#i may write more of these as inspiration strikes for the content

[pellelavellan]

The Journals of Pelle Lavellan

24 Haring, 9:40 Dragon

I have not slept for days. I would have thought my restless would begin to weigh on my body, make me sluggish. It would appear it is used to exhaustion, and I almost wish it were not so. A racing mind should certainly tire the soul, but mine only begs for it to come up with an answer. It will not rest until it finds one.

My mother's dying wish: stop wasting your life trying to save mine. That was what she asked of me. She never took it back, no matter how much I sobbed and begged her to ask me to stay. I certainly would have if she did. I would have laid there beside her and rotted away with her in each passing day, and prayed that the illness to had stolen her light would take me with her. She believed I was meant for better things than to lay down and die, she always did.

What does she know? Better than I? Or nothing at all. My words may be bold, and my resolve stubbornly clinging to life as it knows of nothing else, but I am not strong. I rather would agree far more than I am quite weak.

I am a liar, a selfish deviant who would refuse himself the calm of doing as he is told in a frivolous pursuit of desire. I am a foolish man who believed if he walked into fire it would not spread and burn the forest with him. Someone who believes that if his knees should buckle holding the weight of the world that it only himself who will suffer and be crushed by the weight too great for him to bear.

I do not know what life it is she thinks I am wasting. The truth is, in those bitter tears I shed as my mother, now blind and still caressing my head with love I knew I should never be given so unconditionally again, that I have fallen out of love with life. It is a stranger to me now.

And yet, life is a lover that I cannot cast aside. It holds onto me no matter how much I kick and scream for it to let me go.

My cousin does not speak to me. I think he knows that I am made of fractured glass, and he won't dare try to repair it. And so we wander, in silence, chasing the pursuits of someone I pretend to be. Someone full of hope, determined to carve change, and write his own path.

But he knows--he knows that if I have to bury another friend I shall climb into their grave with them and bid my farewells to this world. If the gods be kind enough, they will not spit on a gift wasted and curse me to wander it until I learn what it is I've thrown away in anger, weeping as I am forced to watch the beauty I had lost sight of, unable to touch it, damned to feel the agony of desire. A ghost, gnashing his teeth, begging for a release that will never come.

He knows that I haven't the faintest idea what I will find, where I will go, who I am, who I should be. There is something to be said about the loyalty of following the lost until they find their way, but I cannot think of a proverb to describe it. I just hope he knows I see him too, and that his presence means more to me than I could express.

I know nothing of tomorrow, or any day that follows. But I hope I find it.

[seventh-district]

I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

-

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought.  “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand,  reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

-

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

-

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

-

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

[just-some-user-hunny]

The Cannibal bonded with a bastard targaryen reader ...

This is heavily inspired by @mangled-parasite writings on their yandere hotd stuff. I wanted to go more in depth about the relationship a bastard princess reader would have with the cannibal, because the dynamics could be so diverse and interesting. The cannibal is a really interesting dragon to me as well, he's not been tames nor shows any interest in it, so I always wonder what he'd be like with a rider!

(fem! Bastard princess reader X the cannibal)

. If you are bonded to him, he would be ruthlessly protective over you. He can feel every flicker of distress and discomfort from you, and he bares his teeth like a guard dog at whoever draws too close. Once he had decided that you were his, and he was yours, his fury when it comes to protecting you rivals hellfire. You will never have to feel fear again, nothing can even dream of touching you- lest they want to experience the nightmarish wrath of the Cannibal. It matters little to him if this threat is human, or dragon. In fact he almost welcomes it. He loves the rush of destroying whatever threatens you, the pride that fills him when he charres their remains and feasts upon them In front you- because look princess. Look how mighty he is, look how well he can fight and protect you. After his gory feast, he'll lower himself close to your little form for his praise- purring till your blood fizzles as he enjoys your pets and attention.

. Cannibal has never been a tame or passive dragon, but around you, he'll make an effort to behave. He'll stave away his urges to salivate when he captures glimpses of the smaller dragons, if it makes you happy. He'll heed your voice, your words, if only to amuse you and keep you content. However, he still has a temper- and although he may not engulf everything with wildfire, he will surely growl and roar to make people bend their knee in your presence. His bond to you is tightly knitted, so he can pick up those who are irking you or upsetting you. He shares your hatred for your father, often bearing his frightening jagged teeth at the pale man who can only endure the monstrosity of his daughter's dragon. It'll take only your word to engulf him in burning emerald flames, so for once, your father will hold his tongue.

. He is not an obedient dog, more like a feral alley cat who's taken a warming to you. There's not a force in heaven or hell that can convince him to confide anywhere near the dragon pits, not to mention his monstrous size cannot even imagine squeezing itself into that little ditch. He'll take to sleeping upon the beach, preferably away from vhager, if he wants to remain close to you. However he is known to fly off and disappear for days on end, returning when you least expect it. He is a wild dragon at heart.

. He may not melt into a big passive puppy, but he will surely let you know he likes the attention you give him. He'll croon with his snarling scarred grin, his eyes glinting as you speak to him and stay close. The attitude he has around you is stark like night and day- with others he glares ferociously and mean, but with you, he's bound by your heels.

When you approach him upon the sand of the tide, he'll lower his head to gaze upon you. he'll feel content as he looks you over, appearing docile and calm in your presence.

Your family find it terrifyingly odd whenever you approach him with so much casualty, and he simply looks at you so fondly. The dragon who has devoured oh so many wannabe dragon tamers is now treating you like a precious little treasure, and it's both awe-inspiring, and frightening. His striking emerald green eyes focus on you as you speak sweetly and softly to him, his purrs can be heard from the dragonstone gates.

. The cannibal is an ancient dragon with many years of experience, so to him, you are little more than a child in his eyes. His child.

If anything, he is more of a loving father to you than Daemon could ever be.

It's puzzling to him, at first. He has never possessed a single maternal bone in his body, having no objection to devouring unhatched eggs and even young hatched dragons to satiate his hunger- but perhaps he sees a part of him in you. That wildness to stray, the desperation to free yourself from the thorns of the targarians that dig deep into you. You may be a little gentle weepy thing, but the fact still stands. You want to be free. He can grant that.

As you claim him as a child, he'll watch you grow. Watch your face and hands become weary from the anxiety and ache of constantly being caged. You'll gradually become more and more beautiful, dripping in gems and jewellery and ornate gowns, but the sadness in your eyes hasn't changed since you were a tearful little child. He sees what they are doing- trying to keep you satiated with material desires, but he understands you deep down that nothing of that matters. You want to be anywhere else but here...

. He is an old dragon, and has a temper to him. His hunger for flesh and fire has not made him weary, and although he is scarred and withered, he is still towering in all his obsideon scaled glory. Emerald flames engulfing the sky as you ride upon his back, soaring above the clouds as pride and glory consumes him. He always despises the idea of being 'claimed' and ridden like some show pony, but he finds himself enjoying the company of his little human experiencing the rush of gliding through the heavens. He can feel your thundering heart, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as he dips and soars between terrific heights, and he can't help but grin a scarred and twisted smile, egged on by your delight of the views and freedom. Yes! This is freedom, my little princess. Let us not be chained by those targarians, this is what living is!

He certainly likes challenging you, obviously not to the point he puts you in any danger of course- but he'll dive at gut churning speeds to see what'll make you shriek. It's almost like He finds amusement out of it, perhaps getting a little kick out of challenging his rider. Once he has landed however with you safely back on the ground, he'll look at you with his gnarled smirk and expect just a little push from you. Don't take it to heart though, his princess. You'll get gently prodded and nudged by his snout to check on you to make sure you're alright. He is still protective over you, after all. His cruelty will not extend to your pain. Besides, you are more often than not riding him bareback, so he would never fly so recklessly that you'd get bucked off. Most of the time he's holding back, really.

. That is not to say that each time you climb upon his back that you will endure terror, because that is surely not the case. He loves flying with you, loves feeling your awe and wonder. It fills him with unbridled pride and ego. You can both feel freedom, and freedom is all he wants for himself and his rider alike.

. As his rider, you have a good chance of escaping the talons of your family. Who is to stop you? The mad prince, Daemon, and his blood wyrm? Cannibal could laugh at the mere thought of this deranged man challenging him with his little red pest. Even the one eyed prince and his ancient she-dragon, Vhagar, will be a welcomed challenge. When it comes to you, he'd do anything.

[theundercoversquid]

Dozing in the Summer Sun

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x author!Reader

Request: author!reader and charles leclerc when will the sixth part come? I think it might have something to do with what they did during their summer vacation - @everynameistakenshit

Warnings: 

Masterlist

A writer and formula one driver masterlist

Holidays. A time for rest and relaxation. Only there was no rest for the wicked.

You and Charles liked to pretend that it was a break from both of your jobs. But you both knew that wasn't true. Even on holiday, Charles had to keep an eye on what he was eating and keep fit, and for you, there was no taking a day off from your brain. You never know when inspiration may strike.

But yet, the two of you still treated it as a holiday as much as you could. The two of you had earned this break.

You and Charles were both lying on a towel in the sun together. Your head on his chest as he ran his fingers up your back, tracing spirals and swirls on the vast planes of your back.

But then, in a sudden rush of realization, it hit you. You sat up straight, your heart racing, and scrambled to your feet. You bolted back to the hotel room, your feet sinking into the soft sand as you ran.

Leaving a fondly amused Charles in your wake. As he stood up, too. Rolling up the towel before he followed you back at a much more reasonable pace.

When Charles got to the little cottage that you were staying in, he could see you sat at your computer. Frantically typing away whatever it was that had come to your mind under the hot summer sun.

Walking up to you, Charles dropped a kiss on your head before disappearing to do his own thing. Not wanting to disrupt you while you were working.

When you finally left the idea-induced haze, you stumbled back into the real world, eyes blinking as you looked at all that you had just written.

Pushing yourself away from your computer, you went in search of Charles, wondering where your beloved boy had gone while you were busy.

You found him sprawled on your bed, with one of your books in one hand and a highlighter in the other.

"Really, my love?" You asked him, laughing.

"Absolutely." Charles nodded. "this is but a peep into your mind, and I want to understand it, and you as much as I can."

"I'm writing that down," you call as you turn around and head back to your computer. Leaving Charles confused for a moment as you type down what he had said before returning to him.

Flopping down so your head lands on his stomach. You snuggle into him. Letting the feeling of his breathing lull you, as all you can hear is the crashing of waves and the rustling of pages.

