#i would add more detail and lighting but ill do that on a more....serious piece for this caigmpain

[dawnarts]

this is based off that one sonic fandub screenshot you might know the one-

id: a digital drawing of characters from dimension 20: mentopolis. imelda pulse is on the left. she is bubbly pink in a coat dress with a blank speach bubble over her head. next to her is hunch curio. he is a smokey blue in a green trench coat and suit outfit and he has a blank speach bubble over him. between them opening a door is anna lysis. an old lady with bright blue hair and wearing a doily sweater. there is a speack bubble from her saying "What are you two fucking talking about?". end id.

i found the image -

id: a screenshot of SnapCube's real time sonic the hedgehog fandub of rouge and shadow talking and eggman saying "What are you two fucking talking about?" end id.

[kinnoth]

Thor knows the end, but he has always known the end. Ragnarok has never been a mystery to him, to any of them. Every story ever told of Asgard ends in fire and in the darkness of nothing if one lets it go on for long enough. The Aesir have always been a doomed people: blood-loving, battle-loving, ever scratching for one more piece of glory to hold onto before the lights go out.

In truth, Thor had never expected to make it so far, and, perhaps, looking back on the trajectory of his life, he had never deserved to make it so far. The story of his life, as it has been charted, was ever one in which he would burn for a little while, then blaze for a while more, and then fall in a streak of fire, celebrated by his armies and ill-remembered by those he had conquered.

He was meant to have burned with his kingdom. His father would have burned with his kingdom. It is what is said of him in every attestation, that Odin Allfather loved his people and his kingdom until the end of both: because it was rightful, it was honourable, because it was foretold. Because Odin Allfather understood the sacrifice of kingship and the beauty of things that end.

Only greedy Thor, arrogant Thor, could have denied these people their rightful, honourable deaths. Only Thor could have snatched up these people from the glory of their own fates, and for what?

Space is cold after the fires of Asgard, cold and empty. The spiralling arms of the world tree cannot house a houseless people. All the sparkling stars that hang like fruits from its branches cannot feed them.

Thor leads his people to their doom, but he can find within himself no remorse for it. He has his brother back, standing tall and proud again beside him. Thor is not a stupid man, for all his great faults. He knows that his brother is dangerous and that he is disloyal. He has proven himself to be cruel and selfish and vain.

And yet, Loki moves beside him like his shadow as he circles through their huddled masses. Loki is good with them in a way that Thor isn't, in the way that their mother was good in the times after calamity. He touches their blackened hands and he talks to them lowly, with soothing words and gentle manner. He spins amusing tales for the children and listens, soft-eyed, to the lamentations of their mothers and fathers. They are Asgard's potters and weavers, merchantmen and clerks. They carry with them nothing but the clothes on their backs and the children in their arms. Had they been warriors, Thor might have led them and paid their way across the worlds with their swords, but as they are, they have nothing and want for everything.

He passes what assurances he can on to them. He tells them that they will be safe, that their children will not go hungry. He tells them tales of Midgard, of its glass cities and its gleaming black roads. He tells them of the rich, green hills of the Norsemen that Odin Once-King had declared would be their new home.

He feels Loki watching him. Somehow, he had forgotten how that had felt -- Loki, moving his head and his hands in subtle enquiry when emotion catches his voice; Loki, rephrasing his soldier's brusqueness into something easy and smooth; Loki remembering the details to his stories where he had forgotten. They had had a thousand years of companionship between them before these past ten in conflict and yet somehow, Thor had forgotten how it had felt to hold the weight of Loki's attention, familiar and following, as steadying as any hand.

Thor watches him as well, and, in the liminal moments in between, he drags them away from their duties and cloisters his brother away from the others. In private, Loki wears his quiet differently: his rounded shoulders find their angles and his tired eyes grow sharp and ready. Thor has him read for him the obscurities in their astronomical maps that Thor does not know enough to understand. They discuss the merits of various courses through the terrain, how to balance the preservation of their fuel next to the dangers of the shipping lanes. Loki is as studious and serious now as he is in Thor's memory. As he listens to Thor and thinks on his answers, his hand drifts absently up to his chin in a gesture he has not lost from childhood, and Thor feels again the stirring fondness he has only ever felt for his careful brother, lost in thought.

But Loki has not yet fully returned to him. It is clear in the way he stops in his sentences before they disagree and cuts away his gaze, the way he avoids Thor's hands in moments when he would not have before noticed Thor's touch. Perhaps he never will return, not wholly, and be as he was once, but Thor makes himself glad for what company he can have of him. Certain things have changed between them now in ways that he cannot hope to recover, and so Loki, though never a stranger, is perhaps more courteous than he has earned the right to be, blunter with his rebuke and shallower with his smile than Thor remembers. It is the measure of distance that Loki holds that serves to remind him always that, while Thor may again have a brother, he does not have a friend.

Perhaps that is for the best. Perhaps that is enough. Perhaps they can work together and they can lead their people, and Thor can put aside his ache for a better world and content himself with what he has. Because for all that he would like to do it, Thor does not trust his brother, even as he knows that he would not want to endure this long life without him. And perhaps he, too, is vain, but -- for this fragile truce between them, this makeshift peace -- he would have damned them all a thousand times without a second thought. Loki is here, and Thor believes again, as he did when he was young: that with his brother at his side, there is no quandary in the universe that the two of them cannot conquer.

Still, he startles when he feels a hand lay across his back. He is half-asleep, hunched over their star maps and logbooks again, looking for ways through disaster as though, if he looked long enough, he could divine new meaning into the numbers. He looks up to see Loki drawing his white hand back into the shadow of his cloak, a plaintive expression clearing quickly from his face.

