouse looms along the hilltop, and you worry your bottom lip as you study its eternal guardianship. All these unchangeable things, loyal without you, and yet you stand here, begging for acceptance. You can hear Hoseok’s words like an echo, words not yet spoken but you anticipate them, the lump in your throat sinister in its tenacity. 

How dare you, he will shout, and the tears on his cheeks will be your parting gift. How dare you haunt me here when I did not expect you, when I had already worked so hard to give you up. 

Promises in the dead of night are easy to make when the daylight has yet to take anything from you. The earth remains unchanged but you are evidence of the passage of time, and you are certain Hoseok will have warred with himself so completely your memory of him is little more than a ghost of a man who died the moment he woke to find you missing. 

He used to be able to sense you here. Back when things were new and things were simple, back even at the end, he would sense your presence along the water and come running, a smile already at his cheeks in welcome. Stroking your naked hip with the tips of his fingers, he told you all about his skin would tingle when you were close, a static on his tongue that told him something too important to be contained by the earth was waiting for him. Even before he knew you, before he knew it was you, he felt it, as though he had been made just to know you, to find you. 

It used to be the same for you, a pull to the shore and a lightness of being that always made you stand here, in this place, waiting. Weeks passed before either of you had any idea you were near one another, before you’d even introduced yourself, and now it is the same. Your body combats the change in gravity with strength, though you realize too much has changed in you for the weight to feel the same. 

The hair at the back of your neck stands on end, rising in anticipation as the air becomes thick and heavy. You feel him approaching, a magnetic pull against your back that has your posture shifting, pulling you to your full height regardless how heavy all of you feels. Still, he doesn’t close the distance, and your lips part around a sigh, silently asking him to reach for you, to touch you.

But he won’t.

Not when he thinks you are the same as you were. Not when he thinks this is all just a memory.

Closing your eyes, you turn to face him, feeling tears burn against the lids. Hoseok makes no movement towards you, and, unable to hold back any longer, you open your eyes once more, weeping at the sight of him. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you study the way he looks at you, the way his gaze traverses your form with a pained expression, the knot in his brow visible even from a distance. He’s far from you, far enough you cannot touch him, but he, too, remains unchanged - still beautiful, still glorious, still the sun king himself, and you choke back a bitter cry at the way it seems only you are the one who was allowed to change.

‘Hello,’ you try, offering a weak and unsteady smile.

Hoseok says nothing as he closes the distance, eyes trained at your middle, focused enough you feel him move inside you. He lets himself get close, close enough your skin calls out to his eagerly, begging him to touch you. You can smell him on the wind, the same musk, the same ambergris, the same dust that you remember, and your hands twitch at your sides, straining to reach out to him. 

‘What is this?’ he manages, not looking you in the face.

‘I -’ A small cry cuts you off, and you press your hand to your lips, forcing yourself to keep your composure. 

Hearing the anguish in your voice, he raises his gaze to yours and you see the way he mirrors your pain, confused and bewildered. 

‘Tell me what this is,’ he whispers, fierce and demanding. 

‘It’s exactly how it looks,’ you explain, feeling terribly pathetic.

It’s so simple, you know. Absolutely obvious. Your pregnant belly sticks out far enough now it leaves a distance between you, a gap where your child grows the only thing that separates you. 

‘Did you come here to mock me?’ he spits, leaning forward with venom.

‘No!’ you exclaim, holding your hand up in surrender. ‘I…’ you drift off, uncertain where to begin. You decide, perhaps, it’s best to begin with the truth. ‘The baby is yours.’ 

Hoseok’s expression shatters, a thousand different feelings breaking over his face before he settles on disbelief and quiet rage.

‘Why would you show me this?’ he pleads, sounding so small. ‘Have I not suffered enough? You knew I wished for this and now you tease me with it?’

‘I’m not here to show you anything, Hoseok, and certainly not to cause you pain.’ It’s shocking how tired you are becoming, putting in the effort of not reaching for him, not weeping for him, not rushing to an end you both deserve. ‘They...rejected me,’ is all you manage in the end.

Hoseok sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes watering as he lowers his focus to your belly once more. ‘They stopped the wedding?’

He speaks so softly you almost do not hear him over the rolling tide, and now, you cannot be contained. In one swift motion, you reach for his hand twining your fingers together. Your hold on him is unrelenting, not allowing him a single escape. Feeling his palm against yours is all the motivation you need, a resurgence of energy you have been missing for months.

When you continue to remain silent, he narrows his brow and persists. ‘Are you unmarried?’

‘They were going to go through with,’ you explain quickly, not allowing him any room for interjection. ‘They were going to make me marry him. Daeus even said he’d give the child to a human family, make it go through a Hero’s Journey to join us back in Teylim. Gods, the fight I put up to stop that from happening. The Fate Tying went poorly,’ you finish with a sardonic grin.

Gently, you tug Hoseok against you, forcing his stomach to bump against yours. His heated breath cascades over your skin, and you sigh in pleasure.

‘The child is completely human, my love,’ you whisper, eyes searching his face. ‘The Moirai refused to untie us.’ Incredulous, you laugh, looking out over the grassy hill in wonder. ‘The old crones are always right.’

The weight of your explanation steals Hoseok’s breath, and he falls against you, clinging to you as he sobs into your shoulder. Holding him close, you remember the last time you were in this position, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your hands clutching him, unwilling to be removed. As though sensing the great wave of his emotion, the child in your belly stirs abruptly, pressing against your womb to get his attention. 

You jump slightly at the feel of it, and Hoseok looks down, laughing, incandescent in his joy. He brings his hand to your belly, touching softly at where your child had just been, and he sniffles, looking to you and back down, cheeks reflecting the light you suddenly cannot contain. 

‘It’s a girl,’ you state, always wondering how he would react to knowing he’d have a daughter. ‘Our daughter kept me with you.’

Falling to his knees, he holds your belly in his hands and presses his forehead against its peak, too overcome with emotion to utter a word. Instead, he simply breathes deeply, wrought with bliss. Lowering a hand to the crown of his head, you thread your fingers through your hair and think that this, this precise moment, is what it means to be a goddess.

This is what it means to truly be sanctified.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 19

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 19 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story

The girl was extremely pale, with an oval face and round eyes which were especially attractive. She was wearing a light pink skirt, her hair tied back. She looked like a young woman. She rubbed her eyes blankly in the dark, looking from side to side.

"Where am I. . .?"

Chu Wanning said: "You are in Return to Truth barrier I set up."

The girl was taken aback and said fearfully: "Who are you? Why is it so dark here? I can't see you, who's talking?"

Chu Wanning replied: "Did you forget?. . . You're already dead."

The girl's eyes widened: "I'm. . . I. . ."

Slowly, she remembered.

Lowering her head, she folded her hands across her chest. She murmured in a soft, unwavering voice: "I. . . I'm already dead. . ."

"Only souls can come to the Return to Truth barrier. Here, their hatred will be eliminated. No matter whether the dead person has transformed into a vicious ghost or an ordinary spirit, they will retain their original and personality appearance, known as their 'Return to Truth.'"

The girl was frozen for a while as if she was gradually remembering the past. Abruptly, she dropped her face and silently wept.

Chu Wanning said: "Have. . . you been wronged?"

The young girl sobbed: "Are you King Yan*? Or Bai Wuchang*? Are you here to avenge me?"

*(T/N: King Yan [阎王爷] is the one to judge the dead while Bai Wuchang [白无常] is one of the deities to escort spirits to the underworld)

Chu Wanning held his forehead and said: ". . . I'm not King Yan or Bai Wuchang."

The girl sobbed quietly. Chu Wanning was quiet for a while and didn't speak. He waited until her cries calmed down a bit and then said: "But I am here to help you air your grievances."

When the girl heard this, she choked and raised her gaze, and said with a mixture of joy and sorrow: "Then you really are Lord Yama*!"

*(T/N: Same person as King Yan)

". . ." Chu Wanning decided not to continue this topic with her and instead asked: "Do you know what you've done after you died?"

"I don't know. . . not really. I just remember that I was so, so sad. I wanted to get revenge. . . I wanted to go to them. . . I wanted to find him again. . ."

When the soul had just awakened, it would take a minute for all their memories to return to them, but it didn't matter. Chu Wanning patiently asked her: "Who did you want to go to?"

The girl whispered: "My husband, Chen Bohuan."

Chu Wanning was astonished. Chen Boyuan - wasn't that the name of the eldest son of the Chen family?

He asked: "What. . . what's your name? Where are you from?"

The power of Tianwen was infused with this illusionary barrier, and the dead who entered would almost always talk honestly with Chu Wanning. Therefore, the girl replied: "I'm a concubine, Luo Xianxian. I'm from Caidie Town."

"Before I came, I read the analects of Caidie Town. There are more than 500 households in this town, and there's no Luo family. Who is your father?"

The girl slowly remembered the details, her eyes filling with even more sadness: "My father used to be a scholar in the village. He was my father-in-law's brother-in-law's close friend. A few years, he contracted tuberculosis and passed away. Then I was the only one left from my family."

"Then why did you die?"

The young girl froze for a moment and then she sobbed: "I had no other option but to die. They, they lied to my father and stole the secret recipe for the butterfly fragrance powder. They beat me and scolded me, threatened me, and told me to leave Caidie Town. I. . . I'm a weak woman, where else could I go? I didn't have a single relative left in this world. . . The world is so big, where could I go? Apart from the Underworld, where else could I go? Where would there be room for me. . ."

After she recalled the events of her life, she seemed to have infinite bitterness and sorrow in her heart, She was desperate to talk to someone. Chu Wanning didn't even have to ask anything else, she slowly continued on her own.

It turned out that Luo Xianxian lost her mother when she was young. She heard from his father that she had an older brother, but her brother was separated from them in the chaos of the Lower Cultivation Realm, and they never saw him again so she didn't know whether he was dead or alive. When her elder brother was lost, Luo Xianxian wasn't even a year old, still in swaddling clothes. Later, she tried to remember her elder brother, but she still had no recollection of him.

There were only two people left in the Luo family were Xianxian and her father. The father and daughter depended on each other. They wandered around and finally built a small house in Caidie Town and lived there.

That year, Luo Xianxian was five years old. The Chen family's oldest son, Chen Bohuan, was two years older than her.

At that time, the Chen family hadn't made its fortune. Several members of the family lived in a two-bedroom earth-rammed hut. An orange tree was planted by the low wall of the small courtyard. In autumn, the tree was full of fruit and it grew over the low wall and snuck into the Luo family's yard.

Luo Xianxian tilted her head. The branches full of oranges looked like lanterns during the Lantern Festival. She was shy and introverted. She didn't play with others. She was always alone. She would dutifully be peeling some beans, raising her head from time to time and peeking at the orange tree peeking over from the Chen family's yard.

The oranges were temptingly yellow, and against the sunlight, you could almost taste the sweet and sour fullness of their juice.

Luo Xianxian looked eagerly, gulping and swallowing from time to time. Her cheeks were sore from the cravings.