You dozed. Falling in and out of consciousness as you and Charles stayed in that position. Content just to be in each other's presence. 

Eventually, though, Charles budged you awake softly. His lips dropping down onto your forehead.

"Mon amour, you need to wake up." He murmured against your headline. "We have our dinner reservation that we need to get to."

Mumbling, you rolled over, pressing your nose further into his stomach, not wanting to get up.

"Come on, mon amour." Charles coaxed humour in his voice. "You can even wear that pretty outfit you packed especially for this trip."

Your eyes finnlay opend at that.

"Fine," You grumbled as you finally rolled out of bed.

"Come on, mon amour." Charles coxed as he gently helped you start getting ready. 

When he was sure that you were about to get back into the bed, he started to get ready himself.

Brefily slipping of as he returned dressed to the nines.

"Oh," you exclaimed brethely, looking him up and down. Don't you look so handsome?"

"Non of that, mon amour." Charles warned, grabbing your hands that had come to rest on his chest. "We have a reservation," he said.

"I know, I know." You laughed. Turn in to grab your jewellery.

Letting out a yelp as Charles playfully taps you on the bottom. Causing you to glare playfully at him over your shoulder.

When you were finally ready, Chalres grabbed you by the hand, leading you out of your hotel and into the restaurant like an overexcited child.

[taurusdaylight]

our rendezvous

summary. being lost in the horizon sounds scary, but not when you're hand in hand with your lover.

pairing. boyfriend! jaehyun x implied fem! reader

genre. established relationship! au, fluff

word count. 4,021

warnings/tags. as far as i know, nothing :) it's only a little angsty because of uncertainty about the future, but nothing too intense! very very fluffy,,,, maybe a lil pda (oh?)

a/n. ur resident valentine is back! i'm so sorry for going off the grid, my life has been a blur over the past few months… i did nothing and everything. anyway, this is inspired by none other than horizon (soty!) and i was very lucky to have had the opportunity to visit florence, where the horizon mv was filmed, so i knew i had to write this! after finishing it, i realised it's rather similar to my first fic but what can i say, i love jaehyun travel! aus, plus, jaehyun and forever just go together. <3 hope the new year is treating everyone kindly, and as always, have fun reading~

–

Navigating life after graduation was akin to walking through a maze, struggling to find a way out. Growing up, you always thought that everyone’s life had already been nicely written out since there were only two things that truly mattered: school and work. The adults always preached about how good academic records would land you a great job. All your life, you never failed to achieve and maintain stellar grades so you never doubted that you would get a job. Yet, as the day of your graduation approached, you started to worry that you might not end up finding a job. Or at least, one that was to your liking.

The thought of working for the rest of your life sounded… boring. Perhaps an oversimplification, but you always made sure to put a hundred percent into your studies, so you felt like you never really had the chance to live your life the way you wanted to. You weren’t a party animal per se, but you wouldn’t hesitate to skip a night out with your friends if you had an important deadline to meet. It was always academics over everything else. Apart from meeting expectations that others had on you, the fear of failure haunted you too. More often than not, the urge of wanting to disappear creeped into your mind. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, running away to some random part of the world where no one knew you. Once you’ve spent enough time there, you could easily travel to another city and explore till your heart’s content. That was the dream. Unfortunately, this particular dream of yours never came true.

That was, until now.

Treading the path of adulthood was admittedly scary, you could slip and fall at any given moment and not know how to pick yourself up. But, you weren’t on your own. 

Jeong Jaehyun, your boyfriend of two years, shared the same sentiment. Sure, he was ambitious and had his goals set out. Like you, however, working himself to death wasn’t one of the things on his list. Jaehyun believed that it was important to strike a balance, to not throw yourself into something so deep that you would get lost in it. Working may be important but it would never hurt to have a little fun whenever time called for it. 

You first met Jaehyun in Introduction to Film Studies. Both second-year students, you and Jaehyun clicked extremely well with each other as you bonded over your shared love for films. What started as study sessions to help each other with assignments eventually progressed to warm, cosy movie date nights that also involved cuddling under a fluffy blanket on Jaehyun’s couch. 

While there have been minor arguments over those two years, you and Jaehyun always made sure to communicate. After all, a couple is supposed to fight the problem, not each other. The both of you understood that. These disagreements never bothered you that much because you believed that they were part and parcel of every relationship. Instead, you wondered more about how lucky you are to have found someone like Jaehyun. As you liked to put it, Jaehyun was your twin flame. He spoke to your soul in a way that no one else could.

Instead of taking the conventional route of starting a full-time job after graduating, you and Jaehyun booked one-way tickets to Rome the week after your final exams. How long the both of you were going to stay there for, that was a question for another time. The plan was to have no plan, going wherever your feet took you. Both of your parents weren’t exactly agreeable about this idea, nagging about how irresponsible and irrational it was. But what could they do? It’s not as if they could physically stop two grown adults from going. Eventually, they were able to come to terms with it and simply asked the both of you to stay safe. 

It’s been about three weeks or so since you two arrived in Rome. Tranquil mornings without a blaring alarm was something that you could really get used to. The icing on the cake would be waking up to the sight of Jaehyun sleeping peacefully next to you, an arm securely draped around your waist. His lips would slightly jut out, you would sometimes sneak a kiss or two because he simply looked too adorable to resist. 

A day out together would look something like sitting by an artwork in a museum, coming up with various interpretations or hopping from café to café to try out different desserts (which were often, gelato), you couldn’t count with your fingers the number of times the staff had to chase the both of you out because they were closing. Time is said to fly past when you’re having fun, but even more so when you’re spending it with the love of your life. At least, that’s what you think. 

The both of you woke up earlier than usual today because you’d turned in early the previous night, probably exhausted from all the walking. The sun wasn’t up yet, which meant that there were limited stores that were operating during this time too. It felt like a waste to sleep in and laze around in the apartment, so came the impulse decision of buying last-minute train tickets to Florence. 

“C’mon baby,” Jaehyun half-shouted, his gaze flickering between you and the platform located at the other end of the station.

Hands intertwined, you and Jaehyun were sprinting as fast as your legs could carry you in order to catch your train that leaves in approximately two minutes. Or rather, you were doing everything in your power to match Jaehyun’s speed because why was he running like he was competing in the Olympics? So much for wanting an athletic boyfriend. 

You were almost out of breath from running, you didn’t even have the energy to give Jaehyun a verbal answer. Instead, you tried to speed up like he told you to. After what felt like a hundred miles, the both of you finally reached the platform, boarded the train, and settled down into your allocated seats. 

“Oh my goodness. We are never doing that again,” you said, panting. 

Jaehyun shot you a wide grin. “Now that’s what I call an intense leg day.” 

You were rendered speechless. Here you were, thinking that he was going to agree with you. But you also remembered that Jaehyun was a gym rat first, your boyfriend second. Jaehyun goes a little over the top with exercising, you could tell that much just by looking at his physique. Though, you wouldn’t say that it was exactly a bad thing. In fact, what a sight for sore eyes he was… 

Before you had a chance to respond, Jaehyun used his other hand to push your head towards his shoulder. “Go to sleep, doll. Don’t want you feeling cranky in the middle of the day because you didn’t get to take your daily nap. I’ll wake you up when we’re reaching.”

Despite not being able to see him, you could hear the smile in Jaehyun’s voice, which caused you to grin too. Perhaps it was Jaehyun’s shoulder that made you comfy, but you could feel the sleepiness slowly start to envelop you, so you snuggled even closer to him.

“Good night, Jay,” you said before falling into slumber.

–

The train ride took faster than expected, probably because you were asleep throughout the journey. Upon alighting, you and Jaehyun walked aimlessly along Via Faenza. You stopped in your tracks when you caught the pleasant aroma of coffee beans coming from a café, it was so inviting that the both of you had no choice but to enter.

Save for the long line of people in office-wear queuing to get their morning coffee fix, there was no one else occupying the seats in the café. Wanting to be away from the crowd, you and Jaehyun made your way to the corner booth seat situated all the way inside after getting your order. You sat next to each other, with Jaehyun's arm wrapped around your waist. Your torso was slightly exposed because of the cropped top that you wore, and Jaehyun’s fingertips easily found purchase on your skin. Soft traces all over, which oddly enough, made you feel tingly and warm simultaneously. 

“Jaehyun,” you called out.

He turned to look at you. “Hmm?” 

“Do you regret being here with me? Don’t you feel like you’re wasting your life away?”

Jaehyun halted his movements, but he did not loosen his grip on your waist. His answer was written all over his face, from his creased eyebrows to his frowning lips. 

“Of course not, baby. Did I do or say something to make you think that way? I’m sorry if I did,” he said sincerely. 

“No, you didn’t do or say anything of that sort!” you quickly clarified. “I think I’m just worried about the future, you know? Once all of this is over…”

A small smile played on Jaehyun’s lips as he removed his arm from your waist. He cupped your face in his hand, sighing. “I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you, because then you’d have nothing to worry about at all. You’re going to do great things, ____. I’m sure of that. But for now, just let loose and enjoy yourself, okay? You deserve to have a break.” 

Jaehyun’s words could bring you to tears. He radiated so much positivity that it naturally rubbed off onto you, especially with the amount of time that you spend with each other. However, there were still moments of weakness, like now, where you’d inevitably think about how things could possibly go wrong. Before you could spiral into a whirlpool of negative thoughts, however, Jaehyun would pull you right out of it by telling you exactly what you need to hear in order to help get you through these times.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on Jaehyun’s cheek.

Jaehyun made a sound, as if to signal that he was pondering. He pointed at his cheek and tapped on it with his index finger several times. “One more?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his request, but who were you to deny him? Since you were feeling generous and grateful to your boyfriend, you quickly moved closer to give him two more kisses. One on his cheek, and the other on his lips. The best part was seeing the Cheshire cat smile appear on his face after he’d received his well-deserved kisses.

For the rest of the time at the café, you and Jaehyun were people-watching through the glass window while sipping on coffee and feeding each other small spoonfuls of pastries. At some point, random passer-bys became a part of a guessing game that started out of nowhere. Dating or siblings? What would their coffee order be if they came in here? The both of you had a lot of fun making up stories to back up your answer, boisterous laughter sounding through the place. 

Afterwards, you and Jaehyun continued wandering through the streets now that more stores have opened. An apparel store selling headwear caught Jaehyun’s eye, and he spent about twenty minutes or so looking through the bucket hats. Taking one in his hand, he tried it on and started making silly faces at you while dancing. 