"You are tired," Loki says. His voice is soft and unreadable. "You should rest."

"Yes," Thor replies. He had been dreaming, but of what, he doesn't remember now that he is awake. Impressions of fire and shadow splinter under the weight of waking until all that remains is the metal taste of urgency and guilt in his mouth. He sets his palm over his eyes and scrubs until all he sees again are stars. They are twenty-two jumps points outside of Asgard and he doesn't know how they are going to make it to twenty-three.

When next he looks up, Loki regards him with a look nearing sympathy. "Come with me," he says, and it is a testament to how truly tired Thor is that he follows without question. Loki leads him through a warren of utilitarian back rooms, storage spaces and servants quarters stripped bare of the Grandmaster's glitter and sculpted luxury. There is a narrow wire staircase twisting up past the rafters, and then Loki brings him into a room.

Something about the arrangement of it strikes Thor as immediately familiar, though he cannot place how. There is a low bed pushed against the wall and shelves built above it. From the ceiling hang bundles of scented dried things wrapped in scrap cloth, and on the far wall is a wide window, looking out into the void. Pale flame flickers to life in the brazier by the door and this is Loki's room, from back home, Thor realises, his private royal chamber scaled down to fit this space the size of a pauper's cell.

Thor touches the brutally bare wall. They are so close to the engines here that he can feel them humming beneath his hand. He steps after Loki into the room and passes his fingers over the fire as he walks. There is no warmth and so he reaches into the centre of it and picks up a glowing ember. It pulses like a living thing, faintly green around the edges. Foxfire, he recognises, Loki’s magic used for the crude banality of lighting a room. "Is this where you've been sleeping?" he asks, unable to keep the reproach from his voice.

Loki has opened a hidden compartment and is unpinning the cloak from his shoulders. He looks strange and unguarded for a moment, and Thor is sorry to have spoken without thought. Loki looks away. "You did not wonder?"

Thor shrugs with deliberate disaffectedness. "I didn't think it was any of my business," he says. He peers around the corners of the doorway. There is a bath beyond a half-closed door and, next to it, a meagre kitchen. It is odd to think of Loki, imperious and supercilious, cooking meals for himself off of one small hob. It is odd to think of his brother living sparsely, when their mother’s one enduring criticism of him was how he spent too freely. How much more of his life has Loki concealed from him? How else has he lived that Thor does not know?

Loki emerges from his closet, much the same but with all his dignity drawn about him once again. He plucks the coal from Thor’s hand and uses it to light the other lamps around the room. “This used to be my room when the Grandmaster took me out on his excursions," he explains. "I didn’t think anyone would mind it if I took it up again. Of course, I didn’t spend much time here,” he adds as he gives Thor back his ember. “The rooms downstairs, housing Asgard's people, those were for his guests. They are much more comfortable.”

Thor takes the glowing coal, holds it in his palm again for a moment before tossing it back into the brazier with the others. “And what were you then?” he asks suspiciously. A species of confusion mated to a kind of rage creeps up into his chest, but he pushes down on it with the ease of long practice, until naught but a faint abhorrence emerges into his conscious thought.

Loki smiles. ”Household.”

"Here,” he says before Thor can unravel his unease. A dark, ornate bottle appears between his fingertips and uncorks itself with a pop. He presses it into Thor’s hand. “Have a drink with me."

Thor twists his mouth. “Are we out of clean glasses again?” A fragrance at once sweet and sharply medicinal wafts up from the open neck. The liquid itself is nearly black.

Loki gestures as he folds himself onto the ledge by the window. He pulls a knee up to his chest and leans his cheek up against it. “Would you accept a glass from me?” he asks demurely.

Thor snorts. ”You are right, I would not.” He hesitates a moment longer before crossing the room and going to stand next to his brother. The universe spins out, endless, outside of their ark, colours of a bruise casting ghostly lights against Loki’s back and the side of his turned face. “It used to be one of your favourite tricks for your guests to find some nasty surprise at the bottom of their cups.” He offers his brother a wry look as he hands the bottle back.

Loki’s smile is small but not fully unhappy. “That was childish of me,” he agrees.

”You put snakes in my cup at my coronation.” Thor points out. “We were not children then.”

”Weren't we?" Loki asks lightly, and Thor's hackles rise, the prickle on the back of his neck like static before a storm. Loki is in some sort of mood tonight, not wholly hostile, but unsettled somehow, and Thor has ever known him to be changeable. He lifts the bottle in a sardonic salute and, smirking, tilts back his long throat and drinks deep. The glass slowly drains to clear as Loki finishes, gasping with satisfaction. He holds up the bottle, still three quarters full. "There, brother, you see?" he says, as he wipes the corners of his mouth. "Nothing to fear."

Something about the dark stain of Loki's mouth perturbs Thor in a way that strikes him wary and short of breath, but he takes the bottle back. His voice pitched low, he asks, with a cheer he does not truly feel, ”So what poison do you intend for the both of us then?”

Loki shakes his head and laughs. “No, not even poison.” His eyes are wet and a little unfocused. "Will you not drink?"

Thor hesitates a moment more but then, he too smiles shallowly and drinks. The liquor is hot on the tongue but surprisingly light, fruited like wine but without wine's cloying sweetness. He swallows. ”That is very fine," he says approvingly. The drink’s warm fingers spread down his throat and into his chest where they begin to pick at the knots tied up there. "I did not know we had anything near so fine on this ship. Is there more of it?" He tilts the bottle to read the label.

Loki scoffs. "Not enough to water your entire kingdom, if that's what you mean."

“A pity then.” Thor takes another generous swallow and the warmth spreads. These Sakaarian spirits are stronger than Asgardian mead, and Thor is beginning to think that he prefers it. “The kingdom could use a good watering after what it's just been through.” He raises the bottle. “A salutation then, to -- what are we drinking for?”