But she never reached out to pick one. Her dad was a scholar who had been inferior to her father-in-law's brother-in-law. He failed the exam, but he didn't lose his backbone. His sour scholar brain was probably hurting but he always coached his daughter to be a "gentleman."

At the age of three, Luo XianXian knew that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed. She never reached out to pick the oranges that were close at hand, even though she craved for them.

One night, Luo Xianxian sat in the courtyard humming and washing clothes by the moonlight.

Her father wasn't very strong, so he had to go to bed early. The poor man’s child had to take charge of the house. The little girl rolled up her sleeves, soaked her thin arms in the barrel, and rubbed her face earnestly.

Suddenly a hoarse cough came from the door, and a young man covered in blood staggered in and stared at her.

The little girl was so frightened that she even forgot to scream.

The young man's face was dirty and bloody, but his eyebrows were very handsome. The two people stood frozen staring at each other for a while. In the end, the young man couldn't stand up anymore. He sat down slowly against the base of the wall, panting, and said hoarsely: "Bring some water."

Xu was that kind of young man who didn't look like a bad person or perhaps Luo Xianxian was simply too kind-hearted. Although afraid, she still ran back to the house, made a cup of tea, and held it up to the young man's mouth.

The young man wasn't very polite. He threw back his drink, then wiped the corner of his mouth. Rolling his eyes back, he stared at Luo Xianxian's pretty face. His eyes glazed over and he didn't speak for a while.

He didn't speak, Luo Xianxian didn't either, she just blinked timidly. She held her hands at a distance she thought was safe enough and sized up the stranger.

". . . You look like an old friend of mine." The young man suddenly grinned, squinted his eyes and smiled eerily. With the bloodstains on his face, it was really quite terrifying. "Especially the eyes, they're so round. It looks like you could gouge them out, stick it in your fingers and swallow it in one bite."

When he said such horrible words so plainly, even with a little smile, Luo Xianxian trembled even more, and subconsciously covered her eyes.

The young man said: "Heh, clever girl. Just cover them up. Don't keep staring at me. I can't control my own hands."

He spoke casually with a northern accent.

Moonlight fell into the courtyard. The young man licked his chapped lips and suddenly saw the orange tree stretching into the yard. For some reason, his eyes lit up. His pupils flashed in the light, the lustre brightening for a moment before dimming back down. He raised his chin and motioned.

"Girl."

Luo Xianxian: ". . ."

"Pick an orange and peel it for me."

Luo Xianxian finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, slightly trembling, but she didn't hesitate to say: "Sir, that's not my family's fruit tree. It belongs to someone else. I can't pick one."

The young man was taken aback. She wasn't sure what went through his mind but his face slowly sank.

"I told you to pick one. I want to eat an orange. Pick it for me!" The last phrase was harsh like he spat it out through his teeth. Luo Xianxian shuddered, still stubbornly stood her ground.

The little girl was soft-natured, but her bones were the same as her stubborn father.

"I won't."

The young man's eyes narrowed. He raised his nose, his expression changing: "Do you know who you're talking to, brat?"

"If you want to have some water, I-I'll pour it for you. If you want to eat, there's some food inside, but the orange tree isn't mine. I can't pick it. Father said taking something without asking is stealing. I'm a gentleman. Wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed. You can't fish. . ."

In her rambling, she started talking about fish instead. The half-grown girl blushed. She insisted on what her father had taught herself and ended up completely fumbling her words, but under the young man's gaze, she was violently trembling, and her legs were weak.

The young man was speechless.

Hearing such a little kid, especially a young girl, say things as odd as "taking without asking is stealing", "wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed", and - and "I'm a gentleman"?? pfff, he normally wouldn't be able to stop himself from laughing out loud.

But he couldn't laugh.

On the contrary, there was a strong resentment in his chest and his heart was being crushed like it was being trampled by a horse.

"I hate your kind, so-called. . ." He supported himself on the wall, shakily rising to his feet, and hissed out: "Good man, gentleman, hero, benevolent."

Under Luo Xianxian's horrified gaze, he slowly moved his injured foot, he moved over to the orange tree. He looked up, sniffed the smell of the orange tree almost greedily, and then a red gleam of rage flashed in his eyes. Before Luo Xianxian could react, he climbed the tree, shaking it, trampling, kicking, and hitting its branches.

All the oranges on the branch crackled and fell to the ground, rolling away. The young man's smile was twisted and he shouted wantonly: "Taking something without asking is stealing! Wealth can't be lusted after! The mighty never yield!"

"Sir! What are you doing! Stop! Dad! Dad!"

Luo Xianxian hadn't wanted to call for her father. Her father was a weak, powerless scholar so there wasn't much he could do. But she was a little girl after all, and she was so terrified that she finally broke down.

"What are you shouting about! Your dad can come out and I'll cut him down too!"

The little girl was scared silly. Small water droplets rimmed her round eyes, tears forming.

The Chen family next door went to a neighbouring village to visit relatives so the whole family was away. No one could stop this lunatic.

The little madman shook the oranges all over the ground and still wasn't satisfied. He stomped on the ground several times, crushing several oranges, growing ferocious. She didn't know where he found the strength, but he jumped over the wall and flipped into the Chen's yard. In the courtyard, he found an axe and chopped down the whole tree. Then he turned around and cackled.

He laughed and laughed then abruptly stopped. From his squat, he straightened himself, staring blankly in a daze.

Suddenly, he turned his head and waved to Luo Xianxian: "Girl, come here."

". . ." Luo Xianxian didn't move. She was frozen to the spot, the little cloth shoes embroidered with yellow flowers digging into the ground.

Seeing her hesitating, the young man calmed down his voice and said as sweetly as he could, "Come here. I have a treat for you."

"I. . . I don't. . . no, I don't want to go. . ." Luo Xianxian mumbled. Before she finished speaking, the young man suddenly grew irate again——

"If you don't come here, I'll go into your house and slice up your father!"

Luo Xian trembled harshly but finally took small steps towards him.

The young man squinted at her: "Hurry up, I'm not waiting all day."

Luo Xianxian lowered her head and moved towards him. When she was still a few steps away, he suddenly stretched out his hand and violently pulled her over. Luo Xianxian let out a scream, but it only reached the back of her throat before something was shoved into her mouth to gag her. The young man stuffed an orange into her mouth. It wasn't peeled or washed, but covered in the dirt and pushed into her mouth.

The young man tried to force her to eat it in one bite. The orange split open and was rotten inside. Half her face was covered in the rotten fruit, but the lunatic was still smiling. He crushed the fruit into her face, stuffing it into her mouth that she was desperately trying to keep closed.

"Aren't you a gentleman? I thought you didn't eat stolen food. So what are you eating now? Huh? What are you eating now!"

"Haaa. . . no. . . I don't want. . . dad. . .dad. . ."

"Swallow it." The young man narrowed his eyes and stuffed the last bit of fruit into Luo Xianxian's mouth. His pupils gleamed with an eerie light and he shuddered. "Swallow it!"

He watched Luo Xianxian forcibly swallow the orang. She muffledly choked out "Dad". The young man was silent for a while, then he suddenly smiled.

That smile was more terrifying than his hideous face.

He stroked Luo Xianxian's hair with satisfaction, squatting in front of her, and said softly: "What are you calling your dad for? Shouldn't you be called out to me? Isn't the orange I gave you sweet? Was it delicious?"

With that, he picked up another one off the ground.

This time, he didn't stuff it in her mouth. He carefully peeled off the orange peel and cleaned off all the white piths attached to it. Then he wiped his hands, broke off a piece, and brought it to Luo Xianxian's lips. He whispered: "If you like it, eat some more."

Luo Xianxian knew that she had encountered a madman today. She had no choice but to lower her head and silently ate the orange that the madman handed her. The sweet and sour juice melted down her throat and her stomach churned. . .

The young man squatted there, feeding her slices of oranges. He seemed to feel better and even started to gently hum a song.

His voice was rough, very hoarse, like a broken gust of wind, vague and inaudible. Luo Xianxian could only make out a few words.

"Three or four flowers fall into the pool, the bell chimes once or twice on the shore. The best thing is to be young, a light-footed horse, you can see the end of the world. . ."

He suddenly said: "Girl."

". . ."

"Tsk." He curled his lips and reached for Luo Xianxian's slender face, "Let me look at your eyes."

Luo Xianxian shivered. She was powerless to resist. She could only let the young man inch forward, his bloody finger coming closer and closer to her eyes.

"This is how it is," he said.

Luo Xianxian whimpered and closed his eyes. She was really afraid that this madman would, on a whim, poke out her eyes like they were fruit.

But the young man didn't poke them.

The other coldly said to her: "Didn't you teach me the saying that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed? I've also got something to tell you."

"Hmm. . ."

"Open your eyes."

Luo Xianxian's eyes were tightly closed. The young girl laughed in exasperation and hissed: "Don't be like that. Open your eyes!"

". . . Do you think I won't be able to gouge your eyes out if you have them closed?!"

Luo Xianxian forced her round eyes open, her slender eyelashes trembling, and tears streaming down her face which looked pitiful and fearful. She wasn't sure how to make this stranger happy. He suddenly let go of her cheek, his hand lingering in the air, and then gently patted her head.

He gazed into her eyes, and a trembling smile shook from the corner of his mouth. His smile was distorted, ferocious, and just a bit miserable.

He said: "There are men in Linyi. Twenty of them are dead."

After he spoke, he turned around and his figure sank into the darkness and gradually disappeared.

Only the mess on the ground was the only evidence that such a person, covered in blood in the middle of the night, had been here.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[xxxavo]

Sin getting upset bc he see’s Kouen flirting with his s/o (I mean they both already don’t like each other).So sins getting all alpha dog and is trying to get him to bck off

Requested by: anonymous

Warnings: A hint of verbal NSFW towards the end? (better known as...LIMEy) Not swear words but a few rude words? Idk

Suddenly getting back into Magi so might be a few imagines being thrown around here and there, depends on how long this lasts!! Feeling a NSFW scenario manifesting itself into my drafts after writing this, I won't lie, but no actual NSFW content today my little imuchakk's! Hope you enjoy!

Sinbad had always liked banquets, weather they be ones held in the kingdom of Sindria, or at his biggest rivals, the Kou empire. There was something exciting about the prospect of consuming alcohol in foreign lands after an important political meeting that made Sinbad feel on top of the world. It was rare for things in Sinbad’s life not to go his way, or to not end up leading towards something better then what he had lost. For this reason, King Sinbad was to an extent, a go-with-the-flow kind of man. Especially with loyal followers such as his generals and his beloved wife!

His beloved was of course very loyal, incredibly so...but, there were people who did not care for that loyalty of hers. This included a certain Kou empire red head who went by the name of Kouen.

“No need to look so sour, Sin.” Ja’far commented beside him, though he was enjoying the fact his King was abandoning his poor drinking habits to instead stay sober and focused, even if he was focusing on his wife and Kouen Ren flirting. “You told her to be pleasant and friendly towards Kouen to gain his favour. I don’t understand why you’re so jealous.” That was enough to make Sinbads eyes flicker from the generous laughter of his wife to the smug face of his right hand man.