“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.” You reached a hand out in an attempt to remove the hat from Jaehyun’s head, but he swiftly avoided you.

He held on tightly to the hat. “I think this was made for me. I’m definitely getting it.”

The hat didn’t look bad on him, but it was still… questionable. A helpless sigh escaped your lips when you knew that nothing you say would change his mind. “Okay… as long as you’re happy.” 

Fortunately, Jaehyun didn’t have thoughts of wearing the hat there and then. Because if not, you would think twice about walking next to him.

The next few stores mostly sold vintage items and souvenirs. You and Jaehyun ended up getting matching gnomes that had the initials of your first names carved into it. While checking out at the counter, the cashier made a comment about how cute the two of you look together and that the gnomes were such fitting choices, so much so that they looked like mini versions of you two. With shy smiles, the both of you thanked her before exiting the store. You also noticed the tinge of red on Jaehyun’s ears, but kept quiet about it since you were most likely a blushing mess yourself. 

Then, it was time for lunch. 

You and Jaehyun had previously crafted a mini bucket list, and one of the things on the list was to try the various types of pasta while you were in Italy, so that’s what the both of you had for lunch. It appeared that all the shopping must have taken up a great deal of your energy because the both of you still had an appetite for dessert afterwards, or, rather, gelato was considered a staple so there was no way that dessert could be skipped. 

Although it was sunny, the summer heat wasn’t unbearable so you two were at the outdoor seating area of the gelato café. Within the vicinity of the café, there was a group of children playing catch with one another. After finishing the gelato, Jaehyun dragged you along to them. 

“Ciao! I’m Jay,” he introduced with a friendly smile. 

You introduced yourself to them too and stood behind Jaehyun, hiding slightly. You didn’t have anything against children, but you still considered them to be strangers, and you always had a hard time talking to strangers due to your reserved nature. You barely had any experience with children too so this was still foreign to you.

On the flipside, Jaehyun adores children. You could see it in the way his eyes would light up whenever he interacted with him. Not to mention, he was great with children (an understatement, if you had to be truthful). Seeing Jaehyun with children always made your heart swell, in a good or bad way, you weren’t sure… The only thing you were certain of was that you definitely wanted to have his children.

While you were spacing out, Jaehyun was quick to ask and memorise the names of the children. He played around with them for a bit and made sure to include you as well, the game of catch was never so fun before. However, it wasn’t long before you got tired, so you opted to sit at one corner to watch them. You whipped out your phone to capture this moment, giggling at how precious Jaehyun looked. Happiness looked great on Jaehyun, and you hoped that it would stay on him for a long, long time.

All of them grew tired after a few rounds too, putting an end to the game. While they were busy running around, you discreetly returned back to the café and told the cashier that you would be paying for the children to get gelato. You also grabbed a bottle of water and gave it to Jaehyun, who was perspiring profusely; indeed, an intense leg day it was for him. 

Through body language and very poorly spoken Italian, you tried to tell the children that they could go pick out the flavours that they wanted at the café. You were far too preoccupied with communicating that to them, the endearing look that Jaehyun had on his face went unnoticed by you. Thankfully, the cashier was there to bridge the language barrier and they managed to get their gelato without any hiccups. Before leaving, each of the children gave you and Jaehyun a hi-five, a word of thanks echoing after one another.

Having spent almost the entire day in that area, you and Jaehyun decided to explore another part of the city before catching your train back to Rome. Long before this trip, you happened to stumble upon a website about the top spots that offered a picturesque view of the city. One of which was a twenty minute bus ride away from where you and Jaehyun were currently at. 

When the bus arrived, you and Jaehyun entered by the back door and sat down. You were busy admiring the old architecture of the buildings outside until you felt Jaehyun’s hand touching the side of your face. You realised that he was trying to put one side of his wired earpiece in your ear, which caused you to turn and face him, and you saw that he already had the other side of the earpiece in. Jaehyun was smiling so widely that his dimples were showing. You brought a hand up to poke it, feeling a sense of victory because you were one of the very few people in the world whom he allowed to touch his dimples.

Shyly, you took Jaehyun’s hand and interlocked your fingers together. No words were exchanged between the both of you, but there was a mutual feeling that this exact moment perfectly encapsulated the love you and Jaehyun have for each other. Tender, somewhat otherworldly in a way where everything, like the chatter of the other passengers on the bus, seemed to fade out in the background. 

As Can’t Take My Eyes Off You started playing through the earphones, you took it as an opportunity to mouth to Jaehyun, “I love you.”

Jaehyun’s dimples became more prominent at your sudden declaration. He made sure not to break eye contact with you before he mouthed back, “I love you.”

–

“Look!” you exclaimed, pointing toward the replica statue of David. It was the first thing that you saw after alighting from the bus.

Jaehyun turned his head to look at what you were pointing at. “Wow, it’s stunning."

The both of you hurriedly walked over to take some photos, which ended up in you and Jaehyun bursting into fits of laughter because he was imitating the statue and posing in the same way. It definitely earned you a few stares from the other visitors, but you and Jaehyun were too busy laughing to even notice that you two were getting judged. 

After snapping a few more photos, you and Jaehyun went to the other side of the square where you could see an overview of the city. It was breathtaking, to say the least, the both of you concurrently marvelled in awe at how it looked like a scene straight out of a movie. You could even spot the street that you two were at earlier in the day, as well as many other famous landmarks. Not to forget, the surrounding trees and mountains made it feel more complete, it was a perfect getaway from the bustling city for some peace and quiet. 

The both of you were standing at the top of the stairs, and you saw that there was a walking trail below. Due to time constraints, however, it seemed more logical to sit and admire the view, since neither of you knew how long the walking trail was and where it led to. Besides, it was a perfect spot to catch the sunset before you had to leave for the train station, so you two sat on one of the steps near the top where you had an unobstructed view of the city.

Like before, you and Jaehyun were listening to music together while holding hands. Other than humming along to the song, Jaehyun would also sing some of the lyrics to you, especially if it was a sweet or cheesy line. 

“Can’t believe I get to be here with you.” Even after some time had passed, you were still greatly impressed by the scenic view, in disbelief about how you could share this moment with your lover. The bright orange hues of the sun added more colour to the backdrop, it felt surreal watching it slowly go down.

“Me too,” Jaehyun replied almost immediately. “It feels like a dream…” 

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up from it,” you said while shifting closer to Jaehyun’s side. “Like, ever.”

“I want to stay here with you forever.” Your voice came out as a whisper, because deep down, a part of you was afraid that this happiness would be taken away from you abruptly. 

Yet again, Jaehyun made one of those sounds to indicate that he was thinking, which made you gasp in response.

“You don’t want to be with me?” you questioned, a look of betrayal on your face.

“No, silly,” Jaehyun chuckled. “Of course I want to be with you.”

Jaehyun let out a deep breath, as though he had to brace himself for what he was going to say next. “The thought of eternity feels scary. But if I know that you’ll be there with me, then… there’s nothing to be scared of. I think, for me… forever is where you are, wherever that may be.”

Silence ensued, music playing through the shared earphones being the only source of sound. Jaehyun gulped awkwardly when he noticed that your gaze was fixed on him, but you weren’t saying anything. “Did that come out wrong? I don’t even know what I’m saying sometimes. But I guess I was trying to say that–”

You cut Jaehyun off with a kiss. He smiled against your lips, causing you to do the same. Jaehyun’s hand travelled to the small of your back to pull you in before he tilted his head to the side for better access, going straight for your upper lip to return the kiss. It was slow, delicate, and everything you could ever ask for. You sighed when you felt Jaehyun’s hand running over your skin; he knew exactly what he was doing. Every kiss that you shared with Jaehyun never fell short of being exhilarating, which was one of the great things about love… or Jaehyun. Perhaps, both. 

He was the first to pull away, staring intently at you with a cheeky smile on his face. Jaehyun leaned in closer until he could bury his head into the crook of your neck, leaving another kiss on your collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his frame, hugging him as tightly as possible. You and Jaehyun stayed like this for a while until you heard a lady yelp from a distance away, her loud voice grabbing your attention.

As you looked up to find out what the commotion was about, tears immediately filled your eyes and you had to do everything that you could to hold them back. 

The said lady was standing by the railing, both hands covering her mouth. In front of her was a man, down on one knee, holding out a box with a diamond ring. You tapped Jaehyun’s shoulder so that he’d sit back up, and he turned to see what you were looking at. All of the other visitors were also invested, as everyone patiently for the lady's answer. 

Everything happened so quickly. The lady nodding and getting pulled into a hug by her fiancé, the crowd erupting in cheers and applause–a truly sweet moment to witness. Without thinking much, you blurted out, “that’s going to be us.” 

Jaehyun diverted his attention back to you, shaking his head. Seemingly biting back a smile as his lips formed a thin line, Jaehyun jerked his head to motion at something behind you. “That’s us.”

You were about to protest, pop another question that was something along the lines of whether or not he was planning to marry you. However, you remained quiet and decided to take a look at what he was referring to first. 

Well, it looks like the urge to complain has completely disappeared. How could it not? Rather than dissatisfaction, your heart leapt with joy when your eyes landed on a couple standing hand in hand at the other end of the steps from where you and Jaehyun sat; they were having their pre-wedding photoshoot.

[dovesdreaming]

Hi, Dove! Could you, please, write some Todd Anderson fluff? ♥ Maybe something about sunshine!female reader, she's also kinda shy, but not quite like Todd. She's really academically gifted, writes poems, but is unsure of herself. They know each other from school, but have never really spoken before, and then they accidentally run into each other during free period at the woods (where they like to spend some time alone and just read or write) and they bond.

It doesn't have to be about this, just any Todd fluff would be great! There is not enough dps content out here

𖤓She’s like being bathed in sunlight𖤓

I LOVED THIS REQUEST!!!! it was perfect. I loved Todd so much and I find him so relatable. This type of reader is my favourite to write aswell!!! Please send more Dps requests people I love them! Hope you enjoy <3

Note: Thank you so much for 100 followers ♥️😘🥰

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

Welton had recently allowed girls to attend and your parents being the stuck up people they are, wanted their daughter to attend the best school possible. It hadn’t been so bad, you had made a few friends with the other girls who had started attending and some of the boys who you found the most tolerable. You found making friends hard at the best of times but being somewhere like Welton made it that much harder.