“A victory?” Loki shrugs. He moves to make room as Thor gingerly lowers himself down onto the seat next to him, careful to keep his distance. “Anything you like.”

Thor laughs hollowly. “That was a poor victory then, if that's what you'd call it.”

In the flickering light, Loki’s pale eyes shutter and he grins his brief and bitterly mirthless grin. He looks away and drinks, then leans again on his folded knee. “Do you grieve?” he asks perfectly without inflection.

Thor stops. He sees Loki’s fingers flexing white at the knuckles around each other even as his face remains impassive. His shoulders are set in perfect right angles to his spine. “You know,” Thor says contemplatively, “if you would have asked me that ten years ago, around the time you were still putting snakes in my cups, I would have said yes. I would have drank for our golden halls and our gleaming city and all of our sun-loved fields. But now." He sighs. Loki glances at him, the only indication that he is even listening. His eyes are wide and waiting. Around the room, the pale fires sputter in their wicks and spin. He has stopped his breathing. Thor reaches for him and lays the backs of his fingers lightly along his arm. Loki winces, takes a breath, but does not pull away.

Thor feels his own misgivings be gentled, and says softly, "I suppose that's what a loss as great as this shows you. When you have no choice but to choose, you pick out what's really important from the rest and you are happy that you get to keep it. We have lost so much, but it could have been more." His hand slowly flattens to curl around the lean muscle of Loki’s arm. Thor can feel the heat and the solid weight of him, welcome and familiar in a way that little else has been in these recent years.

"Brother," he begins softly. "Will you not grieve--"

"But what of all your worshippers?” Loki's expression when he turns is hard and terrible, red-rimmed eyes above a hooked sneer, and held in such rictus as if he were an animal trapped under thick ice. “Your great armies? Your Warriors Three?” he intones, as he yanks himself away from Thor’s touch, drawing back into himself once more. "Your Lady Sif?"

Thor draws his hands back into his own lap, stricken. What feats these hands have wrought, what power they hold, and yet he cannot claw back into them an ounce of his brother’s confidence. Has he not tried? Has he not let Loki draw near, examine every part of him and find him wary and uncertain, but sincere? He remembers the tentative proximity they had devised in the first night aboard the ship. Loki had asked and Thor had allowed him to draw him down, to examine his disfigured eye and to cleanse it and close what he could, to touch his fingertips through his shorn hair as he did it. What had that been but Thor's hopes laid bare? What had that been but Thor's soul beckoning: look at me; see me; recognise me; if we cannot be alone together then we will truly be alone.

Thor breathes deep and says, lowly, with a line of resignation understriking the words, “Have you brought me here to start a fight then, Loki?”

Loki's face, ruddy and savage with emotion, flinches violently. He blinks and then, as if swept by a great wind, his expression clears. “No, forgive me,” he says, his voice cool and easy. "I am." He shrugs, and, after a moment, waves his hand. The spinning lights right themselves. Another bottle appears between his fingers. He hands it to Thor and then he returns to himself, perfectly neat and self-contained.

Thor hates, suddenly, all of this, every measure of it: his brother’s carefully constructed dispassion and the way he will not fully meet Thor’s eyes; the choking fist of his own fear that this is how it has to be now, this is how they are going to be to one another from now on. Loki sits curled in on himself like a loose fist protecting a bruise and Thor is no more permitted to unfurl him to test his injury any more than he is to go back and undo Ragnarok. This he mourns, more than all else: that he used to know his brother, and he was known by him, trusted and was trusted. It used to be that when they were together, Thor had believed in immortality.

He is gripped by the sudden urge to touch Loki, as if that would make any difference, as if that would make anything better. It used to. He thinks it used to. Thor remembers how easy it had used to be to know where he was and how to make his way back because Loki would find his hand and guide him. He wants to take Loki by the shoulders and shake him, or to reach underneath the curtain of his hair and put his hand to skin.

But instead he is here, in this insatiable present that takes and takes and lets him have nothing back. Loki holds himself placidly as if nothing at all has been said or transpired, and Thor's despair turns to cold fury.

"Odin was right, you are devious and disdainful and difficult to love," Thor says icily. Loki looks at him, properly, finally. His eyes are open with surprise and confusion. Good. If Loki wants a fight then Thor is more than happy to give him one; he is hungry for Loki's pain, if he can have nothing else. Thor spurs on, heat rising up his neck and behind the sockets of his eyes, "You've found reason to hate everyone and everything that ever had the misfortune of crossing your path. Nothing is ever good enough for Loki; no one is ever good enough for Loki. There would always be something, some way you could distort an honest word into something evil, turn even the truest praise into injustice. You are so twisted we could use you as a corkscrew."

Loki recoils as if physically struck and Thor feels a rush of cruel satisfaction to see him hurt. Loki should hurt. If Thor must hurt than Loki can hurt. It is their basest of axioms: whatever Thor has, then Loki must have too.

"Little wonder why you were no good king," he spits, unsheathed now, seeking blood. He wants to see Loki break. "You look for shadows and schemes because your heart is filled with nothing but shadows and schemes. Little wonder, too, why you could not content yourself with the vast privileges of your station. You were Asgard’s prince and my brother and Odin's son, but still you found a way to be claim misuse. It is like you run from happiness. You are incapable of being grateful." He shoves the bottle back toward Loki with such force that it topples off its broad base. The fine spirits pours out of it in fat gluts.