“Me!? Jealous!?”

“Hmm.” Masrur agreed from the other side of Sinbad. The King’s neck practically snapped to the fanalis.

“Why would I, of all people, be jealous?”

“Because you’re wife is a smart, sophisticated lady who could do a lot better than a man who drinks sake and shamelessly prances around woman as if he was a young teen in his glory years.” Golden eyes met red ones in a baffled expression of offense.

“That’s a low blow, Ja’far.”

“Hmm.” Again, Masrur voiced his opinion rather humbly. Unlike the other two, Masrur had not taken his eyes away from the Queen, curious to see how her little game would play out; He loved how cunning she was.

The Queen, unlike Sinbad, was sensible. When he was busy hiding from Ja’far she was busy doing the work for him and cleaning up all his messes. Masrur liked how through thick and thin she stayed by Sinbad’s side whilst being the role model his country needed. She may as well have been a general. However, that didn’t mean she didn’t find herself sick of him sometimes.

Unfortunately old habits died hard. Sinbad was an infamous lady killer, flirting and charming any woman he deemed beautiful. No longer did he take it any further but Masrur could always see it in the Queen’s eyes whenever she got upset or jealous with his ministrations. As much as she tried to hide it, Masrur was a man who saw much, yet said very little.

The fanalis saw the way the cogs in her head turned the moment Sinbad had told her to “Gain Kouen’s favour in any way you can! I’m sure he’ll be much more linient with me if he enjoys the company of my other half” and the way she made sure her corset was on tighter and her breasts were pushed up higher only confirmed his supicions. Sinbad was about to get a very bitter taste of his own flirtatious medicine.

The Queen was, despite being middle aged, very beautiful. If she wasn’t married to King Sinbad, Masrur was certain many men would be throwing themselves at her feet. Kouen would possibly be one of those.

The next thing Masrur knew a grumpy Sinbad was pulling on his cheek, his gaze in the same direction as his. “What is it Masrur? What are they saying!? Surely you will stick by your King! Unlike this traitor—“

“Tsk.”

“Please Masrur. My wife could be in danger.” Sinbad dramatized. Masrur practically had to stop himself from commenting on how pathetic the King looked. “I need those fanalis ears of yours...”

“Fine.”

“Did you know, you’re my favourite?”

“I swear to Solomon Sinbad if you—“

Drowning out the advisor and the King, Masrur honed his attention on the Queen and Kouen who sat sharing a bottle of red wine.

“Oh no. No more for me please.” Just as Kouen was about to tip some more of the red liquor in her glass, the Queen politely bowed her head, fluttering her lashes. “My tolerance for alcohol isn’t the greatest thing in the world.”

“Oh?.” Kouen hummed, nodding in response before filling up his own. “I expected you to perhaps be a little more like you’re husband.”

“An old drunkard?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But is it not what you meant?”

“I—“ Kouen seemed at a loss for words for a second, perhaps embarrassed, but saved himself rather quickly without a hint of emotion on his face. “What I meant was, a lover of a banquet. Sinbad has attended many, I assumed you would have been more on par with him when it came to drinking and party games.”

The Queen watched Kouen take a sip of his wine, her lips pulling up into a soft smirk. “Something tells me Kouen if I was anything like my husband you wouldn’t want to be sat here with me.” Kouen was slow to place down his drink, his sharp eyes meeting Sinbad’s wife’s.

“Would you rather me sit elsewhere?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But is it not what you meant?” Now, it was his turn to smirk.

“I—“ With a soft laugh, the regal woman before Kouen grew flustered, picking up her glass and swirling the remaining wine contents around to allow her to look elsewhere. “You really are as they say Kouen. Quite an interesting man. I enjoy getting to know you.” Lifting up her head, the Queen rose an eyebrow, a smile now residing on her face. “Every word I say sinks in doesn’t it?”

“Your highness. If any man does not listen to you, does he really deserve to be in your presence? If my sisters were simply cast aside, I wouldn’t be so forgiving to the suitor who was to do that.” It was a lie, the Queen had heard of Kouen and his family sending off the young princess to he married to a King who wanted nothing more then a pretty face. Was there more to the story? Most likely. But was that the gist of it? Yes. However, to indulge both Kouen and continue to gain the nervous attention of her husband shuffling in his seat, the Queen sighed out gently.

“You’re close to your family...?” It was hard to hear the rest, Sinbad practically chewing off his own hand right beside Masrurs ear.

“What are they saying!?” Simply, Masrur shrugged. “Something about family.” It was no fun telling Sinbad everything. Groaning, Sinbad flopped back into his seat, picking up his wine with a pout.

“It doesn’t taste the same knowing at the end of the night she’s not going to be dragging me back to our room...”

“Who? Her highness?” The three men all turned abruptly to face Kogyoku, who smiled sheepishly. “I’m awfully sorry...” she stuttered out. “I didn’t mean to pry, I just came to say hello and over heard you talking."

Knowing that any ill intentions towards Kougyoku’s older brother would harm his reputation with the Kou empire, Sinbad put on his best charming smile, acting as though he wasn’t emotionally conflicted on the inside. “Ah Princess. What a pleasure to be seeing you again. Are you enjoying the banquet?” With a smile, the pinkette nodded her head.

“I am very much your highness. I hope you’re also enjoying yourself.” With that, her eyes flickered upwards to the Queen of Sindrian and the most influential man in the whole of the Kou empire. “It seems her highness is enjoying herself to. I’ve never seen Kouen so invested in somebody. It’s a real testimony to your wife.” Kougyoku was of course NOT JEALOUS. Not once had she imagined herself sat on Sinbad's lap as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear! Nether the less, she continued her façade, knowing that after all it was her duty.

”They’re so deep in conversation, I wonder what they’re talking about.” Her words aren’t helping the purple male.

“As do I...”

“Kouen seems so relaxed around her highness. They really do get along don’t they?” Was she trying to give him a heart attack?

With a delightful laugh Sinbad nodded before finally rising to his feet. "They do indeed. In fact I feel a little bit left out. Perhaps I should pau the two a visit. Excuse me Princess, I do hope of seeing you again soon." Lifting her hand to his lips, Sinbad placed a soft kiss to the back of her hand before walking towards his wife and that thing trying to take her away. The King of Sindria looked at peace with all around him as he strode over, all intentions of causing havoc and disrupting the calm atmosphere completely gone for his being. At least it looked that way. If it didn't, he wouldn't have been a good King.

The two at the table saw him coming before he arrived and where as Kouen greeted him with a cut nod, seemingly displeased he was interrupting his time with his wife, who simply sent him a passive smile.

"Ah Your highness." Not Sin, not Sinbad, not my King, not my love. Just your highness. "Me and Kouen here--" Yet they were on first name basis? "Were just discussing-- Hmmph!"

As done many times before by the womanizer, Sinbad encased the back of his wife's head, bringing her face towards his own and then slamming their lips together in a rather mighty display right in front of the red princes eyes. He made sure it lasted. And his Queen? Who was she to deny Sinbads advances? As usual she practically melted into his affectionate assault, fragile hands moving to clasp at Sinbad's robes in an attempt to lull him closer...but two could play at that game. Pulling back from his beloved, Sinbad made sure to smirk, staring into her eyes for a brief moment. It was his way of saying "I'll get you back for this".

The sexual tension was undeniable and Sinbad had hoped Kouen could sense her thighs rubbing together like he could, because that was the closest Kouen would get.

"Hm? Talking about what? I didn't quite catch that my Queen."

Meanwhile, back at Sinbad's table, Ja'far sighed in aggravation as he watched the scene Sinbad caused in absolute horror. "Honestly, this man really does test my patience! Can he not just let his wife butter up Kouen! If anything it benefits us!"

"Hmm."

"Just for one second, can he think about anything else other then his-"

"Dick?"

"I was going to say pride but that works too."

[fulltimemoaner]

Just something cute like Childe and Zhongli are crushing on each other but they think the other doesn't share their feelings so both of them are being dumd and trying very hard to hide their feelings. Meanwhile, everyone knows they're in love with each other.

Zhongli knows he is being irrational, there is nothing in the world that could possibly bind an adeptus and a human together, nothing short of disaster and broken hearts, anyways. Of course, there are adepti that could argue with his stance, such as the law consultant Yanfei, who is the very product of such a connection. However, the vast difference between a mere law consultant an ex archon is omnipresent in his mind, and so is the fact that he is more than five thousand years older than a certain troublemaker. When he sips his painstakingly prepared tea, his face sours, the leaves leaving a bitter tinge on his tongue, over-boiled and somewhat stale. There went six hours of wasted kitchen labour, all due to his own knack for overthinking and contemplating. He had all the time in the world, after all, to drown in his own musings, even if Hu Tao was still yelling at him to do his duties and other earthly errands. No, Zhongli didn’t look down on those, quite the opposite. He had taken to loving the simple life of the human Zhongli, without the hassles of being Morax. Humanity, however, came with its cons, such as attraction and irrationality. Again, it wasn’t like he hadn’t loved as an Adeptus, madly so, perhaps, but this wasn’t the time for him to be arguing with himself. He simply had to put his desires on a leash. He took another sip of bitter tea.

There was no way Ajax liked him back, after all. He was young, a few millennia so, (yes, he isn’t about to stop repeating that to himself) and strong, quick witted, humorous, loud, adventurous- Everything that Zhongli had lost in the past thousand years of being Morax. A heavy sigh leaves his lips and he leans his chin into the inside of his palm. In times like these, it’s hard not to miss Jueyun Karst and the company of his kind, it’s in times like these when he is filled with confusion and lack of understanding involving the humans he so greatly adores. He wonders if the loss of his Gnosis led to the loss of some of the divine, whether it brought him closer to the earthly beings, which was why he found his heart squeezing so hard at the thought of ginger hair and aquamarine eyes.

A loud thud shakes Zhongli out of his reverie, the sliding door of the Wangsheng Funeral parlour slamming open to reveal Hu Tao’s gleaming eyes, as well as a very handsome yet petrified Snezhnayan. “Zhongli!” The woman coos, her hand holding an iron grip on the Harbinger’s wrist. “Someone needs your assistance.”

“Tartaglia.” Zhongli clears his throat, easing into his front of apathy despite his hammering heartbeat.

“Ah, Mr. Zhongli.” Childe laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head in that telltale way that radiated tides of awkwardness that would put his elemental abilities to shame. “There is a death within the Fatui,” He’s lying. No one has died under his watch. “And we need to bury him, it’s too hot to transport him back to Snezhnaya as it is.” His stuttering voice is probably giving him out, but Hu Tao elbows his ribs so hard he almost gasps.

“Ah, what a tragedy!” The parlour owner throws a hand over her eyes. “Such honoured guests suffering a loss like that! Zhongli, this calls for your assistance. I am so busy and I’m afraid my knowledge in Snezhnayan burial customs is vastly limited, so feel free to take this on!” She gives Zhongli the most suspicious thumbs up known to mankind and sticks her tongue out, and just like she always comes and goes, she practically evaporates out of the room.