You found your favourite lesson to be English and it wasn’t necessarily because of the subject but more so the teacher. Mr keating managed to make even the most boring parts of the curriculum exciting. Before him you found poetry to be a wasted subject on yourself yet mr keating had turned you into a poet. He brought the writer out of you and showed you just how fun it could be. A subject you used to hate had turned into a hobby of yours, you found yourself writing down poetry and inspiration for poems all the time. Your poems had recently taken a more romantic turn as you had found a muse.

It started when mr keating drew the whole classes attention to a boy who sat in the top corner of the class, usually just out of sight from you, blocked by many students heads. He had encouraged the boy to read aloud a poem from the top of his head. You had never taken note of him before yet him and his poem entranced you. It tugged a core deep inside you that ‘the truth is a blanket that always left your feet cold’. He became the subject from all your poems then on. You always kept your feelings to your self in your notebook, never being sure of yourself enough to ever act on your feelings.

You didn’t know much about him apart from that he hung out with Neil, someone you spoke to occasionally to compare homework answers with. You wrote about how he made you feel. Your favourite spot to write poetry was just on the outskirts of the woods. There was a big willow tree back from the edge of the lake that provided shelter from direct sun yet still allowed it to feel like a summers day. You sat down in your usual spot and let your eyes rest on the moving water to think of your next poem.

Unbeknownst to you todd had knew about you since your first day of attendance. How could he not notice you, you were like a sunray leaving warmth and happiness everywhere you went. He admired you from afar and noticed how many people were attracted to your presence like people wanted to bathe in your light. What really caught his eye though was your smile. He had never seen one as bright and beautiful as yours.

His friends had quickly caught on to his gazing at you and they teased him relentlessly. They made sure to encourage him to speak to you aswell but Todd could never do that. He couldn’t, you were well.. you. You would never go for someone like him. So instead he wrote his feelings into his notebook and carried it everywhere for when inspiration may strike.

His favourite spot to write poetry was down by the lake. There was a tree on the edge of the wood line just set back from the water. He found no one disturbed him there and he could let his mind wander.

Today was like any other Saturday for you. You were heading down to your spot to write some poetry yet when you wandered towards the tree you noticed a figure already sitting in your spot. You froze with slight shock, no one ever came down here. You slowly stepped towards the tree, curious as to who had found your spot. You found no other than your muse. You stepped backwards to try and turn away before he could see you, you weren’t ready to face him yet. However you stepped on a branch which made quite a loud crack for its size. You cursed whoever wasn’t on your side today as you knew todd was now looking at you. You quickly threw on your best smile and reapproached him, trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating and how your palms clammed up. He looked like a deer caught in headlights which slightly calmed your nerves, you didn’t want him to feel like that around you. To try and calm both your nerves you tried to break the tension that built by greeting him “I hope I’m not interrupting the sweaty toothed madman’s writing but this is usually where I write as well. Do you mind if I join you?”. You regretted your attempt at humour and cringed internally yet Todd didn’t seem to notice still a bit frozen in place, he just about mustered a nod and with that you tentatively sat down next to him. For awhile you sat together in silence until you turned to him with a rush of adrenaline to try to get to know him. He was hesitant to talk and mumbled and tripped over his words but you were patient and never interrupted him. You listened to everything he had to say and Todd was grateful for it even if he couldn’t say it out loud. You spoke about poems and your favourite poets. You enjoyed his company and he enjoyed yours, he could feel himself relaxing around you something that was rare for him to do at Welton. You parted ways when it grew darker and he found himself craving your presence. You both longed to see each other again yet didn’t know if it would ever occur again, both still too afraid to make the move.

However when the next Saturday rolled around and you approached your spot again to find a figure already there you knew you wouldn’t ever have to worry about missing Todd’s presence again.

Yet as many Saturdays passed and you grew closer, neither of you realised the love you both shared for each other. As you both sat under the tree writing poetry about your muses who were sat right next to each other, you both remained clueless and would do for many more Saturdays until you finally read your poetry aloud to each other and discovered many similarities in the muses of the poems.

Thank you for reading! <3

[honeyhotteoks]

hi everyone ♡ a little about where i've been and why i'm not posting....

so... it's no secret that i fell off the face of the earth when it comes to writing, and for that i just want to apologize. i know a lot of you have been waiting for the next chapter of tnt, further aurora updates, or just looking forward to some smutty kinktober one-shots...... but to be completely honest i haven't written in a little while.

i've been trying to but i keep coming up short, and i've been avoiding this blog ever since because i just feel bad for not being able to give you guys the stories you're waiting for. for that reason, i essentially took a creative break and decided not to respond to any messages about writing. i know that kind of sucks, but i know myself and i didn't want to promise "soon" when i knew that wasn't true.

i'm starting slowly to work on things again, and i really hope i'll be able to share some of that work with you soon, but genuinely i just needed space from working on fic and to be honest..... from the fandom. i love being an atiny, but there was a swell of negativity on twitter for a while and i've been feeling a little uninspired with the past year of content and endless touring and it all combined into me putting things off.

i'm also................................ much more of a multi now.... which i really never thought would happen but here we are. i have no idea if i'll actually start writing for any of those groups, but if i do, i hope some of you also enjoy those groups and you stick with me. a little blurb about my new biases and the groups i'm now following, etc. is at the bottom of this post.

as far as what's going on with my ateez work? here's a quick recap:

this night together: still in progress, i have ~4 chapters finished, but chap ten and some of the time skips have me a little stuck. once i iron that out and finish out the last 2-3 chapters after the arc that's written, i'll get back to posting. at this point i'd like to have it done so i can release it confidently and as a complete story. into the aurora: i have about half of book one edited, which will include some new scenes / cleaned up scenes, but nothing crazy. i'd like to start updating old chapters once everything is finalized. book two is.... slow going. i'm hoping a breath of fresh air will help, but it's still my goal to come back to these characters. one-shots: i have about 4-5 ateez one-shots that are half written. my plan is to finish these and release them as inspiration strikes to wrap them up.

thank you all for your patience, and all of your kind messages. so many people have checked in on me both anon and not, and even if i haven't responded it's meant so much as i work on coming back to writing. i may not be able to respond to all the messages since so many of them are in my inbox, but slowly i may chip away at them

i'll see you all very soon~

(so chai multi era.... in a whirlwind of discovering other kpop groups..... i've ended up a carat, a stay, a moa, and a hidden kard. again, no idea if i'll ever write for any of these groups, but.... my biases are below so who knows)

seventeen - s.coups (regularly wrecked by hip hop line + dino) stray kids - lee know + hyunjin txt - soobin (are we surprised tho) kard - bm + jiwoo (but also like basically ot4 let's be real here)

♡

[wannaeatramyeon]

Is this how you do it- (Not a frequent tumblr user so) Anyways I'm in love with your writing and always look forward to reading new content from you everytime I open this app it's fabulous tbh. On a side note, I wanted to request the lookism guys with a s/o who loves to draw, is generally into art and just lives a normal life like going to college, travelling by the metro, staying up till 3 am to finish art school assignments or just homework you know. I'd love it if you include gun but its totally upto you. Lastly I say it again you're my favorite account on here so I'll always support you btw lmao😭😭😭

Thank you so much for sending in the ask and apologies again (and to all the current requests...) on how long it is taking! AHHHHHH you are so sweet!! THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT and for giving the idea for another soft Gun!

Gun Park x Reader: Masterpiece

Gun with art student!reader. You're creating your final assignment.

"What's this piece?"

"Wait and see."

Gun watches you move the oversized blank canvas, rearranging your paints and material. Preparing your little corner of his penthouse. Your studio, you call it. A spot he has cleared aside for you when you gasped at the lighting one afternoon.

Between your art assignments and Gun's job, any free time you have together is sparse - you both take what you can. A call here or there, sporadic messages, infrequent dates if both your schedule allows.

It only made sense for you to move in, to make it easier to steal time together.

Still, your final project looms on the horizon. You need to focus your time and energy on this for now.

Regrettably.

Because as Gun sits and watches you, tie hanging loose, top shirt buttons undone, hair casual and flopping over his eye, you think he looks good enough to eat.

Focus. You shake your head, redoubling your efforts to concentrate. Strike while the iron is hot; you're inspired right now and you don't want to fail an assignment due to an art block. Again.

Gun stays quiet as he observes you. Gracefully moving, pencil between deft fingers, sketching out your ideas.

There's a lot of things that Gun Park can do, but he knows he can't do this. His hands are better suited to create and mould other sort of masterpieces.

His eyes watch you as much as they do your hand. The crease between your brows as you work out the angle, nose wrinkling when it doesn't quite work out how you imagine. Tongue out in concentration, hair up in a bun and wispy tendrils caressing your neck.

He is in awe seeing the lines and shapes take form.

.

.

The buzz of Seoul softens at 3am when you finish a few weeks later.

You look proudly at your work. It may be your best one yet.

"Is that me?" Gun takes in the figure you have painted.

Suddenly shy and self-conscious, you nod. It's not the first one you've created of your boyfriend but it's the first one that he has seen more than a passing glimpse of.

Gun blinks at the canvas. Is that how you see him?

He studies the angle of the face, scar softened in shades of pink between eyes that should be demonic. Recognises himself in the pose, odd that it is comforting and protective rather than intimidating. The lighter shades of your paint strokes illuminates, frames him like a halo.

Gun looks at the painting and feels your love poured into it.

It's him all at once and not at all. At least not in the way anyone else could possibly see him.

"It's a masterpiece," he kisses you softly as you smile against his lips, "And you're mine."

[bookpublisher1]

Overcoming Writer's Block

Overcoming Writer's Block: Strategies and Inspiration from Fellow Authors

Writer's block is the dreaded nemesis of authors, a seemingly insurmountable barrier that can strike at any stage of the creative process. It's the moments when inspiration feels elusive, words refuse to flow, and the blank page taunts you. Every writer, from beginners to seasoned professionals, has experienced it. But the good news is that it's not an unbeatable foe. In this blog, we'll explore strategies and find inspiration from fellow authors to overcome writer's block and reignite your creative spark.

Understanding Writer's Block

Writer's block is often misunderstood as a singular, monolithic entity. In reality, it comes in various forms and can be triggered by different factors. Some common manifestations of writer's block include:

1. Blank Page Syndrome: You sit down to write, but the blank page stares back at you, devoid of words or ideas.

2. Self-Doubt: Insecurities about your writing abilities can paralyze your creativity. You second-guess every word you put on paper.