His brother regards the drink soaking into his floor and splashing over his shoes. His pale face is awash with an awful flush. With a jerking gesture, he rights the bottle and the black liquid funnels itself back into it. He drinks for a long moment and then sets it down. His stillness has taken a different quality, wound and waiting, like a pendulum before the downswing. "I was not your brother, don’t you remember?" he says lowly. "Not your father's son, not your people's prince. I was nothing. That is what I ran from, being nothing."

Thor feels tension string through his muscles. Fighting he knows; fighting he can do; fighting comes naturally to him even if his heart is breaking. "You were one of us," he retorts through his teeth. "You were loved."

Loki lets out a great bark of a laugh and wheels to his feet. "I was not," he says poisonously. "Great Thor, mighty Thor, golden Thor, loved by all. Easy to love." He is pacing, his long strides eating up the little distance of the floor so that he has to turn every fourth step. His movement is disjointed, unhinged. Thor is reminded again of his brother, wild and caged, wreacking ruin upon himself when given nothing else to destroy. "Of course you wouldn’t see it," Loki scathes. "It is so difficult for the beloved to see that not all share in their condition, after all."

Thor draws back, raises his chin. His pulse is in his ears. He should never have come in the first place. He could have lived with what peace they had between them, and now he won't even have that. "Mother loved you," he challenges, his voice rising. "I loved you."

His brother flips his hand dismissively. "You loved everyone, what’s one more."

"I loved you best!"

Thor is on his feet as static gathers in the air. Loki stops, holds his gaze steadily, breathing hard. "I was happy," he says after a moment. "Perhaps it was never to any great effect, but I was happy once. But then, I was not who I thought I was." He drags in a breath and wrings together his trembling hands. "And I did not know what I know now." He stands in the middle of his sparse, dark little room and looks, suddenly, unspeakably small and lost. Thor steps toward him, but his brother looks up and fixes him with a glittering stare and he stops.

"So I have been selfish and self-serving, but who else but I served Loki-prince?" he says bitterly. "I was faithful to Asgard for over a thousand years and saw nothing but ashes for it. So if I took the things that Asgard would not give me in the end, ought I to be sorry?”

Thor huffs and breaks his gaze to hide his discomfort. "You were prince of the Nine Realms," he replies darkly. "What could you have possibly wanted for that could not be furnished to you?"

Loki snarls, "I have never had what I truly wanted, have you?" The room flares bright white for a moment and Thor startles, whirling about. Loki's foxfire pulses threateningly in its brazier.

Thor crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. He will not be cowed by a display of theatrics. "I had everything," he lies even though he knows it is not what Loki means.

Loki goes stiff and then, all at once, the venomous rage empties from his sharp face. He asks with a sudden, pleading sorrow, “Then do you not want?”

Greedy Thor, arrogant Thor does not respond, but his brother meets his burning gaze and seems to see through him. Thor’s heart is caught beneath his chin. He doesn’t know what Loki sees, but he prays that it is not everything.

Loki searches him a moment longer but then looks away. Thor feels a cavernous feeling as if he has been assessed somehow and found lacking. But Thor has won: his brother is crying and doing a poor job in hiding it. He waits for the satisfaction to come and to chase away the guilt.

But then Loki turns. "You're not the first I've disappointed with my unworthiness, brother," he says, quiet again, still again, distant. "You are hardly the first to cast me out because I did not suit. Hate me if you want, then," he says, a fissure opening beneath his smooth voice, "but I never hated them, your friends, your family, or Asgard. I only ever hated how they hated me, and yet you still loved them for it." He spreads his palm and light gathers between his fingertips. Thor knows what that is.

Thor lunges for him, his pulse in his ears, crossing the room in three quick strides. He seizes his brother by the wrist and Loki's pocket dimension snaps shut; whatever implement he was retrieving dissolves back into the darkness. Loki jerks away instinctively but Thor holds him tight. "I am not casting you out!" he cries. He crowds into him with his body, Loki stepping back for his every step forward until the wall stops them both. Thor pins his brother's arm. Loki looks jolted a moment, confusion opening his face as Thor leans his weight against him. They are both breathing hard. "I am not," he repeats.

Loki shoves at him with his free arm, his hand balling and gripping him menacingly by the open collar of his chest plate. "No?" he asks, acid hissing through his voice once more. "Odd, then, how that was what it sounded like."

"I was only angry," Thor says, his mouth dry, bracing, expecting the violence of his brother's anger. "I didn’t mean what I said." But Loki isn't fighting him. Thor knows how his brother fights, has been stung by those deadly hands often enough; he knows that his brother is not a man easily mastered. But Loki gasps, as though Thor has hurt him, and beneath Thor's agony and his racing pulse, a black thrill runs him through. He changes his grip on Loki's wrist, and pushes his shoulder back until his arm bends up above his head. Loki lets him, watching. Thor's mind races; his terror mounts. He feels powerful. "Brother, I didn't mean it," he rasps. "Don't go." He is trembling.

Loki's eyes grow narrow. "Oh, Thor," he breathes, "are you frightened?"

"Yes," Thor says readily. "Is that so surprising to you?" He needs to let him go, but instead his grip tightens on Loki's arm. He feels Loki's throat working, the subtle movements of his head and neck, and he feels, again, the stirring, ugly cruelty that has lived inside him all his life. Its pulse fills his mouth, like a separate thing from his own. Thor's blood and body ignite for one indomitable moment before the guilt overruns him, his own self-disgust. He puts his face into his brother's shoulder so that he might avoid his incising gaze. "Yes, I am frightened," he says hollowly. "I did not want this."

Thor is lowly and vulgar and undeserving of being called a man. He is the very basest creature, captive to his vagaries, caring for nothing but his own comfort and gratification. He will destroy this cobweb peace between them for an upper hand, drive his brother away in a fit of pique, and for what?