Childe is sweating. He is staring at Zhongli with wide eyes and a suspicious tingle in his stomach, a playback of Scaramouche’s words rolling in his brain like a jammed tape.

“Go short your stupid crush out. Don’t show your face in the Northern Bank until you are ready to act normal, fucking idiot. You’re slowing us down, and by the Tsaritsa, I’m not above ratting you out and having you demoted to an errand boy.”

Childe almost cringes at the memory of the aggression in the Sixth Harbinger’s voice. He is going to kill him. Childe Tartaglia Ajax is a massive coward, and he is about to be murdered by his superior because he has a crush on a six thousand year old adeptus that is too good for him and wouldn’t bat-

“How did they die?”

Childe’s brain is like a train about to derail. Zhongli is up now, boiling some tea that smells suspiciously much like Jasmine, just like Ajax prefers it. If he tries to do as much as think of a single thing, all he can do is visualise Zhongli’s golden eyes gleaming underneath the lanterns of that odd Liyuan festival that Childe did not exactly comprehend, be it for his lack of interest at the time, or his complete concentration on that rich voice that kept whispering tales to him about the lanterns and the dead and the local myths.

“There is no one dead.” Childe blurts out, now or never. To be frank, he is absolutely shitting it. This is harder than fighting in the Abyss, worse than getting his ass kicked repeatedly by Traveller and that flying chicken that followed him around all the time-

“I seem to have misunderstood.” Zhongli watches him confusedly, teapot hanging forgotten on one hand. Childe can almost visualise him making that very same tea in his home in Snezhnaya, with the raging blizzards going strong outside, his soothing voice telling tales of dragons and giant monsters to his baby siblings to entertain them for a lack of anything better to do in the catastrophic winter. “You do not need my assistance?”

“No. I mean, yes, but not in that way.” Childe grunts, rubbing his eyes with both hands, stood ten feet away from Zhongli because he simply can’t stand the way his body burns when their shoulders brush together. The ex archon continues to look completely lost, his lips slightly open and his brows furrowed in his weak attempt to grasp the situation. Childe is stubborn, ridiculously brave at most instances, but above all, he is an idiot. And like an idiot, he says: “Have you ever kissed a Snezhnayan?”

Zhongli stills, blinking stupidly, unable to tell whether this was another one of the Harbinger’s jokes that their generational and cultural gap didn’t allow him to understand. He places the teapot down. “Excuse me?”

Childe wants to smack himself across the face. He forces out a loud laugh. “No, that was a joke!” He can feel the hairs on the side of his head sticking to his face. If the Abyss could swallow him again, now was the time. “What I mean is…” Childe takes in a deep breath. “Will you go out on a date with me?”

Zhongli stares at the wall across him, way past Ajax, into the eyes of some unseen divine force that is absolutely messing with him right then. “Did Hu Tao put you up to this?” After all, she always told him he needed to get laid, but he never understood where exactly he was supposed to be reclining. Mortal language had taken to weird expressions over the centuries.

“No, God, no,” Childe shakes his hands defensively. “Alright, mr. Zhongli, I’m so into you I can’t sleep at night, and I have been like that since I first saw you walking by Wanmin Restaurant, when you were trying some local delicacy and doing your ridiculous, bourgeoise critique on the authenticity of the flavours-” Childe goes quiet, his rant dying amidst its blooming as he watched Zhongli’s eyes soften and his brows tense, an unmistakable redness spreading over the adeptus’ face. “Mr. Zhongli?”

“Ajax, stop.” Zhongli hasn’t felt this flustered in thousands of years. He isn’t sure what it is about this human that is so awfully endearing, but it’s making him sear and liquify from the inside. “I’ll go out with you. We need to discuss the place and time, as well as the attire and the mood of the overall meeting, since leaving things unclear leads to misunderstandings that can not be resolved without-”

Ajax’s smile is stretching so wide across his face that he fears it’s going to split, a sudden ego boost booming so hard into his chest that he feels like he could fight the entire Fatui army and win. He takes a few steps forward and puts his hands on the table in front of the ex archon, hovering slightly above him. “Leave it to me.” He leans in closer and Zhongli can smell the exotic perfume on his skin. “There’s only one question left.”

“What?” Zhongli treads carefully, his jaw setting when a gloved hand finds his chin and tips his head back, fixing their gazes together.

“Have you ever kissed a Snezhnayan?”

[jenomark]

JANUARY

➔Pairing: Doyoung x Reader (Female) | Jaehyun x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Plot (ft. smut, romance, angst, fluff etc.) ➔Warnings: Angst ➔Word count: 4,716

���Summary: You are dating handsome and lovable Jaehyun. You stay at his apartment all of the time, along with his roommate Doyoung. Doyoung has feelings for you, which he doesn’t quite understand. What begins as an innocent crush changes the lives of all three people over the course of seven months.

AUGUST SEPTEMBER OCTOBER NOVEMBER DECEMBER

Jaehyun sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, leaning back on his arms, his hair a tousled mess, and his eyes red from not sleeping well. Moving never agreed with him. He hated change and how hard it was to settle into newness. He aspired to keep things as they were, which was why he hardly shopped for new shirts or baseball caps. The older and more used things were, the happier they made him feel. He didn’t want to exist in a world where he had to pick out new things to decorate a new apartment with, to pretend like he cared about separate cutting boards, one for meat and the other for vegetables.

Maybe he was just tired of giving a shit altogether.

He sat for a while on the wood floor that was scuffed after having to move his furniture alone. He kicked a lone sheet of bubble wrap with his foot, trying his best just to pop a bubble with his big toe. He blew hot air out of his mouth and looked around, willing his brain not to stir up old memories.

His phone rang and he ignored the call, something he didn’t often do. Jaehyun was a social butterfly. He liked talking to people, and liked the attention at the other end of the call, the way someone could feel excited just by talking to him. He knew the people he loved would be worried about him, and he resented any of those feelings they might have.

“I’m a grown up, for fucks sake.” he had told his mother before he left to pack up his apartment on his own.

His mother didn’t raise an argument, just let her only son go. So, Jaehyun was left alone to pack up his whole life, or what was left of it. By the time he got to the apartment he used to share, more than half of the things were gone. He hadn’t realized how little material possessions he owned, or how easy it was to pack up what he did have.

Jaehyun got to his feet. He knew he had to make a move and look for a new apartment for one person. It really was time to grow up and be the man he always wanted to be. He took one last look around the apartment before he locked it up forever, crossing that threshold and only thinking about you once.

December

“-I cheated on you.” he said. “I cheated on you the night I went to the bar without you.”

He meant it to sting. He wanted to see how the realization would set in, how the relief would slowly be replaced by repulsiveness. Your pretty little face scrunched up with it until you opened your mouth to berate him. More than anything, he wanted you to blame him for ruining the relationship, to use him as an excuse for your own infidelity.

Instead, there was only relief. It made Jaehyun feel disappointed.

“Do I know her?” you asked.

“No.” Jaehyun said. “She was a stranger. That doesn’t matter. It was just one time”

He was lying through his teeth. Not the best liar, Jaehyun was surprised you bought it. You looked understanding, which made him want to hurt you, really hurt you. The fight left him as soon as you admitted defeat. It was easy to love you but harder to unlove you.

“I have something to confess.” you said, sounding as pathetic as you looked.

He didn’t always know that you were cheating with Doyoung. There was a time, in the beginning, he used to laugh behind Doyoung’s back at his little crush on you. It was like a game for Jaehyun to watch his roommate squirm any time you walked into the room. It gave Jaehyun a mental pat on the back to know that he could get someone like you, someone everyone else wanted, someone Jaehyun’s roommate could not get. Looking back on it, it was wrong of him to think like this. Like everyone else, he was still learning how to be a better human being. He thought it would just take time.

Jaehyun had many crushes throughout his life, so he could hardly blame Doyoung for what should have been an innocent crush. You were pretty special. In a lot of ways, Jaehyun wished he hadn’t taken you for granted so much, because there were aspects to the relationship that were so good for him. He felt stupid to lose them. Also, you were beautiful and the sex was some of the best he’d ever had.

He supposed that he became really suspicious the feelings weren’t unrequited around Halloween. Something felt off at the party, and it had nothing to do with his drinking. You glowed whenever you were around Doyoung, much brighter than he himself ever could make you. That was the profound moment, the one where he tried so hard to convince himself that it wasn’t true. He began to blame himself for thinking negatively. The guilt ate away at him, gnawing at him whenever he was alone with his thoughts.

“Should I be scared of this confession?” Jaehyun asked.

There was so much bitterness dripping from his voice, but he was trying his best to remain neutral. Seeing the way your face deflated made him feel sympathetic towards you, something he was learning that adults could do.

You nodded, the tears falling quietly.

“Say it.” Jaehyun said.

You looked at him. He would always remember the way you looked at him, and how he wished things had turned out differently. In your eyes, he could see how certain you were of the future, how sure you were with your own choices.

“I cheated on you, too.” you said.

Jaehyun didn’t react like you wanted him to, which threw everything off. Your expression was accusatory, and he could see that you were wondering if either of you ever loved each other to begin with.

“Do I know him?” he asked.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

Jaehyun shrugged. “What does that say about you?” He squeezed his fists down by his side to calm down. He tried a different approach and added, “We shouldn’t do this outside.”

He started walking towards the car, hoping you would follow, but you didn’t. He walked back to you, reaching out his hand to touch your arm.

“You knew.” you said, the realization dawning on you slowly. “You knew I cheated on you this whole time?”

Jaehyun let his hand fall down by his side. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “Yes, I knew.”

“Did you cheat on me because I cheated on you?”

“Let’s talk about it in the car, please.”

He started walking, but again, you didn’t follow. Frustrated, Jaehyun turned back around. He looked at the windows to make sure no one was watching the show. He didn’t need his mother or his little cousins knowing what a wreck his life could sometimes be. By then, all the steam had left him. He was no longer angry or bitter, just numb.

“Yes, I knew you cheated on me,” he said. “I didn’t cheat on you because you cheated on me. What level of petty do you think I am?”

“How long have you known?” you asked.

“Does it matter?”

You looked terrified and so small. Jaehyun had to resist the urge to scoop you up and hold you in the cold air. He was still an asshole, but he was becoming a sensitive asshole. He thinks that’s the moment where the true change began.

Slowly, you started walking towards him. You both made it back to the car, a place that was starting to feel too heavy for Jaehyun, too boxed in. Closing the car door blocked out all of the air and sound. It was just the two of you, one person silently crying and the other trying his best not to break down with you.

“Why him?” was all Jaehyun said.

It was a question that had been bugging him for a long time. Sure, Doyoung was more emotionally available. He was outwardly intelligent. His charms were many, and he wasn’t bad looking. He kept most of his promises and could have been a good friend in a past life. People never had the wrong idea about Doyoung when they first met him, either, not like they did with Jaehyun. Their opinion of Jaehyun wavered, but Doyoung always brought forth the same reaction. He was the man a mother could like. He was the one you fell in love with, the one who felt right from the start.