3. Stagnation: You feel stuck in your story, unable to progress or find a way forward.

4. Lack of Ideas: You may have a concept or outline, but the well of ideas has run dry, leaving you without a clear direction.

5. Perfectionism: The quest for perfection in your writing can lead to an overwhelming fear of making mistakes, stifling your progress. Here are few tips on How To Overcome The Fear Of Rejection As A Writer

Strategies to Overcome Writer's Block

1. Start Writing, Any Writing: The most important step to overcome writer's block is to write. Anything. It could be a journal entry, a random thought, or a few lines of unrelated text. The act of writing, regardless of the content, can help break the mental barriers.

2. Set Realistic Goals: Instead of aiming to write a thousand words in one sitting, set achievable, smaller goals. Tell yourself you'll write for 15 minutes or just one paragraph. The sense of accomplishment when you meet these goals can motivate you to continue.

3. Change Your Writing Environment: Sometimes, a change in scenery can do wonders. If you usually write at your desk, try writing outdoors, in a café, or even in a different room. New surroundings can stimulate creativity.

4. Writing Prompts: Writing prompts are a fantastic way to jumpstart your creative thinking. They provide a topic or a starting point to get your creative juices flowing. Many websites and books offer an array of writing prompts to choose from.

5. Exercise and Mindfulness: Physical activity and mindfulness practices, such as meditation or yoga, can help clear your mind and reduce stress. A fresh, relaxed mind is more likely to overcome writer's block.

6. Read and Research: Sometimes, reading a book, article, or research related to your topic can reignite your passion and ideas. It exposes you to new perspectives and can provide the spark you need to continue writing. Few more tips on becoming Productive Writer

Inspiration from Fellow Authors

One of the most reassuring aspects of writer's block is that you're not alone. Fellow authors have been there, struggled through it, and emerged victorious. Let's take inspiration from their experiences and advice:

1. Margaret Atwood: The renowned author of "The Handmaid's Tale" suggests that writer's block often stems from a lack of motivation, which can be solved by setting and meeting small, manageable goals. She says, "If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word."

2. J.K. Rowling: The creator of the "Harry Potter" series acknowledges that writer's block is a common issue even for prolific authors. She advises writers to avoid self-criticism during the first draft and just get the words on paper.

3. Ernest Hemingway: Hemingway believed in stopping at a point where you still know what will happen next in your writing, so you can easily pick up where you left off. This tactic can prevent the feeling of stagnation and fear of the unknown.

4. Stephen King: The author of numerous bestsellers advocates for consistency. He says, "Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration; the rest of us just get up and go to work." Establishing a daily writing routine can be a powerful weapon against writer's block.

5. Maya Angelou: The late poet and author emphasized the importance of showing up to write regularly. She advised, "What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks 'the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat,' ... I must write it down."

Seek Support from Writing Communities

If you're still battling writer's block despite trying various strategies, consider reaching out to writing communities. Fellow authors can provide encouragement, feedback, and inspiration. Joining writing groups, participating in writing challenges, or attending workshops can connect you with like-minded individuals who understand your struggles.

Moreover, sharing your experiences with fellow authors can be liberating. It reminds you that writer's block is a common affliction and not a testament to your abilities. It's a temporary roadblock, not an insurmountable obstacle.

In Conclusion

Writer's block is a formidable adversary, but it can be defeated with determination and the right strategies. Understanding its different forms, setting realistic goals, changing your writing environment, using prompts, and practicing mindfulness are effective tactics to overcome it.

Draw inspiration from accomplished authors who have faced writer's block and emerged victorious. Their experiences and advice can serve as beacons of hope during your own writing struggles.

Remember, writing communities are there to support you. Sharing your challenges and triumphs with fellow authors can provide the motivation and encouragement needed to break through writer's block and continue on your creative journey. Writer's block is not the end of your story; it's just one more obstacle to overcome on your path to becoming a successful writer.

[medali-meltdown]

🌻Brassius headcanons🌻 (companion post to this one, now with added imagery (a single screenshot but so worth it))

-In his mid-40s but refuses to accept it, which manifests in ways such as: pulling all-nighters like a young student, skipping/forgetting meals, continuing to make an impression on gym challengers by leaping from the tops of windmills, roofs, whatever's convenient. Any of these habits could break his fragile body. Speaking of which...

-He started doing the wild leaps in school as a cool stunt and way to show off and be memorable, but he has a private reason also — it's his way of defying death and mocking his illness. By gods he's going to live and not only that, he's going to do it in the most avant-garde way.

-tbh I haven't pinpointed exactly what is his chronic illness. Asthma? Hey wouldn't it be ironic if he has a severe pollen allergy while loving and being surrounded by plant pokemon? (just like me fr) Also I'm still on the idea a friend told me of him describing his symptoms as thorny vines in his lungs (which could be his creative way of describing a common asthma attack, and of course he styles his hair in the same manner because he's just Like That).

-Nature and the turns of seasons are his religion. He dabbled in paganism in his younger days. Found the modern practices too commercialized, but keeps it in his heart, in private.†

-Super pretty when he was younger. Wore his hair long, and with it being so thick and wavy, it cascaded about his (fuller, more lively) face and slender neck, even when he had it pulled into a ponytail. Stormy grey eyes always in deep contemplation of Art. Elegant ways of moving and speaking, radiating beauty with every step and word... honey what happened.

-(Nothing, it's all still there if you know what to look for and Hassel sure does, he is an expert on beauty, after all!)

-Hassel 💗💗 What a long, complex history he has with Hassel. They were good friends as students long ago, both being in arts & music classes. Brassius looked up to the multi-talented Hass from day one, always inspired by him and his bravery. Of course he fell in love with his muse, but for one reason or another, they never could quite be together, at least for very long. It might take Hassel until the present to reconcile his feelings, but will it be too late? (please I have a whole fic I want to write about this, of course I love them being Extremely Married but consider this: 20 years' worth of Mutual Gay Pining and the angst what follows)

-Just like born musician Hassel has some art in him, natural artist Brassius has some form of musical talent. After all, he's the Verdant Virtuoso — a term that skews toward musicians. I like to think he's got a good singing voice.* Belts out tunes while he's in the Art Zone. In perfect Spanish Paldean because he's bilingual.

-Whenever the mood strikes him (rarely, anymore), this guy can get a little kinky. He may carry a rope to help him climb high for tall sculptures (I guess???), but it also comes in handy for tying up unruly dragons~

-He's had many more partners in the past than Hassel has, and therefore a lot of practice. Not so much these days, however. His art, gym, and health come first.

-The Surrendering Sunflora Story: it's easy to tell that Brassius, at the beginning of his art career, let his personal vision suffer because he was focused on being more of a content creator, gaming that algorithm in endless pursuit of fame, fans, and money. The stress got to him, making his illness flare up to near-fatal levels. Was there anything else stressing him out at the time? Was he battling debilitating depression as well? Because he was prepared to die from it all — whether or not his debut work succeeded. And then Hassel appeared. "It was then I met Hass." So they must have become friends a little later in their student lives? Out of nowhere comes Hassel to remind Brassius of the meaning of Art, and that saves his life. Where's that meme picture of the creature holding onto a wall and going i think i need a moment wait

-It's p much universally accepted that Brassius gave Hassel the Applin that would evolve into the latter's Flapple. I think Brassie did so after the Surrendering Sunflora exhibition was complete to express his feelings. Unfortunately, Hassel, not being from this part of the world and unfamiliar with nearby Galar's customs, thinks it's simply a friendly gesture of appreciation. Hang in there, Brassie ❤️‍🩹

-Maybe once Hass figures it out he'll give Brassius a Dipplin in return. "There are two bodies sharing one sweet home! It's more symbolic than the Applin, right? Surely they know this in Galar...?" "No, Hass, Dipplin's apple is only found in a region that's very far away, so it doesn't have that kind of meaning..." "🥺🥺😭 B-BUT IT'S USSSS"

†Meta: isn't the Pokemon world inherently pagan? I know we like to throw around the name of Arceus and/or Mew as though they are God, but... they're not really? Do not let me get theological on this post about my grass blorbo hfhfhsh

*Look, his deep, deep Japanese voice did things to me, and learning that seiyuu Nakai Kazuya voiced Mugen of all people (and some other guys I guess, Zoro if you go there) amuses me to no end hhhn

[weenwrites]

Hey hey Ween! I wanted to ask about you writing something for bots reaction to a human who is new to the team and trying to get too make friends and make conversation with the bots? But they have poor memory and stiff/rough social skills so they may fidget when speaking and too remember their names they have a paper that they carry around w/ all the bots names written in said bots corresponding color scheme (doesn't have to be this I just thought it would be a cool idea 😊). Also tries to offer help in any numbers of ways. Uhh I don't really have any particular bots in mind besides Wheeljack and while I do enjoy scenarios I'm just as cool with headcannons if that ends up working for you and/or inspiring you more🤝🫂. Feel free to add any other bots if ya want👌! (Also it's still Friday where I am as I send this in I don't want ya to think I'm ignoring your post.)

"What was your name, again?"

Summary - How are you supposed to remember all these weird names? Characters - Wheeljack Content - Crack, Gen Category - Scenarios Trigger Warnings - None

✎ A/N: Sorry it took a LONG while! And also what I meant back then was that the request had to be sent in when it was Friday where I was. I can't remember whether you sent it in while it was still Friday my time or not, but eh I'll do it anyway. And I'm sorry if it's a bit short, but I didn't really want to specify anything in the end to try and be more 'immersive'.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Don't forget Bulkhead and Bumblebee!"

"Yes, yes... I've got them down," Y/N mumbles.

They don't bat an eye at the shadow that looms over their shoulder and onto the table, because it's far more important to concentrate on remembering all the names that Miko had mentioned to them. Their colored pencil in their hand glided across the paper with ease, of course occasionally stopping to switch colors.

"Hatche—wait no, it's Ratchet... And... Who was the other one you said, Miko?" Y/N asked, looking up from their paper, "The uh... The one that started with—oh! Wait! Uh, Spokelean!"

"Smokescreen." She corrected with a giggle, placing particular emphasis on the 'screen' part to his name, "So you're done with writing down all their names?"

"Yeah, just about..." They mumbled, brushing some eraser shavings aside and reaching over for their pencil to correct their mistakes.

But they felt nothing but empty space where the correct colored pencil used to lay, and after a quick look around, they had found the escapee-pencil laying underneath the table. With a sigh, they had stooped down onto all fours and scooched underneath the table, reaching out to fetch it when all of a sudden, the heavy thumping of metal footsteps shook the ground.