He feels Loki stiffen as Thor's misery makes him dull and heavy. "Want what, be specific," his brother hisses. He shoves at Thor again, curses crackling in his fist this time, no mere punctuation.

"Any of this. All of it," Thor mutters thickly. His feels his own breath hot on his face as the leather shoulders of Loki's shirt repel it back to him. The trap in his throat cannot contain his every secret, and what spills out does so like a cut vein. "Odin’s kingdom, the crown, the fate of Asgard." He squeezes his eyes shut and grieves that he cannot even be with Loki, cannot ask of him to share a drink without Loki's bad faith and his own bad impulses coming between them.

They truly are ruined, he thinks, as he counts his brother's quick heartbeats through his palm, and Thor can be neither the man he wants to be nor the man he needs to be anymore. "I did not want for them to take me," he says. "I did not want to become that which I hated, what you hated, what had killed you and our mother and made our father a stranger to us. I thought I would rather die, but now it is here anyway, and there is nowhere left for me to run."

There is a pause and then Loki says, his voice soft and careful. "It is kingship, brother. It is what we were born to do."

Thor lets out a breath like a sob. "It is a rotten job, Loki. It is rotten to its core." He lifts his head and searches his brother's face. "It consumes you, it becomes your world until your heart may hold nothing but it, and your soul may love nothing but it, and you would rather see your queen die for it and your sons disgraced for it rather than lose even a fraction of it."

Loki is not crying anymore. He looks upon Thor with such bewilderment and concern that Thor wishes, once more, to hide his despair, but that his brother deserves to be looked in the eye. "Would that I were only a man," he continues. "Would that this were only an occupation of a father being passed to a son, but it is not. It is a wolf at my door, brother, and I must let it in, but I cannot do it without you beside me."

Loki's brows are pinched, his iridescent eyes wide with honest heartache. He lifts his hand from the wall and Thor lets him go. He feels a touch alight on his temple, between the chevroned scars on his scalp. "I did not think it would hurt you so," his brother says in wonderment. He touches fingertips to the corners of Thor's eye where his sorrow has gathered but not fallen, and Thor only wishes that his brother could let himself be held.

"You are better made for it than I," Thor tells him as Loki tugs on him and Thor's head falls back down against his brother's throat. Loki hums and lays his cool hand lightly along the back of his skull, stroking contemplatively. Thor allows himself to be pacified, and the shameful, screaming something in his heart quietens for the moment, as it only ever does beneath his brother's hands. He sighs. "I need your strength and your wisdom and your friendship, Loki." He fists his fingers into the flanks of Loki's shirt and pulls meaningfully. "You asked me if I did not want, and that is it. I want you here with me. I want us to be friends again."

"We cannot be friends."

Thor looks up. His brother's eyes are wet but he smiles beatifically. "We cannot be friends," he repeats. "I will serve Asgard, I will be your brother, and I will serve you, but even I, poor fool that I am, must keep something for myself. Don't you see?" he says, his voice cracking with a building fervour. "I am as you say that I am: unworthy and ungrateful and the keeper of my own misery. I used to wish that I wasn't, but I am. And I must keep something, or else I shall have nothing at all." His fingers flex unconsciously on the edge of Thor's plate armour and, with a crunching snap, the metal rends beneath them. Loki hisses.

Thor stops him. "Loki, brother," he says, picking up his narrow hand and enfolding it between the both of his. Loki quakes, on the verge of something, and Thor sympathises even as he doesn't know what it is. He keeps his eyes cast low as he presses their hands together. "It's all right, I understand," he says, even though he does not. "Enough, hm? We are both fools." He shakes him lightly. "That's enough."

Loki's bruised hand spasms and he almost jerks it back into himself by instinct, but that Thor grasps him gently by the wrist and does not let him go. Wild-eyed, his brother stares at him, uncomprehending, first, and then recognition comes back into him. "Yes," Loki gasps. "I'm sorry. I." His fingers curl within Thor's rough palm, and warmth drifts through the pulses of Thor's blood to have his brother holding his hand again. "I am sorry." He drops his chin and looks away.

Thor shakes his head. "I have my own wrongs that I have done, and it has only been these recent years that I have had occasion to think back on them. You are right, you know," he says, smoothing his thumb over the back of his brother's knuckles for emphasis. "I have, in the past, regarded myself too highly, and I saw it as my natural right to trample over those who were less fortunate that I."

Loki huffs a little breath. "It is not difficult to do when you are the best." He wipes at his face with his sleeve and offers to Thor a smile, small and self-deprecating, but sincere -- a delicate branch, newly budded, tentatively extended but an offer of peace nonetheless.

Thor returns his smile. "No, I suppose it isn't, but I am sure that doesn't excuse it. Loki," he says, and it is as if he is finally undoing a weight that has always hung around his neck, "I am sorry."

His brother's expression remains deceptively pleasant. "For what? Be specific," he says again, a flat whisper, either soft or deadly but which refuses to reveal itself to be either.

Thor knows; he has known for a while now. His errors were ever small slights, little wrongs, but together they built a wall between them as high as the sky. But now, his brother knocks on the other side, and his humility is a small price to pay to see it torn down. He is ready to be done with it now, here, at the end of the world. "For what I said, just now" he says. "For speaking over you, in years past. For behaving as if you owed me your obedience," he says. "For taking it for granted that you were my brother and," he sighs expansively.

"For never seeing you for yourself, I suppose," he muses. He puts his hand to his brother's shoulder and stands back enough to look Loki in the eye. "You are your own man. Your path is your own to take, and though we may walk together, we do not belong to the same fate."

"You do not belong to me," he says, watching Loki watch him and knowing that, this time, he has been heard. "You are my brother, but you don't belong to me."