Jaehyun could feel the mood in the car turn even more sour. You didn’t know he also knew it was with Doyoung. Maybe you were going to convince him that it was someone unimportant, some random in a bar, just like his story.

“Am I that awful?” Jaehyun asked. “I know I haven’t been here for you a whole lot. Our relationship hasn’t been the best.”

You cried a little harder. “No, you’re not awful.”

“So, why? Why do this to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good to know.” Jaehyun said, starting the car.

He drove away in silence, the only sound coming from the hum of the car. He dropped you off in front of his and Doyoung’s apartment. It was getting harder to remain feeling numb. As he sat in the car in front of his apartment, Jaehyun could feel every emotion flooding through his veins. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“I’m not coming inside,” he said. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay until both of you are out of my apartment. Take as long as you need.”

You got out of the car and came around to the side where Jaehyun’s window was open. He opened it to the cool night air in order to breathe in the freshness. It just ended up making him feel ice cold, inside and outside.

Jaehyun leaned out of it and said, “By the way, I never really cheated on you. I just said that to make you admit it. Thanks for saying it.”

The numbness returned and followed him around for roughly a month. You and Doyoung moved out within three days, not bothering to stew in feelings of guilt, like he wanted you to. Jaehyun didn't know what to do with himself, after that.

He would walk in and out of Doyoung’s empty room in the apartment, thinking up memories of you two fucking where Doyoung used to keep his bed. It was tortuous and stupid, and it helped no one in the long run, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to draw emotions out of the pit of his belly.

Not seeing you had made it harder for him to move on. He thought about going to see you at your job, to casually stop by where he knew your group of work friends would be, but there were people in his life who always talked him out of it. He just wanted to feel something, anything at all.

His own work friends suggested he hook up with random strangers, but he never actually had it in him to go out and do it. Building any kind of relationship with someone wasn’t a great idea, even if it made him feel like he was getting some kind of sexual revenge on you. Walking around his half-empty apartment wasn’t the best choice either, but it helped him pass the time.

He didn’t get to tell you, but it was Doyoung that eluded him to the affair. When Jaehyun had asked him to take care of you, he had never seen someone so confident in his ability to do so. There was love in that man's eyes, a love that can only be felt when the person you love loves you right back. A little after that, when Jaehyun really looked at you and saw you, he confirmed that something serious was going on.

In a way, Jaehyun hoped it was just sex. He could take it if you and Doyoung were sneaking off just to fuck each other when he was at work. Adding love into the mix hurt him a little more, made him aware of the things he lacked.

So, back and forth he went like that across the apartment. He did things he wasn’t proud of. He blamed himself and didn’t blame anyone else but you. He cursed your name in the darkness. He took his aggression out on Doyoung, even going so far as to ring up his work and tell them Doyoung was thinking about quitting. It really was petty, which maybe he definitely was being, but it wasn’t anything he couldn't correct himself for. He was trying. He really was.

Jaehyun took the last box from the top of the stairs, carrying it down in his arms like a delicate baby. On the side of the fridge, the only thing he wasn’t taking with him, was a calendar marking the end days in January. He thought of the next tenants moving in, and how they’d throw it out without hesitation. Maybe they’d have a more solid year ahead of them than he felt he did.

He couldn’t believe how fast time was moving, and he willed it to just slow down long enough for him to catch his breath. Soon enough, it would be February, and he’d have been single for nearly two months. The thought of spending his birthday alone made him sick to his stomach.

He walked down the stairs, looking into the box to see an old picture frame belonging to you on top. It was one your dad had taken of you as a child at the zoo. You were in shorts, your knobby knees sticking out, and your missing-toothed smile making him want to smile back. Jaehyun kept it in his room because it reminded him from time to time of you, of how one person can come into his life and change it all.

Jaehyun didn’t just want to throw it out, so he kept it with him until he moved. He didn’t know what to do with it now, but he figured he should probably return it. You’d want that photograph more than he did, but just barely.

After feeling like he wanted the whole world against you, Jaehyun started to refocus his attention on self-care and self-love. Slowly, he began to unpack his own responses to things, how he could choose to act better in every situation, and how the only person holding him back from a better life was him.

He began to feel better, too. It wasn’t going to cure him, but it was worth a start. He couldn’t stop the pessimism from reaching inside of his shirt and clawing at his bare skin, but he could change some things that didn’t serve him.

When he reached the outside, his heart a little raw from seeing your childhood photo, his mother was waiting for him in her car. Sometimes a momma's boy just needed his momma. He placed the box in the backseat and slid into the passenger seat.

“Are you ready?” she asked, patting his knee.

“I am.”

Bars felt comfortable because they were noisy. He would go to one after work, order a drink and sip on it until he felt tired and went home. He wasn’t there to get drunk or to meet new people. Sometimes, he caught up with his work friends. Other times, he sat there alone, chit-chatting to the bartender on duty. He laughed when things were funny. He let his foot tap away against the floor when the music was good.

“Is this seat taken?”

A pretty girl was standing hesitantly in front of the chair next to him. Jaehyun smiled and shook his head no. She sat down beside him, bringing her purse on her lap and looking at him with curiosity.

“I see you here a lot.” she said.

“Ahh,” Jaehyun said. “I think that’s my cue to stop coming every day. I swear, I’m not an alcoholic.”

Her eyes widened, afraid that she had offended him. “I didn’t mean-”

“-I’m kidding.” Jaehyun said. "It's a joke."

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Jaehyun pushed his empty glass away from him and swiveled his chair to face her more. She looked self-conscious with the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Jaehyun felt too awkward, so he turned his chair back around.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“No.” She said, “I came to talk to you because you looked lonely.”

To that, Jaehyun didn’t know what to say. Instead, he ordered another drink and let her talk his ear off. She talked about everything and nothing the whole night. Jaehyun partly listened and partly let his mind wander. She was nice and interesting enough, but he wasn’t ready to start talking to other women in a way that suggested sex or relationships.

He could have used a friend. He would have liked to have found a friend in her, but she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in him in that way when her hand found her way to his thigh. She moved it upward with each word she spoke, her fingertips dangerously close to fondling him.

“This was fun.” Jaehyun said, feeling the buzz of alcohol running through his system. “Unfortunately, I have work early tomorrow and need a full night's rest. See you sometime?”

The girl looked taken aback at the sudden change of events. Jaehyun got up from his chair, said goodnight to her and sauntered out of the door. He hadn’t even realized they didn’t exchange names.

Jaehyun decided to walk home. The night was cold in the way winter was, but manageable. His jacket kept him warm enough, and if his bones chilled, he hardly noticed. He watched people as he walked, watched them happily walking along the sidewalks and dipping into whatever door they fancied. Slowly, he began to smile and feel more at ease, but maybe it was the alcohol making him feel that way. Or maybe it was a sudden feeling that maybe everything could be alright, only if he allowed it.

He woke up and he was drooling. Jaehyun lifted his head from the pillow, looking to his left and right. There was a knocking sound that felt like it was coming from inside of his head. He hadn’t been that tipsy last night, so he knew a hangover was not the cause. He lifted himself up from the bed in his mothers spare bedroom and threw his legs over the side of his bed.

The knocking continued, more feverishly than before. Jaehyun ignored it and picked up his phone to see if he had any missed calls. There were none.

“I’m coming!” Jaehyun yelled when the final knocks were more forceful. He muttered to himself,” Fucking fuck.”

He walked across the room before realizing he was shirtless. He grabbed a dirty t-shirt from the floor and brought it over his head, letting the hem of it meet his sweatpants. In case it was one of his mothers snooty friends, he looked in the mirror and cleaned up his messy hair. He didn’t need anyone judging him for sleeping past noon on a weekend.

“Coming.” Jaehyun called again.

He walked out of the spare bedroom that was just to the left of the living room and ducked down to see if he could recognize the person standing on the porch. Or rather, people. He saw just a flip of hair before he ran behind the door and held his hand to his chest to get his heart to stop beating.

Doyoung’s voice was low and quiet, but Jaehyun could hear everything he said. “We’ll come back later. He's not home.”

Jaehyun didn’t have to hear your voice to know that you were there, too , that the hair he saw belonged to you. It was dyed a darker color, but it was unmistakably you. Yet, hearing the sound of your voice made his toes curl underneath him. He didn’t think seeing you so soon after the breakup would help him.

“He’s home.” you said, your voice somewhat impatient.

It was smart of you to come when his mother was at work. He thought you might have purposely done it this way, to avoid any more awkwardness. After all, Jaehyun’s mother was sure to ride for her son, to take a look at both of them standing on the porch and curse them out. At that imagery, Jaehyun smiled to himself.

“I don’t know.” Doyoung said, his voice nervous. "Should we be bothering him like this? It's too soon."

Jaehyun backed away from the door. He wondered if he had time to run back into the bedroom and get himself more presentable. He wanted you to see what you had been missing out on. He was a handsome guy, definitely one worth giving a second look to. He suddenly wished he had taken that girl at the bar home and fucked her, so that he could talk to you and Doyoung and have her walk out of the bedroom naked, unaware of what was going on. He'd love to see the look on your face then.

No, Jaehyun thought to himself. I should appear wounded. I am wounded.

The unkempt hair and slightly red-rimmed eye look was working in his favor. Before giving it another thought, Jaehyun whipped open the front door to his mothers house and faced them both down. He kept his face stoic, his voice even. “Can I help you?”

It was Doyoung who spoke first, his voice not as sharp as usual. “You have something of hers. She was wondering if she could have it back.”

“Can she speak for herself?” Jaehyun asked.

The whole time Doyoung was speaking, Jaehyun kept his eyes on you. It was a mistake to do so. There was nothing more heartbreaking than to see how well you were surviving. Your skin was glowing and flawless. Your new hair made you look mature in a way that was sure to make everyone notice you. You were dressed in nice clothes that matched Doyoung’s vibe. Jaehyun couldn't stop the jealousy from taking root in his soul.

“She can.” you said, speaking for yourself. “You have my picture and I’d like it back. Do you, by any chance, have it here?”

Jaehyun wasn’t really listening. He was looking into your eyes, daring himself to get lost in them. Maybe it was the fact that you were unattainable now, but it made him want you all over again. It was hard to let you go.

“Are you two dating now?” Jaehyun asked.

All three were silent, even Jaehyun. As soon as he spoke the words, he began to wish they’d stuff themselves back inside of his mouth. Jaehyun tried to recover and said, “That’s none of my business. Of course, I have your photo. I’ll get it.”

In their faces, Jaehyun shut the front door. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. He clawed at his own neck and willed himself to breathe. He walked through his mom's house and went down to the basement where he was temporarily storing his belongings. Apartment hunting was going decently well, but he found out he could hardly afford more than a pot to piss in by himself. Having his mother support him had been a blessing, but it wasn’t easy.

After rifling through some boxes, he found the photo in question. The first few days he spent with his mother, he kept it on his bedside table. When he realized it was causing him too much pain, he brought it down to the basement with the rest of his things. He never thought you would come back to get it, or to remember it, or to show your face at his mother's house.