With a startled yelp, they shot up and the back of their head met the underside of the hard, wooden table. Through gritted teeth and a set frown, they retrieved the pencil and slowly stood back upright, rubbing the back of their head as they looked up to see who had walked in, but they were met with an unfamiliar face.

A white bot sporting red and green streaks on his chest, and a pair of gray... For lack of a better word, finials, on the sides of his head, and a large crest on top. Aside from the fact his paint-job bore a striking resemblance to the flag of Italy, another notable feature of his was the pair of twin swords sheathed on his back.

"Wait... Who's that, again?" Y/N's face scrunched into confusion as they further scrutinized him.

"Oh, hey Wheeljack!" Miko hollered.

And at the girl's beck and call, the bot shoots her a grin upon sight, and he closes the distance between them in mere seconds.

"Hey kid!" He pauses and shoots Y/N a glance, "oh, and who's this?"

"Oh uh, my name's Y/N, and you must beeee..." Their voice tapers off for what almost feels like eternity, and they scramble their mind for a clue—any clue as to what his name was. Miko had literally mentioned his name mere seconds ago, yet now of all times, their brain decided to blank. "Uhh... Your name was..."

"Wheeljack." He finishes.

"Ye-yeah! Wheeljack! Wheeljack. How are you? It's nice to meet you."

"Never better, Bulk and I just got back from patrol."

"Ooh! Did you find anything while you were out?" Miko grinned.

"If by 'anything' you mean 'decepticons', then 'fraid not. We thought we picked up one of the cons' energon mines so we tracked it down."

Miko sprung forward on the couch, "Was it a trap?"

"Nah, it was just an old crater, the cons had sucked it dry and left a long time ago."

Y/N frowns, "did anything good come of it at least?"

"Nothin that I can see, but it is what it is," he shrugs, "Anyway, you're the newcomer, eh?"

"Yes! That would be me."

For a hot second no one said a word. Wheeljack looked to them expectantly, thinking they'd run him through the whole story, not lead him straight to some rather awkward silence. And once Y/N caught the gist of the conversation, they simply pressed their lips shut even harder.

Would it be too awkward to continue now? No one's said anything for some time now, so maybe they shouldn't continue? But if they change the subject now, it might seem like they weren't really listening to him, so maybe they should—

"Soo, Y/N, why don't you tell Wheeljack about how you got here?" Miko spoke up—thankfully being the one to break the ice, "How you met the team and that kind of stuff."

"Right! Right, I should probably do that..." They chuckled, "alright so... it all started like this..."

[ghost-bxrd]

Hi

Is it okay if I write fics set in your Owl Song verse? I've gone and imprinted on Talon Dick, I want more Owl Song stories :)

P.S. Can you explain how Talons work in Owl Song? Physically, I mean? Does Dick have a pulse?

Hi! You can absolutely write fics inspired by Owl Song, but as long as I don’t know for sure where this verse is going (or if it will continue beyond Ethiopia) there won’t be direct tie ins for this verse. Partially because I may end up expanding pre-Ethiopia if/when the fancy strikes me ✨

I’d be willing to discuss more in depth content you want to write though in case you want it to be more in line with Owl Song “canon”, but do be warned I’m very picky when it comes to this Au! It’s my baby >.<

But regarding Talons for now:

Yes, they do have a pulse! but it’s very slow and the colder they get, the slower the heartbeat becomes.

They barely generate any body heat, which requires for their suits to be at least partially insulating

There are two types of Talons. The ones like Dick and Cobb, who still have a mind of their own, and the ones that are essentially just reanimated corpses running on instinct. The latter category will mindlessly obey Court orders, they barely have any intelligent thought left.

Dick was an experiment to see how they could tweak the “Talon Treatment” to improve and strengthen its effects. It worked partially, at the cost of increasing the animal characteristics the subject displayed.

Talons have a heightened sense of smell, sight, and hearing. Dick himself is sensitive to bright lights, so the contacts he wears during the day (school, outings, etc) have a special UV filter.

Talon eyes have a tapetum lucidum (think cat eyes) that make them glow when light is shined directly at them. 

The amount of electrum they’re injected with stops the corpse-Talons from decomposing, and the other Talons from aging/slows aging

[amistytown]

Genre: fluff & comfort

Pairing: Leviathan & MC

Warnings: It’s a bit suggestive but not overly so.

This is something short and silly I was inspired to write after my trip to the zoo the other day. I wrote it quickly so it’s far from my best writing, but I thought I’d share it anyway. As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

“Can I touch it?”

“W-what?!” Leviathan splutters, gripping the controller in his hands until his knuckles turn white and the plastic cracks under the force of his grip, his character walking off the side of the mountain to their death as he mashes the controls, claws sinking into the buttons. Beside him, you regard the demon expectantly with an air of innocence that manages to slither beneath his skin and coil itself around his heart. Do you truly not realize the hold you have on him—fangs piercing bone to sink firmly into his very soul—or are you as naïve as you look?

“Can I touch it?” you reiterate, pointing at his tail, which he draws closer to his body out of instinct, the tip twitching anxiously while your words echo in his mind and overwhelm his thoughts; sweet voice and warm smile forever etched into his memory.

“W-w-w-why would you w-want to t-t-t-t-t . . .” He hides his face behind his hand, glaring at you despite the prominent blush on his cheeks.

“I’ve never touched a snake before,” you admit. “I wonder what it feels like.”

“I’m a demon. And in case you forgot . . . one of the seven lords of Hell. Avatar of Envy. Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. Not a snake,” he huffs.

“Oh, I thought you were an otaku,” you laugh, striking a nerve.

“That too!” He’s an otaku through and through; however, otaku doesn’t possess the power and influence his official titles do. Of course, he’s unworthy of the respect they command, but he’s still a demon and a man who foolishly wants to impress the normie sitting next to him. “Um, a-anyway, I guess I can make an exception. Just this once!”

Just this once, he tells himself, chanting it as if a mantra the moment your eyes light up and his chest tightens.

Slowly, he reaches out to wrap his tail tentatively around your wrist, sliding the tip through your fingers. Your skin is soft and warm against his scales, touch delicate as you caress along its length, somehow managing to find all the right places. A forked tongue slips between his lips, flicking in contentment; in the air he can taste you, so familiar and comforting, he wishes he could muster the courage to hold your hand in his own instead, only dreaming of how nicely your fingers look and feel between his. Yet the peace is short-lived, replaced by regret at your silence, expression unreadable as you stare at his tongue—long and black and undoubtedly disgusting.

“I know it’s gross—I’m gross!” he cries practically in tears, yanking his tail from your grasp.

“N-no!”

You squeeze his tail, hard, and he yelps, unable to think—unable to breathe—the air too hot, too thick. He’s practically a fish out of water, flopping pathetically on his bedroom floor as he tries to distance himself from you, yet in his haste he pulls you closer, bringing you down with and on top of him, his tail still curled about your wrist like it has a mind of its own.

Is this a dream come true or his worst nightmare?

He considers pushing you off, but he can’t bring himself to touch you, frozen beneath you, your heat and the softness of your body far too much for him to handle. Closing his eyes, he unwraps his tail from your hand to wind its way around your waist to very carefully pick you up and set you on the floor. Leviathan almost mourns the loss of you—on his tail, his chest, how your legs entangled with his—his entire body yearning for more but fearing it at the same time.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean—are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?!” he hisses, sounding much angrier than intended as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. His heart is pounding, thrashing against his ribcage and threatening to jump out of his chest; he might quite possibly die. The look on your face—equally apologetic and heartbroken—makes him sigh, his expression softening. “I, uh, need a moment.”

Reigning his heart in is a challenge and one he needs to win. It still beats quickly, his hands shaking and breathing uneven, but his horns and tail melt away as he gains a semblance of control over his emotions, and he’s disappointed in himself for allowing a game to rile him up in the first place.

“Levi?” You break the silence, glancing down at him.

“Hm?” he manages, mouth dry and tongue heavy.

“I don’t think you’re gross,” you mumble, seemingly shy, and his stomach flips at the sudden flush of your face and the timidity of your gaze. Is it his imagination playing a cruel trick on him or a blessing? “Your scales are beautiful, especially up close. And a lot softer than I thought they’d be. Thank you for letting me touch you—it—your tail!” In fact, your cheeks darken beautifully the longer you speak.

Leviathan lays back onto the floor in defeat.

[thefirstknife]

The Veil and the history of the universe

I've been thinking about some connections between certain very specific concepts for a while now and mostly about how they relate to what we know about the Veil. It started with wondering about the reason for Lightfall's Collector's Edition books to bring back the concept of the OXA Machine and give us extra knowledge about it.

From there, it spiralled into more similar concepts that connect other prediction technologies, the Vex, the Darkness and most importantly how Maya Sundaresh seems to be involved with all of them. There's a lot of little details in a lot of different places about this (as well as from different times of Destiny, including one very interesting one from vanilla D1).

It's not really a theory or an attempt to solve everything, but more like an interesting dive into some possible overall connections between concepts that tend to repeat, most of which are tied to the new discoveries about the Darkness; how it's connected to the psychic aspects like memory, fear, pain and so on.

Contents:

The OXA Machine and the Psions

Inspiral raid lore book

The Device of the Future War Cult and Maya Sundaresh

The Veil

Since my line of thinking started with OXA, I will also start with the OXA here.

The OXA

What is the OXA Machine? Originally mentioned in the Collector's Edition booklet for Destiny 2 which is about Calus recounting his conquests and all of the actors that betrayed him in the Midnight Coup, the OXA is a "clairvoyant Psion machine." It's assumed the Psions made it and it was destroyed when the Psions were conquered by the Uluran. However, years later, a Psion scientist called Otzot rebuilt it and this time, Calus ordered for it to be captured and used. He also freed Otzot so she was known as "Freeborn Otzot." She joined the coup against him because he wanted to free all Psions and she feared that would ruin her unique position as the only free Psion.

It was also mentioned by the Psion Match, who wrote the entries in the lore book Confessions. Match was a councilor to Calus during his exile and wrote many entries on Calus' descent into what we know him as. Match writes the following (and gives it a possibility that the Psions simply inherited this machine and didn't make it originally):

Now I think of the OXA Machine, eternally lost and eternally rebuilt, passed down from civilization to civilization like a ship's black box.