Thor holds his gaze with all the plain equanimity he can summon and releases his brother's hand. He waits for him to draw it back, but Loki only closes his eyes, for one slow moment. When he opens them, they are the color of sunlight passing through a calm ocean and for once, no drowned secrets lie beneath. "You have grown wise," his brother muses. He laughs, and it is a bell-clear sound, beautiful and weightless. He bows his head regally. "Worthy Thor, I am honoured."

Thor laughs, his throat thick with relief as Loki steps into him once more. He leans his cheek against Thor's shoulder and allows him to take his weight. Thor settles his arm around the back of Loki's body, and holds himself so still that he almost stops breathing. "Do you still hate me then?"

Loki settles into this new posture, his hand still resting lightly in Thor's palm. "I could never hate you," he says easily, as if this were ever plainly evident to anyone who has wished to learn it. "I was angry with you, but I never hated you."

Thor lifts his eyebrows and laughs aloud, surprised. "You have turned over a new leaf. That's more honesty than I've heard from you in aeons, brother."

Loki shrugs. "There's no harm in it now," he says. He turns Thor's hand over and idly traces his fingertip along the tendon between each knuckle. Thor's heart clenches. It was only ever his brother who would touch him like this and Thor cannot remember the last time Loki had touched him. "There are none now amongst the living who would laugh at me." A pause. "I am sorry about your friends."

Thor hums gravely. "So am I." He drops his chin gingerly atop his brother's dark hair and breathes deep of the scent of him. It is familiar and as warming as drink. He sways them together, lightly. "But they each died a warriors' deaths, and when the turning of the world comes and death comes for all of us, I shall see them again in Valhalla and be happy for it."

"Then let us drink to that." Loki ducks beneath his arm and goes to retrieve the bottle. Thor feels the loss but he follows him gladly, still holding his hand. Loki holds the liquor aloft. "To the turning of the world. To Valhalla," he announces. He drinks and, so close, Thor can see his throat working as he swallows.

When his brother presses the bottle into his hand, Thor looks at him. He says wryly, before he drinks, "Loki, we are not going to die for a very long time yet."

Loki snorts. "That is optimistic." He draws Thor back down onto the widow ledge, and Thor goes with him. Thor decides he can accept the substitute when Loki sits close and pushes them together, shoulder to hip.

"You don't believe that," Thor needles him, knocking him with his elbow. "You haven't changed so much that you would maroon yourself on a doomed ship, if you truly thought it hopeless."

Loki re-balances himself and rolls his eyes. "Well I still might leave if it suits me. You said it yourself." He flaps a hand blithely, but the cut of his words is prickly, "I am my own man, after all."

Thor's lips tighten over his teeth. "Will you?" Something hard and challenging flattens his voice, some sudden thunder, like the sort that breaks upon a fine spring day. "Are you going?"

Loki looks at him levelly but then he sighs. "No," he says peevishly, ducking away, "but I don't see why you can't just play along with it."

Thor moves the bottle away when Loki reaches for it. Loki frowns at him, annoyed, but Thor holds his gaze, unblinking, until Loki flushes beneath his pallor and looks away again. Thor doesn't let him. He catches his brother's face with his palm and turns him, his thumb holding firm upon the hard angle of Loki's jaw. Loki lets himself be turned. His face is hot. "I'm finished with playing that game with you, brother," Thor says, all humour gone. It is as if he is doomed to have this same conversation forever. He thinks back to all the times before that he has begged for his brother's constancy, and, like a mirror reflected back on itself, it is as if he looks endlessly into one image. "I will not grieve you a third time," he says. "Stay or don't, only choose one and do it."

Loki blinks rapidly. "Do you want me to stay?" He sounds choked and breathless.

Thor releases him. "Of course I want you to stay, I always want you to stay." Exasperated, his hand drifts up toward his crown to sweep in past his hair, only to remember, once it is there, that he has no hair to push back from his face. He has forgotten where and when he is. "If it were up to me, you would have never left me in the first place, but I am not your tyrant."

"No," Loki says softly, his hands twisting together in his lap. "No, you are only my brother."

Thor shakes his head and drains the rest of the drink in one swallow. "You know, historically, every time we try to talk about this, you cause a great big fuss, we fight, I beat you, and then you leave anyway." He scrapes irritably at his beard. "So do forgive me if I tire of retreading this path again."

"That was before," his brother says. He pulls his knee back to his chest and leans against it, away from Thor. His hair spills like ink over his shoulder and he looks at once exhausted and boyish, self-conscious and ancient. "And I will not apologise for it."

Thor rounds on him. "Who's asking you to?" he snaps. Loki does not respond. Thor scoffs. "So, what? Is that it? One last drink for old times’ sake?"

"That's not it."

"Then what is it, Loki?"

"Here," Loki says, producing a new bottle, amber in colour and heavier than the last. "Drink."

Thor takes it. He rips up the cork and drains the bottle with spiteful obedience. It burns. "If you're trying to get me drunk so it hurts less in the morning, it's not going to work."

"Did it hurt before?"

"Of course it bloody hurt, you blistering idiot," Thor spits. He feels fragile, cracking along his edges. "I thought you dead, twice. I drank Asgard dry the first time and I simply left after the second."

"I know." Loki slips his hand back into Thor's. It is as much comfort as it is concession, but Thor takes it anyway, pressing tight.

"I know you know." They were the worst times of his life, his world collapsed in upon him with him still trapped inside. He can hardly remember them at all, only in bursts, only in non-specifics, but of course, Loki had not intervened -- indifferent, always, as if Thor and the way his world was ending were specimen in a jar. Thor scrubs his face and holds his palm there over his aching eyes. "Thrice damned, since when are you so solicitous after my feelings." He would pull himself away from his brother's touch, if only he were not a coward.