When Jaehyun opened the front door back up, you were gone. Doyoung stood, his eyes struggling to make eye contact. Jaehyun opened the screen door wide and handed the photograph in its frame to Doyoung.

“If you’re here to apologize, don’t bother.” Jaehyun said. “I’m over it.”

It was a lie, one too obvious for either to believe. Doyoung’s grace allowed him to let it go, to open his mouth and shut it right away. Jaehyun sat down on one of the porch chairs and motioned for Doyoung to do the same. Jaehyun shot a look in the direction of where you waited in a car, his face not betraying what he was feeling inside.

“I’ve been thinking about what I should say to you,” Jaehyun said. “But I’ve come up with nothing. All of that anger, and it still feels like I’m a fool with no way to defend myself.”

“You’re not a fool.” Doyoung said.

“You make me a fool by saying that.” Jaehyun said. “I’m a fool who was cheated on and too stupid to realize it, even with my suspicions. By my best friend, of all people.”

“Was I your best friend?” Doyoung asked. He sounded surprised, a little annoyed.

Jaehyun didn’t have an answer for that. Before, he would have answered it quickly. Of course you were my best friend. You were my roommate, my punching bag, and my buddy when all else failed. He had let Jaehyun’s lady live there because he was a nice guy, not because he was secretly in love with her. At that thought, Jaehyun chuckled darkly.

“Maybe not.” Jaehyun said. “It seems I never really had either relationship in the first place.”

“You didn’t want me to apologize.”

“No,” Jaehyun said. “It doesn’t do any good. I could apologize for not being the best boyfriend, but it didn’t matter. I could apologize for being a shitty roommate, maybe a friend, but you would still have made your choices.”

Doyoung played with the ring on his finger. He looked down at the frame in his hands, at the sweet girl looking back at him. “I owe you transparency.”

Jaehyun waited a long time for Doyoung to speak again. He was patient and channeling maturity. All he wanted to do, really, was go back inside and go back to sleep. Still, he waited and looked at Doyoung. When Doyoung didn’t speak fast enough, Jaehyun had to speak his mind. If he didn't, it would bother him too much.

“You’re dating her, yes?”

“Yes.” Doyoung said.

“In love?”

“Yes.”

“For a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

“About loving her? No.” Doyoung said. “About hurting you? Yes. I did consider us some type of friends.”

“Not the type that doesn’t steal his boy's girlfriend, huh?”

The dig might have hurt Doyoung but Jaehyun couldn’t tell. Doyoung stood up, deciding that he’d had enough of the conversation. Jaehyun followed, rising to his feet in a way that desperately made him want to appear calm and cool.

“I’ll make this quick, since I have to go.” Doyoung said. “I don’t want to lose you in my life, Jaehyun.”

“Fuck you.” Jaehyun said, the words slipping out.

Doyoung’s lips parted. “I deserve that.”

“And her? Does she want to lose me?”

“I can’t speak for her, but no, she doesn’t.”

“Fuck right off.” Jaehyun opened his screen door. “A timeline where my girlfriend cheats on me with my roommate and they come back because they don’t want to lose me? Unbelievable.”

“Believe it.” Doyoung said.” Because it’s true. She won’t admit it, but there is something codependent about you two. About me, as well. Sometimes I feel like life isn’t the same without you in it. Actually, I know it’s not.”

Jaehyun shook his head as Doyoung turned to go. “I didn’t expect this. I wasn't prepared.”

Doyoung threw his hands in the air. “Me neither. I’ve learned not to expect anything anymore. Life is fucked. I'm trying my best to unfuck myself.”

Doyoung walked down the steps and back towards the car. Jaehyun watched him go, pausing way too long before going inside of the house and closing the door behind him.

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

Sander Sides - Coraline AU

So when scrolling through one of my favorite channels on here I saw someone mention Janus as Other Father, and this got my creativity going. I’ll hash out the characters and ideas, then give you a basic idea of what is cooking in my head. However, I’m not sure on how I want things to go in terms of plot. But I do have a general idea of the characters and their roles as well as background.

Other Mother: Logan Sanders

In this idea the Other Mother would have been Patton, but given there are so many sides, I thought he’d fit another role better. Then my sister suggested Logan as Other Mother, and it fits for the basic plot I have in mind. He goes by Logic by the others in the Other World, or as they call it the Alternate World or Pocket World. 

Logan says he’s the eldest one here along with Patton and Janus, and seems to be the head of the ‘family’. He’s a very stoic mother, pushing his kids, which in this case is Roman, Remus, and Virgil, to be smart. Not in a bad way, he’s a silently content mother, and you can tell when he’s proud of you. He cleans mostly and makes sure everything is in place, and enjoys gardening. Mostly he stays in the study or outside. 

In terms of power, Logan is the most powerful of them due to being the oldest person there. And no, he doesn’t turn into a spider being, he actually is a type of bird. Looking alot like harpy when you really tick him off. His buttons are dark blue with silver thread and his skin is warm but overly smooth. 

Other Fathers: Patton and Janus Sanders No one is really sure who is older, they’ve always been with each other. Janus enjoys making music and Patton enjoys cooking for the family. Both are very fatherly and enjoy doting on their kids. Going by the names of Morality and Deceit/Self. When mother dear isn’t around, it’s up to the one of the fathers to sort things out.  Janus is strange, as in he’s the one who gives the hints something isn’t quiet right. Though it’s unknown if these are his actions or not. He seems to like challenging kids that come to the Pocket World to think about what they are seeing and why. Yet does it a very coy way. Then there are days he’ll do a 180 and ask you not to question anything and actively lie about things. His buttons are dark gold with black thread, and he does have scales on his face still. Though, to a kid that’s nothing. Patton is cheerful and bubbly, his dinners are always the best as is his sweets. He’s the one that mostly sticks to Logan the most, and enjoys gardening also. He’s the first to make sure one doesn’t question, easily deflecting odd things, and is great at distracting people. He is Nostalgia after all, his areas when your near him make you feel so happy and get you lost in happy moments. His buttons are light blue with dark blue tread.  Both take on forms of a Frog and Snake when angry, which are terrifying. Their skin is also very rubbery feeling. Other Brother: Virgil Sanders  Virgil here is the youngest, looking like he’s only 15 or 16. He’s been here the shortest... and looks oddly like a kid that went missing back in the early 2000′s. The Family calls his Anxiety, and he’s rather withdrawn. But does enjoy playing video games or board games with Patton, Janus, and Logan.  Soft spoken, sarcastic, and a little emo spiderling, he’s adored by Patton mostly. Who calls him the ‘Dark Strange Son’ alot. Virgil seems rather happy in the Other World. Stating to little Thomas that this world is much better than anything he could dream of. He’s however hesitant to answer questions about things not inside the Other World. Telling Thomas to not think about that, and just be happy. He enjoys his room/the attic, and outside in the front yard. When angry, Virgil is the one with the spider form, taking on a more glass like look and his skin is cold to the touch. His buttons are dark purple with light purple thread. 

Other Twins: Roman and Remus Sanders The two Creativity Rascals, they are slightly older then Virgil, but much younger than Janus and Patton. They can warp reality around them when in their favorite spots, be it the Basement for Remus, or the Woods for Roman. Their rooms are actually in the basement in the door near the left side of the house. While Virgil's is in the attic. They serve as the entertainment, coming up with ideas on the fly to go on adventures, play dragons and knights, or kings and castles. The forest, quiet literally, is their playground. Having their own fort and castle there, and a while bunch of land to cover.  The twins play fight alot, but they get along very well and are rather close to one another. And are like the cool older brothers who have alot of fun, but are happy to let the youngers join them.  Both have tentacles in this one, though Remus is more slimy than his brother. And when they open their extra mouths on their body when angry, it’s very scary. Roman’s buttons are red with green thread, while Remus is green with red thread. And their skin is like plastic almost.  Coraline: Thomas Anderson  He’s about 12 in this one, just moved to the country side in a little blue house on the back dirt roads. This town is dreadfully boring, with dull, muted colors, always over cast and rainy. It’s like all the happiness has been sucked out of it and left to decay.  Thomas is not upset about the move, as he never had many friends, if any, from his old home. He’s mostly upset with the fact he’s just dull, he’s not allowed to be colorful. And to top it off, his parents aren’t always there emotionally for him. Leaving him completely isolated, even more so when he’s a closeted gay in a very religious family.  So when he finds a world where everything is colorful, with three dads, well two and a mom, a family who cares about him, he’s excited. Maybe this move won’t be so bad.

Plot: The idea in my head is that Thomas has moved with his parents to a rather nice when hie father got a promotion. But, like most typical rich families, he’s not really paid attention to. And Thomas feels mostly left out, having no friends to call his own, and just his imagination and books to keep him busy.  When exploring his new house, finding the attic and basement locked, and a small golden key, he finds a little door. It’s been walled off, which is a bummer. That is until the middle of the night, when Thomas follows a shadow to the door. Finding it leads to a world that is perfect. The world represents everything Thomas wants, brothers, Roman, Remus, and Virgil. Fathers, Patton and Janus, and a mother, Logan, who actually cares about him. He isn’t sure if this is some very real dream or not. But he’s not complaining, he feels welcomed instantly byt he family.  Taken on adventures with Roman and Remus, playing games with Virgil and learning knew things from Logan, helping Patton cook, and Janus teaches him music and among other things. But when after a week of this, Thomas starts to see strange cracks in their personalities. And when they one day ask if he wants to stay forever and be part of their family, it meets getting this pink buttons in his eyes. He’s terrified, and now wonders if he’ll ever escape... or even if he wants to. Notes:

So I’m not sure how I want it to be played out. If the Others are truly evil in just that they want to kidnap Thomas just because they are selfish and/or turn him into a doll.  OR if I want it to be well meaning sinister, where they think they are doing Thomas a favor by taking him away from his neglectful family. 

One thing to note is they do really like Thomas, regardless of intentions, they do like him. And either way, they want him to stay forever.

Now, I’m not sure if I want with the Other Father for Patton to be controlling Janus or Janus to be controlling Patton. One of them is well aware of what they are doing, but can’t go against the wishes of their controller or Logan. While they are happy, the idea of luring kids tends to hurt them inside.

The Other World is bigger than Thomas things, he’s just in a small area that belongs to Logan. There are MANY others out there. Who lure people away into their realm, for better or worse. It’s like it’s own reality, only everything is just perfect. It’s like a nostalgic trap, much like Patton’s room only worse.

Logan is the main guy, he’s been at this for a long time, and either Patton or Janus is their partner depending on who is controlling who. He mainly lures kids as he likes the taste of their humanity. It’s what he feeds off of, draining them of their everything, and making them like dolls, only with a semi soul. Any who does this too becomes his kid or helper. Logan is fine with this, he enjoys having a family. And he only has to feed every few decades or so. He’s been around for a long time. Most of his ‘kids’ have grown up, and become true Others who have their own areas. Virgil, Roman, and Remus though are still MUCH too young for such a thing.  Others are NOT human, nor are they ‘aliens’ either. Best thing I can think of are like Fae, only... less magical as we know it. They are creatures who feed off of emotions and the essences that make people human. Which is why they all feel like dolls. 