This was a fairly vague concept, but we can easily figure out what this thing was: it's a machine used for storing information and prediction, much like any other in the Destiny universe. It wasn't used much as anything other than background flavour and you may know it from the strike Insight Terminus which mentions the OXA and Otzot in the dialogue at the end of the strike. We'll get to that a bit later.

For some reason, OXA was returned with extra details in Lightfall's Collector's Edition. It massively expands what the OXA is and gives the full description of what the acronym means. Page 13 in this transcript (chapter named "I am thirty-five years old" in Caiatl's book):

"The Odyle Xenotaph Anarchive. Sometimes OXTA, depending on how you construct the acronym. The alien oracle that led us to the graves of Aark." Must be wary, now. OXA is a Psion myth, and the Psions are a sensitive topic. My father wants to free them from bondage. "It claimed to record the story of the galaxy, and to prophesize what may yet come."

"A black box for galactic civilizations, if you prefer it in pilor's terms.” The Evocate-General nods to the pin on my right pauldron. I am conscious of my shaved-down tusks, of the sores left by the fighter's interface. "The doomed and the damned left the record of their downfall in the OXA."

The full name - Odyle Xenotaph Anarchive - isn't random gibberish. The odyle is a reference to the Odic force. This force (od, odyl or odyle) was thought to be responsible for some natural phenomena like magnetism, hypnotism, electricity or light. It was primarily tied to the human nervous system and relied on people's natural psychic sensitivity to perceive it or feel it. In this context it's most likely being used to represent some form of mental/psychic way of being influenced by or using this machine. In order to access it, one must have psychic abilities to access the source of this primordial source, like the Psions, who made (?) and remade it.

A xenotaph is most likely a play on the word cenotaph; a cenotaph is a symbolic grave built for someone or multiple people when there are no actual remains to bury. Literally, it's an "empty tomb." Here, the term swapped to "xeno" to indicate "alien." A xenotaph most likely means that it's a tomb of alien cultures which is also explained in the full definition given to Caiatl: it is literally a recording of dead alien civilisations. Similarly to a cenotaph, it's also technically an empty tomb; it's not direct remains of these civilisations, just a record of them.

An anarchive is a really tough concept to explain, but basically where the archive is simply a collection of information, an anarchive is the process of engaging, analysing and changing of the archival information for new and future purposes. This is possibly where the predictive aspect of the OXA comes in; the OXA holds information of the past civilisations, requires a powerful psychic to access and allows them to engage with this archive and come out with new information about the future, "prophesising what may yet come."

So in conclusion, the OXA is a psychic link to the history of the universe which allows those with special abilities to not only access this information, but also engage with it and learn of possible future events.

Why add this information for Lightfall? The OXA has always been more of a curiosity of an alien culture, not some sort of a major plot point. But when they take a past curiosity and add new information to it, much like with Nezarec, it may signify some sort of importance in the future.

As I mentioned earlier, pretty much the only time OXA was mentioned directly in game was in Insight Terminus strike. The Vex had information about the OXA and the Psion Kargen was trying to access it through the Vex. Two different lines at the end of the strike mentioning OXA:

Hmm, there’s only one data artifact here, labelled “OXA,” and it’s seriously corrupted. Metadata says it was last accessed by an “Otzot” centuries ago.

And:

There’s an almost unreadable data artifact here, labelled “OXA.” It’s heavily corrupted, but I’m able to make out “MSund12” from the access log.

The Vex records show that the OXA was last accessed by Otzot, but that it was also accessed by MSund12. This is Maya Sundaresh. So in one go we have a link between the Vex, the Psions and Maya Sundaresh who was a Golden Age scientist. They were all aware of and able to access the OXA.

There's one more Psion that mentions the OXA, in the Sisters weblore which is from Season of Dawn and relates to the Psion sisters that hijacked Osiris' Sundial. When they discovered the Sundial and inspected it, they were happy to find a machine that allowed to manipulate time and offer predictions. One of the sisters, Tazaroc, compared the Sundial to the OXA, but noted that the Sundial was better:

“It is so clear,” said Niruul, reverent. “An unobstructed glimpse into what was and what will be.”

“Not the troubled ramblings of a mad thing, like the OXA,” said Tazaroc.

Tazaroc considers the OXA to be "a mad thing" and that it only offered "troubled ramblings." The Sundial is far superior in its design somehow, but it's important to ask the following: do the Sundial and the OXA tap into the same (or at least similar) source? Are there other similarities between the two besides just the ability to look through time?

What should we take from this section? There is a great repository of knowledge and information about the history of the universe and the species that inhabited it which is stored and documented somewhere and it is possible to access and interact with it. The OXA is one example of this as presented through Psions and how they utilised it.

Inspiral

The lore book for Root of Nightmares raid is a curious one. The whole concept is that each entry in this book (10 total) is a record of the past that left an imprint of itself... somewhere. Each entry begins with a description of who left this information and how.

The first entry is immediately relevant here. It starts with a description of the recording:

It most definitely fits the feel of there being some sort of "black box for galactic civilisations" where data fragments are left to "mark their passing." This first entry is about the Ecumene, an alien conglomerate of species that united together to form the Ecumene itself. They are also extensively documented in the Books of Sorrow, as the Hive have came across them and wiped them out.

In this lore tab, we learn a little bit more about them. Their space was called the Habitable World and it consisted of a lot of different species joined together in the Ecumene through the power of the Deep. Aka the Darkness. This is interesting because we'd always think that any species alligned with the Darkness would be evil, like the Hive. Hell, the Hive themselves wiped out the Ecumene, despite essentially being tied to the same force. But obviously, now we know that the Darkness is not a uniformed force. It too has factions and different types of use.

The Ecumene were specialised in using the psychic aspect of the Darkness. The first entry, The Habitable World reads (still not on Ishtar and I will omit the big screenshots and just paste the text):

Meanwhile our Habitable World always grew. We offered the Fathomless Deep to any who wished to learn of our synergy, and it glossed the way to become more than we were.

And:

A new client-species drank of the Deep and understood the World as we tasted it.

And:

In the Deep may we be kept.

The third entry in the raid lore book, The Art of Symbiosis, is similarly interesting. It's a memory of the alien species called Qugu, also attacked and wiped out by the Hive. The title of the chapter refers to what we know of the Qugu from the Books of Sorrow; they are a species bound in symbiosis with another life form that they need to live. It begins with:

The Qugu were able to enter some form of altered state of consciousness known as "night-trances" to access past memories. This is noted by them to be an ability related to the Darkness.

I still hear from our parents, from our great-parents, distantly in my night-trances. And there are those nectar-made moments -- you know the ones, when you turn your thoughts to the Darkness and just listen, and the long sum of Qugu history graven there reflects dark-comforting advice.

And:

I have lived out my life with the tenebrous warmth of our ancestors over me like a (cloak/atmosphere?) between us and nothingness.

And:

I miss you. Funny, isn't it? How can you miss someone when you know they're always in the Dark? I close my eyes, and in the warm nest-hide of sleep, I know you are real and happy and out there on some other part of the world, far from the river, far from the [untranslatable] where our ancestors (dream/exist) together.

Both of these species had a connection with Darkness that was built exclusively on the aspect of the mental which is the domain of Darkness. As explained by Osiris in Lightfall, the Light is the domain of the physical, while the Darkness is the domain of the psychic, the mental. Darkness controls fear and pain and thought and memory. These species utilised their knowledge of the Darkness to form entire civilisations where these powers are crucial aspects of their lives.

The lore book details other characters and species that left their data fragments in what appears to be the memory of the universe. While some may have left their data fragments on purpose (like the Ecumene and the Qugu who mastered this Darkness ability), it's unclear if leaving a trace of your existence and your memories is voluntary.

For example, entry four, The Dark Below, is from Eris and entry seven, Irae, is from Mara who are both skilled in Darkness but it's not entirely clear why they would leave the few specific thoughts they had as data fragments on purpose; both entries are personal instead of representing their species. Entry five, The Brass Gardeners, is from the Vex who don't understand paracausality so it's unclear how they would leave the data fragment on their own. Entry six, Dark Glass, is from a Ghost recounting his close encounter with Darkness; again, this is a personal story, not a representation of Ghosts. However, consider that the Qugu entry is also a personal tale, it just happens to tell us more about the Qugu as a species as a byproduct.

Speaking of entries five and six, they're somewhat connected. Entry five, from the Vex, is heavily related to the Black Heart. Entry six is from a Ghost called Piri which we know from the context clues in the text. Piri is the Ghost of Lisbon-13, the only surviving member of the fireteam called Kentarch-3 who explored the Black Garden.

What do we have now with all this combined? Much like the OXA, we have information about how the Darkness is a repository of memory and history, how different species used it as a civilisational tool for collecting and sharing thoughts through psychic means. Even the Vex have somehow tapped into this, despite not being able to understand paracausality, though we do know that they tried, and they tried especially with the Black Heart which is a product of their attempts to recreate the Veil.

The Device of the Future War Cult and Maya Sundaresh

The Future War Cult was established in the Golden Age by Maya Sundaresh. Maya and her team experimented with a device, creatively named the Device, which was built on Vex technology.

We built the device in mimicry of the Vex gateway systems from Ishtar. An observatory, yes, but I think of it as a mind-ship. Capable of displacing its payload across space and time.

They experimented with it by letting different test subjects connect to it and observe what they see. Connecting with the Device had a lot of negative effects on people. A lot of them went mad with exposure, some died following exposure (note that going mad is a common thread with the OXA as well). Maya and her team eventually stoped their work with the Device, but the Device survived and was used again for tests by the contemporary Future War Cult during the City Age.

They acquired new test subjects and began letting them enter the Device to use it in order to experiment with the predictive Vex technology it was built on. It was crucial to the FWC and even their new leader, Lakshmi-2 was frequently using it. This is the source of their core belief that war is always coming and that they must always prepare for it.

This is interesting to us here because it's fairly similar to the OXA and what we've discussed so far. The OXA and the Device and even the Sundial to an extent are all predictive technologies tapping into some form of a source where the vast knowledge of the universe's history and future is held. It relies on a psychic connection to establish a link and to see through time. A lot of this is also built on Vex technology or ties in with the Vex in some form.