Loki leans into him, puts his head again on Thor's shoulder. His touch and voice are faint. "I always care about your feelings, brother. Sometimes I wish I didn't, but I --" He trails off, stops.

Thor waits a beat, and then a scowl forms heavily over his brow. "Is this some new habit of yours, starting sentences and then... " He gestures. When Loki does not look away this time, he urges impatiently, "Well? You what?"

"I cannot seem to disregard your dislike for me."

Thor rolls his eyes. "I've always admired you, Loki, you know that."

"Do I?"

Thor throws up his hands and leans back against the windowglass. "Cleverest man in Asgard!" he exclaims. "Cleverer than our father -- my father," he corrects irritably, "yes, all right." He looks at his brother, whose cautious eyes regard him as a that of cornered beast's regarding the hunter. Thor looks at him directly, unyielding. "You're strong Loki, and you're brilliant, and you might have been wiser than Odin one day. We all thought it; mother said so all the time. She always said that if I were ever to rule, that there was no better man than you to have at my side, and I thought it to. You have the head for rule, and the heart--"

Loki shakes his head violently, compulsively. "Not the heart, no. I've never--" He is vibrating, his eyes screwed shut, and he does not seem able anymore to choose his own words. "You, you, you're beautiful, you're perfect--"

"Brother."

"No, you see, I could never see past it, I tried." The set of Loki's face wavers, his pale eyes trapped between two incompatible realities, both truths. He looks angry and hopeful, terrified and desperately sad -- snared between belief and doubt. Thor knows that feeling. It is the same feeling caught within his own breast. "I couldn't envy you for it, so I tried to hate you, but I couldn't. Even when we were apart, even when I thought you lost from me for good, down in that cell." He covers his face with his palms as if to stopper his own voice, but all he says next it is only muffled instead, "And I could never be happy. All I could ever do was want for things that I couldn't name and couldn't get."

Thor sighs. "I know. Brother, I know." He remembers the devastation that had wrecked him when he thought Loki dead, the way his insides had grown to ice and splintered as Loki had gone cold between his arms. He remembers how Jane's little, lukewarm hands had brought him up from his knees and he had looked at her as a stranger, comprehending at last that he was in a world of strangers now. His brother was dead and he would never know happiness again.

Loki's eyes search his. Thor doesn't know if he can put to speech what it is his brother is looking for, but he prays that he will find it. He chafes Loki's hand in both of his and, lost for words, presses his lips to the back of his own palm. Loki's breath shivers. He whispers, "It is not fair when I've never had room in my heart for anything but you."

When Loki kisses him, it does not feel like a surprise.

Thor responds swiftly, sweeping Loki into his lap and holding him there as Loki's vicious mouth yields beneath his. His hands seek skin, and it is given to him freely, gladly; Loki bends to meet him and his clothes part beneath Thor's hands like butter. Loki tastes of quicksilver and of the sun through new leaves, of midwinter firelight and the air after a storm. Thor remembers, now, every touch that has brought them to this, every brotherly assurance, every passing glance, every bruise -- and behind it, always, this bare and incomprehensible yearning.

Loki moans, intimate and open, and the unnameable becomes named, the shame given absolution. The whole of his life snaps suddenly into complete and perfect focus. This has been his monster all along, this clawing want, this unspeakable hunger so constant that it burned at the bottom of his every breath. Unaddressed, unacknowledged its whole long life, it had deformed him.

As Loki's mouth smears over his cheek, as his light fingers find the seams of their crude, hewn bodies and rend, it feels like standing up after a lifetime spent in a bend; it feels like the first full breath after only ever having sipped on air. Thor knows freedom for the first time he can remember, and the gnawing teeth behind all of his fear and worry and strangling precautions draw back into their ugly heads. The great inviolable question of his soul finds its answer at last: it was Loki. It was only ever Loki.

When he seizes the back of Loki's head and returns him to his mouth, his brother sighs. Thor can feel something stubborn inside of himself give way beneath the hot silk of Loki's skin and the cold marble underneath, and then, all at once Thor can feel Loki pouring through him, subtle as smoke, sharp as electricity, and when Thor pushes back, Loki opens his soul to him in welcome.

It is elemental, organic, as the way fire consumes or how the heavens turn. It is like every colour bound together into one, like sunlight. Thor can see himself through Loki's eyes, the familiar geography of his features mapped and given beautiful names: the cheekbone by which Loki has measured all other faces; the precise warmth and weight of his hands between which Loki finds his solace and his comfort; his stubborn mouth which Loki has learned for its every curve, its every salacious expression.

Thor smashes open the long-kept reservoir of his own stolen inspections, his persistent fascinations, and a flood rises within him of Loki's every aspect which he has held in covetous admiration: the fine and twining musculature of his neck and arms; the sharp, watchful intelligence behind his eyes; the deft, sinuous migration of his fingers as he weaves his spells.

Loki holds Thor within himself and Thor knows, all at once, a love so personal as a love of self, glorious as a love of empire, so desperate as a love of air or water or sustenance. Loki lives within all of him and Thor knows now that he lives within Loki as well. They have been half of each other's lives, the whole of the other's hearts, and now with the crude boundaries of their bodies and minds dissolved, Thor knows who he is. He is Loki's. Loki is his. This is truth.

Loki gasps through his open mouth, sparks igniting in his vision through Thor's eyes. Thor matches him and the both of them tremble beneath the glittering weight that has settled, diaphanous and encompassing over their shoulders. Loki buckles and Thor hides his face into his pulse.