Others are near immortal should they feed properly, and Others areas tend to just attract people to them. Some go after teens, others kids, some adults, taste is everything. Adults tend to be more fulling, but can be bitter and sour tasting, Teens are half and half depending on situation, and are often spicy tasting. While kids are very sweet, and typically are fulling also depending on how well you’ve gained their trust. If you can get them to agree to being an other, even better.  It’s harder than it sounds though.

Each Other does have a specific power that they use. Which I am still hashing out in my head. 

They rarely get angry, but boy is it scary when they do. 

The key only is Thomas’s interpretation of the entrance way, it can be anything to get into the Other World. It’s all up to the person in how THEY think to get in. It could be walking through two trees making a hole in them, opening a door that is only unlocked on certain days, or even just crawling under your bed. It’s up to the seeker how they wish to get in, which is why the Other World can stay in one spot, no matter the house or thing built on it. 

There is no real moral code for Others, their world is very well hidden. But they are very protective of their charges when they find the right type of feed off of. Logan gets extremely possessive of Thomas when he shows up, not as in he punishes the others, but if Thomas ever thinks about leaving or tries too, Logan would lock him up until Thomas gives into despair. 

If they are being unruly or try to escape, one way to get them ot agree is by isolating them, and cutting them off from happiness. Which makes kids and teens want to stay once they leave their isolation. Logan dislikes doing this, but going without a food source is rather painful, and he’d rather not put himself or his partner through that. So if he must, he will make sure the target stays. Even if it won’t be as filling as if they agreed willingly. 

Also, their areas is often where their power is the strongest.

-0-0-0-0-0-

So Yeah, there it is, if you guys have any question just let me know. And this goes to @fangirltothefullest who when I mentioned this idea to her really wanted to see this.  I still need more for it, but I like the concept of it, it’s much different from the books, but that’s what makes it interesting. Could easily be Angst with Happy Ending. Could even get more sinister than this. We’ll see. Might post more about this later. And fanart is well loved, I can draw, but not well enough in my mind lol. 

[emerald-amidst-gold]

OC Interview: Fane Lavellan

Thank you for the tag @dungeons-and-dragon-age! I’ve been eyeing up this meme for a while actually, so this was perfect timing! X3

This takes place Post-Trespasser, about a month or two after, in fact. Solas brought the idea forward, and of course, Fane refused. But after some coaxing, some explanation as to why, and the promise of a whole cake, Fane agreed to humor the request. 

*THERE BE BIG THINGS REGARDING FANE HERE* 

I got carried awaaaaaay! XD

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

“I can, but it’s a lengthy list,” He sighs, “...Those who are close to me, who see as but an elf, call me Fane. Those who wish to meet cobble, call me Lavellan or Herald. Those who are blinded by reverence call me ‘He Who Flew Above’. Denizens of the Fade refer to me as, ‘Devotion’ or ‘Tenacity’. However, my true name is..” He sighs again, “...Aterian. I rarely go by it, but the truth won’t be ignored. It never can be.”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“Male. Elvhen. Dragon.” He huffs through his nose, shifting his gaze off to the side, “That’s all I’ll say on that. As for orientation, I’m...emotionally driven. If you asked me to look at another and tell you what’s attractive about them I would say, ‘Nothing.’ I don’t know them, so I feel nothing for them.“ He shrugs, turning his gaze back, but brandishes a glare, “There’s only one person who defies that response, and that’s because he knows me, without and within. More than that, is none of your business.”

Where and when were you born?

He lifts a hand, massaging a temple, “The ‘where’ is simple; Elvhenan. Specifics are lost to me, however, so you’ll have to be content with that response.” He shifts his gaze downwards, slowly crossing his arms, “As to when?” He sighs heavily, “...I have no answer for that other than: I’m roughly the same age, if not older, as Solas. Does it matter, honestly? Numbers fall through the cracks after a specific threshold is crossed.” What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

He unravels a crossed arm and guides his hand downwards, tapping the pommel of a sword he has fastened to his waist, “Sword. I use either long swords, short swords, or great swords.” He raises an eyebrow as a question is forwarded, “Shields?” He sneers a bit. “I don’t use shields. They get in the way, and anyways,” He raises his hand once more, the expanse steadily beginning to glow blue and silver before a spectral coating of scales cover the entirety, “this is better than any shield. I prefer the front lines, the place I can make sure no one breaches, and the lingering memory of what I once was makes sure I can do just that.” He dispels the scales and shakes out his hand before returning it to his crossed counterpart, “It takes energy to maintain, but I’m getting better at holding it for longer.”  Lastly, are you happy?

He blinks before his entire expression softens, two toned eyes shining with primary gold as they shift downwards, “...If you had asked that of me over twelve years ago I would have spat in your face and said, ‘Happiness doesn’t exist in this world’. But now..” He trails off, casting a sidelong glance towards one of the fortress’s entryways; a familiar voice sounding, firm, but soft, as if reprimanding a child, “...I understand what happiness is, and it’s in every corner if you allow yourself to see it.” His eyes shift back, holding a far away look and voice coming forward in a murmur, “I only wish we all could be happy; together.”

Family and Friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

His face holds a conflicted look, as if the memory is painful before speaking, “Complicated,” he says before beginning to tap a finger against his bicep, “I had a mother. She died when I was fifteen from a wasting disease, but she was the picture of serenity. Calm, guiding, measured. Hair like moonlight. Eyes like a clear autumn day. She was--” Unbranded features twist with a look of grief, eyes going dark as his voice drops, “...I’d rather not speak of her. It still hurts to. It hurts to speak of any of them,” His eyes narrow, grief stricken expression turning somewhat bitter, “...Especially those who throw all you did for them back into your face because they refused to listen when you needed them to most. Even so, I still wish for her happiness. Cullen better be treating her right,” That bitter turns outright malicious, dark eyes going darker as another question is meekly asked, “Father? I have no father. I only had a monster that haunted my childhood, tore my token of devotion apart, and then stalked me in my dreams. So, no. I have nothing to say about that concept.”

Have you ever ran away from home?

He chuckles, “Many, many times,” He throws most of his weight into one side, tilting his head back as if thinking, counting, “I can’t even remember the amount of times I fled into the forests, to be honest. All I know is that it happened weekly, maybe even daily,” He brings his head back, snowy hair moving with the action to brush the tops of his cheekbones, “Why do you look so surprised?” he asks, snorting a bit at the meek response of, ‘Why so often?’, “Because I refused to endure being treated like a beast every hour of the day merely because I believed differently, or rather, not at all.” He sighs within the next moment, “...I wasn’t any better than the Dalish, though. I lashed out, I spat in their face, dragged their heritage through the dirt, inflicted harm from the smallest of things...” He squeezes his arms, eyes narrowing into a glare, but seeming to see through everything, “...The past repeats. An infernal spiral that will never slow.” Would you consider marriage or having children?

“Marriage? Children?” He blinks, pale visage suddenly going flush before he snarls, “Why do I need to answer those questions?!” The blush deepens and he responds despite his displeased expression, muttering and biting the inside of his cheek, “...Damned keen eyed elves. They know, don’t they? I swear if Abelas fucking ran that mouth of his, I’ll--” He sighs heavily, letting his head fall limp a bit in defeat, “...Yes. To both. The latter is already taken care of, as everyone situated in the Crossroads knows, but...” Pointed ears are now a deep shade of red, “...marriage is...on hold. War time isn’t an ideal summer wedding.” His voice drops, eyes shimmering as if he was before the person his heart yearned for, “...The sky deserves a venue better than a garden of death and deceit.” Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“There were those in the Inquisition who I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with,” he started before shaking his head, “but I didn’t hate anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own views and what they find important.” He scowls a bit, tapping his bicep once again with a finger, “...Even if they didn’t extend the same kindness to me in the beginning. ‘Do you believe in the Maker?’ ‘Do you believe you’re chosen?’ ‘You need to use the people’s faith. It gives them hope.’” He mocks before snorting harshly, “No. No, I don’t. Oh, that suddenly makes me trash? Ohhh. How terrible.” He scoffs. “Disgusting.” Which friend knows everything about you?

“Solas,” He says within a heart beat before clearing his throat, shifting his gaze away sheepishly, “He knows me without and within.” Emerald and gold blaze as the orbs go wide, the blush of roses coming back in full force, “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t mean--! Fuck! You better wipe that shit eating grin off your face, elf, or I swear I’ll do it for you!” He growls in frustation, throwing his hands in the air, “Why did I agree to this? What fucking dragon entertains an interview!? This is worst than the courts in Arlathan used to be! And that’s saying something!”

Asked by Fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

”I am literate. Sometimes to a fault, in fact,” He smiles a bit, “Poetry is my niche; a lingering memory of my mother. So, I speak cryptically at times,” He snorts, amused, “Although, I guess that isn’t much of a surprise since the Elvhen language is riddled in verse rather than practical application. Still, even some of the ancients left have a hard time deciphering my words,” He shrugs, smile turning into a smirk, “They never expected a dragon to be able to talk, I guess. Well, ta-dah.”  The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

A somber expression flits across his visage and eyes, “...That, eventually, I would hurt the one person I never wanted to.” The corner of his mouth twitches, holding both bitterness and grief; a painful duo, “...And retribution came just as swiftly, but it--” He sighs, shaking his head in defeat before muttering under his breath, “Observe and accept. Observe that what came to pass was uncontrollable, and accept that it had to happen for your path to continue, for your soul to be complete.” What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

His face blanks, mouth going into a hard line before a sigh exits through his nose slowly, “...That I don’t have tail.” He snarls, blank expression twisting in warning, “Laugh, elf. Do it.” He nods in the next second when no sounds of amusement come forth, expression going stoic once more, “That’s what I thought. You try living centuries in one form and then transitioning. See what happens.” Do you have mental health or physical issues?

He nods, sighing tiredly. “Like my names, I have a lot.” A hand motions to his body lazily, “My entire body is littered in scars, inflicted through crude experiments by an abomination that sought power like so many others,” He expression sours, jaw working back a forth, “They’ve calmed over the years, but the memories are not so kind.” He sighs, trying to calm himself and lifts his left hand; the Anchor glowing faintly and his eyes watch it, “I have an illness, or rather, sensitivity to any Fade born essence. That, too, has calmed and I’m grateful for that. As for my mind..” He trails off, grimacing a bit as if suddenly in pain, “...Visualize the Void, and there’s your answer. Black walls with crimson torches, seats empty, but somehow wanting for memories to take their seats. However, those occupants never come, burnt to ash by fury’s flame. That’s my mind in a nutshell.” What is your current main goal?

He raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips, “Mm, as of right now, I’m busy helping Solas unlock the eluvians that he couldn’t while I was away,” He flexes his marked hand, watching it with a look of determination in his eyes, “That’ll take time, but after, my people, my kin will have their skies back. I won’t let this power be squandered, and I won’t let the key that I’ve been entrusted with fall into the wrong hands.” His face hardens further, “For if that key rusts, the locks break and the sky will blacken as surely as the earth will redden.”