A very interesting bit here is the logs that the Future War Cult made from the experiments held in contemporary time, during the City Age. One of the test subjects exposed to the Device spent thirty minutes inside of the Device experiencing various visions and other sensations. Full log of her experience:

At 11:03 she reported a sensation of floating. At 11:06, a sensation of lights within the darkness of the Device. Between 11:06 and 11:32 she reported these lights variously as white, golden, and blood-red. At 11:32 she reported a sensation of someone taking her hand; a stranger, but also herself. Twelve subjects have reported similar experiences. At 11:33 she reported the sensation we have called "The Opening Of The Veil." The Device recorded temporal displacement of her consciousness to the order of six degrees. At seven she began screaming. Brainscans near-death. Removed from the Device at 11:34.

That's quite the line, isn't it? The Future War Cult logged a sensation that was presumably common enough among participants that it was given a name.

The Opening Of The Veil

Now, first, super important to note: this grimoire entry is literally from the beginning of the game. It's from vanilla D1. The game has gone under numerous changes for its plot and story. I feel like that's something that has to be said before jumping to conclusions. It could be a coincidence, something that feels more meaningful than it is.

However. Current writing can easily go back to what has been released, pick something and use it in the future, creating an apparent connection. This is such an evocative phrase right now, with current context, because...

The Veil

... has been described as a "physical manifestation of incomprehensible cosmic energy. Window into the mind and memory of the universe."

We consistently have this idea that there IS a memory of the universe's history and that records of it can be written and accessed through powerful psychic powers and mental links. The OXA records it, Inspiral records it. The Vex are a common theme of prediction engines and attempts at understanding this energy that permeates the universe. People peering into things like the OXA or the Device routinely get exposed to vast incomprehensible information about the past and the future, almost like they're accessing some common source where this information is stored.

While the concept of the odyle is not a real scientific thing, it might be a thing symbolically in the Destiny universe; a source of incomprehensible cosmic energy that functions on the basis of psychic connection. The Veil might be that odyle; a source from which the OXA and the Device and possibly the Vex (who have sought the Veil out in the form of the Black Heart) pull their information from.

The Veil might also be something akin to the OXA; like the OXA, the Veil is perhaps a similar device made by some civilisation somewhere to tap into this cosmic energy which is capable of connecting consciousness and allowing access to history and memory. This might be closer to the truth given the raid lore where Nezarec explains to us that the Veil is "the sapid secret of its [The Witness'] first victims." Whoever they are, perhaps they had the Veil and used it in the same way the Psions used the OXA; to access the memory of the universe and learn more about the past, but also about the future as well.

The sensation that FWC called "The Opening Of The Veil" might be describing that moment when someone successfully accesses this source, this odyle, where they can experience this memory and see how the history can potentially evolve into future events.

It's also interesting that Maya Sundaresh seems to be quite involved in pretty much every aspect of this. She started with Vex research on Venus. She and her team ended up becoming Vex simulations and her Vex research led her to the creation of the Device. She was also known to have accessed the OXA. Maya eventually curiously ended up founding Neomuna, a place where the Veil is kept and used to build the CloudArk, another exploration of linking minds and consciousness in a quite similar way to how it was described by the Ecumene and the Qugu.

The timeline here is unclear, as ever. Maya followed her creation, Soteria, to Neptune. At the same time, the Veil somehow ended there as well. We know that the Veil was stored in Nezarec's ship until Savathun stole it from him and hid it on Neptune. Did she hide it prior to Soteria's and ultimately Maya's arrival? Or did it get there because Maya was already on Neptune and Savathun deliberately left it in her care? Did Maya follow the Veil or did the Veil follow Maya, given her possible previous experience in touching it by heavy exposure to the Vex Network, simulations, the OXA and the Device through which she has touched the source of the memory of the universe?

Even if there's no connection between most of these, there's still a common thread of how Darkness governs consciousness, thoughts, memory and all other mental states of being. It's not just a way to see these things, but also a way to transfer them, merge them and interact with them in other ways. And this is also apparent through strand:

As I understand it now, it is the elemental manifestation of psychic connection. All minds are connected in a web of consciousness, which we can now see and feel. To wield Strand is to pull on the hidden connecting threads, and to use them to create, manipulate, and unravel.

Strand, being a manifestation of the Veil, further strengthens this idea that the Veil either is the source of this web (the odyle, the force responsible for these phenomena) or is capable of tapping into it in a very powerful way. Strand was also familiar to the Neomuna founders who understood that the Veil emits a "paracausal byproduct."

One way or the other, there's an underlying thread about the Darkness and how it relates to memory, history and consciousness and how different civilisations have been using this power for billions of years in different ways. There's definitely a point somewhere in this whole pile of information about the Veil's origin and purpose in its abilities to link minds through psychic connection and how all of that connects to other attempts at the same thing; to see the past, to see the future, to transfer minds through time and space.

And ultimately, possibly, why the Witness needed the Veil in particular to create a portal; the Light of our Ghost to transfer its physical form and the Darkness of the Veil to transfer its consciousness. Out of all of these different machines and devices, only the Veil is flawless in its execution when it comes to consciousness and psychic powers.

A problem to think about further: if this is on the right track, why would the Vex want the Veil, why did they want to replicate it (did they have it before? Maybe they're the first victims?) and what would it do for them outside of possibly being the source of predictive technology which is a very tentative link?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading and that it makes some sense. As usual, if it activates brainworms and gives you ideas, feel free to comment, suggest, correct or add anything!

[isfjmel-phleg]

August 2024 Books

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (reread)

Reread in preparation for a visit to Orchard House.

Finch House by Ciera Burch

I read this one in its entirety on the plane. An atmospheric and heartfelt example of the middle-grade spooky-mysterious-house subgenre that I find myself drawn to over and over, but I was left with some unanswered questions in the end that could have been more thoroughly resolved.

The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubraker Bradley

I wanted to like this one more than I did, but there were some content concerns for me. Similar thematically in some ways to Good Night, Mr. Tom, but takes the POV of the evacuee child rather than that of the adult who takes them in.

The Pinballs by Betsy Byars

A slight book but featured the development of a very genuine bond among three mismatched foster children with a variety of painful histories, which made it memorable.

Louisa May Alcott: A Personal Biography by Susan Cheever

Found among my library's collection and read as part of my pre-Orchard House research. Cheever tends to get a bit too swept up in setting the broader historical scene to get too close to her subject, which felt unfocused to me.

Fox Farm by Eileen Dunlop

Ostensibly about caring for an abandoned young fox but in fact about a boy with abandonment issues learning to bond with his foster family. Dunlop (in other works as well as this one) writes complex family dynamics well, and I enjoyed this one.

The Treasure Bird by Peni R. Griffin

Clever middle-grade mystery set around San Antonio (an area I've visited a lot, which made it extra fun for me).

The Lion of Lark-Hayes Manor by Aubrey Hartman

Middle-grade intrusive fantasy. I'm trying to remember why it didn't do much for me. It was probably characters or themes.

Final Word by Janet Sumner Johnson

I enjoyed this one more than I expected to. The mystery and spelling bee aspects were fun, but I really liked the exploration of the family dynamics and how the protagonists' assumptions about the rich relatives who have been absent from her struggling family's life (including her late father) are challenged and complicated. Also lots of Jane Austen references. The father and his siblings are all named for Austen characters, etc.

Drowned Amnet by Diana Wynne Jones

I'm not completely sure how I feel about the Dalemark series so far, but Jones as ever has a gift for striking characters and worldbuilding and Twists.

Marmee and Louisa: The Untold Story of Louisa May Alcott and Her Mother by Eve LaPlante

A descendant of Abigail May Alcott's family writes with an emphasis on Abigail's background, character, and accomplishments, and I came away with a new appreciation for her and her impact on her daughters (and, indirectly, through her inspiring one of the most beloved mother figures in literature).

Eden's Outcasts: The Story of Louisa May Alcott and Her Father by John Matteson

On the other hand, I would like to go back in time and fist-fight Bronson Alcott, but he would probably just lecture me on my moral failings.

The Curious Vanishing of Beatrice Willoughby by G. Z. Schmidt

Interesting premise but I didn't warm up to the execution.

Ivy Larkin by Mary Stolz

I didn't warm up to this but can't remember why.

Comics

Wayne Family Adventures Volume 4

Read originally in webcomic form but reread in the print edition.

[buckets-and-trees]

Aspen's Enchanted Birthday Festival Announcement

October first marks one hundred days until my birthday! So from now until my birthday on January 9th I'm hosting a writing festival!

For this fest, I'm interested in seeing some mystical creatures we don't typically see, though you're free to adapt them and their lore however you see fit.

You do not need to follow me to participate (though it's appreciated). Details and guidelines under the keep reading/read more...

REQUIRED: Feature at least one of the creatures from this list:

Leshy/Leshen

Lampago

Lampad

Naiad

Dryad

Drows

Peryton

Tarasque

Skrat

The creature could be the reader, the leading man, or a creature they encounter. You can go with strict mythology, or riff off the elements of the base lore.

REQUIRED: Feature at least one of the characters from this list:

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Joaquin Torres

Nick Fowler

God the Bounty Hunter

Ari Levinson

Curtis Everett

Lloyd Hansen

OPTIONAL: if you would like some melodic or lyrical inspiration, here are nine songs I'm floating your way:

“A&W” by Lana Del Rey

“Holocene” by Bon Iver

“Never Let Me Go” by Florence + the Machine

“The Lightning Strike” by Snow Patrol

“If I Say” by Mumford & Sons

“Fine Line” by Harry Styles

“Abstract (Psychopomp)” by Hozier

“The Moment I Said It” by Imogen Heap

“Daydreaming” by Rosa Pullman

Writing must be an x reader story.

Minimum 500 words, maximum 9k words.

If part of an existing series, must be able to read as a stand alone piece.

Must be posted on tumblr between October 1, 2023, and January 9, 2024.

I will only read and reblog works that tag @buckets-and-trees and use the tag #aspensenchantedbday.

Stories MUST use a creature and character from the lists provided, but using song inspiration is optional.

All stories must be inclusive in nature.

No DD/lg dynamics, no pet play, no beastiality (if a monster cannot express consent, it is beastiality), no rpf (real person fiction), no scat play, no underage relations of a romantic or sexual nature.

Make sure to tag content and trigger warning appropriately and use a read more/keep reading cut after 300 words.

If you want to create something for THIS event that also aligns with other challenges or events, you can stack/maximize as long as that other event or challenge allows for it (doesn’t demand exclusivity).

I'm not obligated to read or reblog any works that fail to adhere to the requirements listed above.

If you're familiar with my library, you'll know I write a range of light to dark, fluff to smut, and so entries across the board are welcome as long as they meet the stipulated requirements.

May these creatures haunt your muse in the best way between now and January 9th!