Choices

Drink or food?

“Drinks.” He says with ease, shrugging, “Food is comforting, especially sweets, but a glass of rum or ale, or a cup of chamomile tea really pounds the word ‘relaxation’ into my head.” Cats or dogs?

He smiles, warmth caressing its edges, “You’ve seen Nislean wandering about the halls, laying on the window sills and curling up in front of the fire,” He hums suddenly, crossing his arms again, “Which reminds me, I need to go out of the Crossroads for milk. I’ll be getting more than five bottles this time.” Optimist or pessimist?

“Depends on who you ask,” He shrugs, seeming unbothered, “I’m neither from a personal standpoint. I try to see the bright spots, but shadows can be very persistent.”   Sassy or sarcastic?

He snorts, “Ask Fen’harel,” his voice is light upon the title, playfully mocking in its deepness, “He knows all about that side. Although, he would label it, ‘insufferable’. I would call myself dryly sarcastic, though.”

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

He purses his lips, “Hmm. Not that I can recall,” he says slowly before his brows jumped and his eyes lit up with memory, “Oh! Wait. There was that one time where I was with Solas and Mythal in a...courtyard, I think?” He shrugs before shrugging, “Doesn’t matter. But, I tried to slip away, tail and all, and I...may have shattered one or two or three eluvians trying to get to the balcony.” He somewhat wistfully, smirking, “Elgar’nan got fucking stuck in a far off settlement for a week, though. Completely worth getting my horn chewed off by a wolf.” Broken a bone?

“Surprisingly, no.” He huffs in amusement, “Wonder of wonders, truthfully.” Received flowers?

“I have,” He scowls, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust, “but I always throw them into the fire. Most are from suitors, those who don’t know what the fuck ‘taken’ means.” Ghosted someone?

His face tightens, completely deadpan, “...No?”, he says, voice raising in question a bit, “At least I don’t believe so. But, then again...oh.” He blanks further, “...Oh. I understand the term now. You mortals are forever twisting the languages, aren’t you? I can’t keep up, but the answer is still no.” Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“Maybe once or twice, but I don’t ‘laugh’ per say.” He huffs through his nose deliberately, “I do that; a puff of air. Some habits are never truly able to be broken. No matter the form.”

Tagging: @oxygenforthewicked @blueheaded @little-lightning-lavellan @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine and anyone else that’d like to play! (no pressure, of course!)

[nemuitoka]

What are your favorte jshk fanfics? also where do you like reading them the most?

Hi Anon!!! today is the day I can finally answer this question😈 ahaha you know how much I enjoy making fic recs so 👀 Let’s go!!!

To answer your second question first, I like reading them on AO3 the most! Mostly because I get almost unlimited number of characters to rant in the comment section........... 😆but also the tagging system is very helpful.

Okay, now to the fun part of this ask😏

You said JSHK, but I mostly read Hananene ones so all of my favs include that pairing... as  I already did a fic rec here of my favs, this list will continue that one, so please check that one first hehe ((I apologize in advance..., I would love for people to recommend me some mitsukou ones tbh... I’m really lost when it comes to other pairings orz)) 

If I’m completely honest with you anon-san, my favorite JSHK fic right now is the one Roxanne ( @istoleyourboat )  wrote based of my art and her snippet:

Star-Crossed and Falling- Where Stars Go to Die by lilaflo

Hanako is Princess Nene’s personal knight 👀. A tale of forbidden love. They slowly fall in love as they exchange a series of gifts, one that includes a pair of matching earrings that remind them of their love when they’re apart. Also, jelly Hanako of Nene’s suitors😏... Oh, but nothing lasts forever and those sweet moments will come to an end when they have to face their cruel reality, in this world, they don’t get to choose neither their battles or the ones they love.

Now more of Roxanne, because I seriously enjoy her work so much (I’m sure everyone knows by now lmao sdkj) 

Night of the Phantom King by lilaflo 

This one is a spooky one. Nene’s regret for never realizing who she truly loves takes her to mourn her deceased friend Amane and cry on his grave in a Halloween night, then suddenly the Phantom King comes to take her away👀 & he looks suspiciously familiar... Beautiful world building btw, also the ending is just, excellent. 

12 Year Romance by lilaflo

Amane meets Nene at the Tanabata festival, she’s older than him, but he falls for her instantly, fast forward, Amane is now in middle school, he’s a troublemaker, & gets constantly into fights, but he swears the new school nurse looks familiar... he then realizes it’s her and thinks it must be fate!!!... This one hits close to home bc I’ve been in this situation irl, so I can confirm all of Nene’s struggles are real (and ofc how a love with an age gap should be handled the correct way, this fic really teaches you many life lessons hahaha) 

took a sip then another sip, then you turned and said to me by chivalrousamour 

This autor has a bunch of good JSHK fics!! I recommend you check their AO3 out, bec you may find something you like for sure! But, this is my absolute fav from them. Nene is a mangaka, celebrating the finishing of her long serialized manga, while Amane is a delivery boy who happens to find her in a very questionable state in her house👀 (it’s all family friendly ofc, anon, I’m not a slimy pervert like some ghost boy)

Maid for Each Other by corologs ( @corologs )

Courtney has this amazing College AU collection series that I encourage you to check out!!! But Maid for each other is my fav!!! So it’s the Yugi twins birthday, and it’s Tsukasa’s turn to choose where they go to celebrate it... you can already tell where this is going... (let the chaos begin) & as the title said, it involves maids!!! (it has Kaicho wa maid sama vibes if you liked that anime~~)

If I Could Tell Her by corologs

What if the picture perfect arc plan was successful??? Well, this fic explores this idea, and it’s very interesting to read. I like how Amane and Hanako are two separate people here.

the horizon tries but it’s just not as kind on the eyes by sincerelyand ( @sunlightinourheadlights ) 

(Oh my sweet Karen, she writes such good fics, so go check her AO3 out as well!!) Amane and Yashiro are friends that share an apartment (& they were roommates-- OMG they were roommates), even if Amane has its complains, because Nene can be a handful sometimes (and in denial of her true feelings as always, are we even surprised at this point?) he loves her dearly anyways😭.

for real, this time by sourlemoncandy  ( @sour-lemon-candy )

Did somebody say fake dating AU?????? Because hell yeah I did asajj I loved reading this so much!! Nene and Amane are childhood friends, and Nene overhears some girls talking about Amane and how one of them plans to ask him out... but she senses these girls are up to no good so she... well, you gotta read it to find out more~~ it’s no fun If I tell ya everything hehe... so go go go!!

lemon cream by sourlemoncandy

Amane and Nene, just two good friends having a road trip and sharing donuts... what could go wrong??  😏 seriously, I loved this fic so much!! Instant fav! Also makes me wanna try some good sweet donuts...

Trip Down Memory Lane by insipidenvy ( @insipidenvy )

This fic is so sweet. I have such a huge attachment to it, because I read it when I really needed some fluff in my life hahaha. It’s sort of a collection of memories between Amane and Yashiro’s relationship over the years. So heartwarming... if you need the fluffs you’ll enjoy this very much!!

The Radish Princess and the Toilet Prince by insipidenvy

This is my favorite fic from insipidenvy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You know how I am a slut for Royalty AUs so that’s why!!!!! Also Toilet Prince!! hahahaha such a good nickname lmao. I love how they bond over their insecurities, it’s very relatable tbh. 

Between Wind and Water by WingSongHalo  ( @wingsonghalo )

My beautiful Wing always delivering the good Hananene content, as she should!! This fic is so fun to read!! I laughed so hard at Nene and Hanako being awkward with each other!!! So you know how Hanako is super clingy with Nene, he’s always touching & hugging her, but this time something weird happens and he’s so distant~~ Nene doesn’t want to admit it at first, but she misses his clingy ghost boy~~ you’ll have a good time reading this for sure!  

The Monster's Bride by Hammsters ( @uglierdaikon )

Have you heard about the myth of Cupid and Psyche? Well this fic rewrites it in a very Hananene way <3 hehe I loved it so much (as I’m a huge fan of mythology~) To sum it up, Nene is fated to marry a monster that lives in the mountains so she’s devastated... to her surprise, her husband is far from what she expected... she only had one rule to obey and well... we all know how reckless Nene is so... you go find out what happens next now!! hehehe

Morning Reflections by FalalalaLa  ( @miss-sternennacht )

So you’ve heard of Hanako watching Nene sleep, but what about Nene watching Amane sleep???!! this fic offers you this and so much more fluff <3 Also Nene remembering how they met and how their relationship evolved during the years, aww <3 

Cursed Coin by DaikonSenpai  ( @daikonsenpai )

There’s a school dance, Yashiro’s supposed to be dancing with Kou (since she can’t go with Hanako, which causes him to be jelly~~ and bitter), but she loses a coin Aoi gave her for good luck so she goes out and searches for it on the last place she saw it, the school fountain. Suddenly Hanako spots her, what’s she doing outside??? is she drunk or something?? what happens next you may find out when you read it~~~

Between Love and Hope by Baronesscmd (SweeterThanYourDarkestSin) ( @baronesscmd )

Oh to be Nene and get to sleep between the Yugi twins... God really has favorites uh... ISTG, this collection of fics is so cute. I love how Nene loves the twins so much in this AU, they have their little cute family. She ofc is in love with Amane, but their relationship with Tsukasa is so tender... it’s mostly this trio having fluffy moments together to heal your soul... if you need some, you’ll get it here for sure hahaha. 

Ghost of You (And All the Futures We've Forgotten) by Indigo_Floof  milkteamoon  ( @indigosienna , @spades-queen )

So anon you may have been wondering, well this bitch likes fluff only???? how about some angst for a change, uh? DAMN, OKAY THEN, here you have some angst to rip your soul out and wish you never sent me this ask in the 1st place, bec of the emotional damage this fic will leave you sdajjsa, also if you liked “Erased”, you’ll love this fic too! 

Hanako of the Opera by zxrstan

Finally, but not less important, me being annoying about Hanako of the Opera & POTO AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!! This fic is based of the AU Aidairo created mostly, it’s really fun to read if you didn’t get much of what was happening during the Hanako of the Opera event, it has a nice ending also! very satisfying I must say. 

AAAAND THIS IS THE END OF MY ALL TIME FAV LIST OMG;;;; Kudos for me for searching through all my damn AO3 and Google Chrome history (from both my PC and phone, since I am a FOOL and forgot my AO3 password so I read a lot of these in the past as a guest before recovering my password LMAO, please be patient with me omg, and also if you see me bookmarking them now, you know why 😭) 

Kudos to all of my writer homies as well, I love and appreciate all of you so much!! you have no idea! 💖

I hope you find this list useful, anon!! Thank you for sending me this ask and have a wonderful day! 

Ps. Please everyone feel free to add more fics to this list if you want! this is all my personal picks, but I’m aware there are a lot more fics that I haven’t read and deserve as much recognition as the ones I listed!