When he catches Loki into his arms, it feels like coming home

Thor comes into himself again in pieces. When he opens his eyes, it is difficult to remember how to see again through just his own one eye, how to feel with just his skin. Loki clings to him, draped over his lap, his clothes in ruin, his limbs shivering and soft. They breathe together, as one lung, and Thor cannot stop himself from seeking the white skin of Loki's neck. His brother moves against him and captures his mouth with his own gasping mouth. His hands spread over Thor's shining arms, caressing, while Thor threads his fingers into Loki's dark, soft hair.

When Loki breaks them apart, it is so gentle that it feels like a promise rather than punishment. Thor moans. "Again." The music is his voice is lost beneath the crush of his desire.

But Loki holds him fast, his panting mouth mere breathes away, only when Thor moves, Loki does not rise to meet him. He shakes his head. "I only wanted to see," he says, as if through a dream. He touches Thor's cheek. His eyes are still shut, and he moves so slowly and clumsily that Thor steals another kiss from him before he can do anything about it.

Thor chuckles. He draws Loki's thumb into his mouth and works the knuckle with his teeth and tongue. Beneath the flickering, golden light, his brother's eyes are nearly black when they open and Thor can hear his naked want calling to his own. Thor grins. "What can I show you, brother?" He shifts a subtle measure and, for a moment, Loki's weight comes off his knees and seats fully into his lap.

Loki's breath catches. He draws his finger from between Thor's teeth and wets his curving lip. He presses his brow to Thor's, shuddering. His voice crackles as he whispers, "How it might feel to be whole."

"What do you mean?" Thor hums. His eye drifts open and then shut, and every time he closes it, he can feel the afterimages of Loki's every thought. He reaches out, touches a stray, cold curl of his brother’s building anxiety, and feels it disintegrate into light. Thor tugs on Loki's hands, kisses the hinge of his jaw and a hard coiling knot of it begin to dissolve. Loki protests faintly but he begins to struggle. Thor clamps an arm around his waist. "No, there, sit there a while," Thor insists, putting his bearded cheek against his brother's beating chest and feeling it scratch though Loki's skin. Loki grasps at his forearm. "Stay," Thor says petulantly. "You said you would stay."

"This is absurd," Loki complains. He shifts on his knees, poorly balanced on the narrow seat. "I am too tall for this."

"I don't care." He touches the back of Loki's hand on his arm and Loki lifts it readily. Thor lines their fingertips together and Loki slips his in between. He wants to put Loki onto his back and learn the taste of his heartbeat through his skin. He wants to touch his hidden thoughts and secret melancholies and learn their every shape and texture. He wants to spread his brother out into pieces, evenly, meticulously, until he is naught but motes of shimmering dust and Thor is the same.

"I do not think I could bear it if you tried for decorum right now." Thor lifts his head, smiling, his throat fully bared, and Loki touches it in wonderment, his protests forgotten.

"I would know..." Thor hears his brother murmur, so low that Thor thinks he might have imagined it. But then Loki smiles. "Take me to bed then." He kisses Thor softly. "I am cold."

Thor lifts him easily, and Loki lets him -- he lets him, god, the things Thor can do now that Loki will let him, now that he is permitted. He sets Loki atop the bedclothes and Loki watches him with unadorned hunger as Thor steps back and works deftly at the clasps and buckles of his chestplate.

"Come," he calls quietly when Thor is sufficiently bare, and he receives Thor into his bed as if he has been doing it all his life. Ensconced within the bedsheets, Loki arranges them so that they are half on top of one another. Thor kisses him again and Loki makes small, infuriating, amenable sounds as his hands drift aimlessly over Thor's skin.

But Thor wants more. He would bring Loki to the very brink of his own body, damp-skinned and pleading for Thor's mercy.

Loki groans and shivers as Thor manoeuvres him beneath his body. He would bend as Thor would bend him; he would unfurl however Thor would unfurl him. Thor knows this. He tastes his brother's anticipation and acquiescence like spilt wine. Already his elegant hands manacle themselves to the crossbars of his headboard at Thor's behest, his flanks and front spread and stretched deliciously for Thor's tasting mouth.

Thor cups his palm beneath the bend of Loki's knee, and lifts it smoothly back. The colours of Loki's mind ignite and darken. "I would know thee by thy body," he says, but it is Loki's oaths that come out. Loki groans. Thor blinks, returns, and slowly grins.

"And I would my body give to thee," Thor finishes. He waits a moment as the disbelief twists his brother's face and then resolves. Loki looks at him, new marvel in his eyes. He surges suddenly and kisses Thor, and then Thor is awash in his brother's soaring relief, his bottomless joy. His mind comes away lurid with the places of his body that Loki has imagined Thor's hands, his mouth. Loki shuts his eyes as Thor lays him back. He covers his face with his wrists. "Yes," he breathes. "To thee."

The great yawning pit of his want joins Thor's in the bottom of his stomach, as Thor fits them together and then fits himself inside.

Loki moves with him, pulled by the same tide, moved by the same moon. The geography of Loki's soul opens for him and Thor arrives upon it softly. Loki fills him, envelopes him, and Thor touches through his every thought and sensation as it passes through his grasp. It will never be enough, Thor despairs, though he is not certain if it is his thought or Loki's when it emerges. This was what Loki had meant; this was the danger all along. They've been given a single mouthful of kindness and now must know what it is to live without. They could each live ten thousand years and spend every minute of it in each other's arms, and it would not be enough.

But Loki shakes his head and opens his dark eyes. "It can be," he says, almost voiceless. "It has to be." He pulls his heels into the small of Thor's back and brings him closer. "I could not bear it otherwise." He winds his fingers into the damp buzz of Thor's hair and pulls him down to him. "Kiss me and let us dwell no more on it," he says, and Thor does as he is told, grateful, overcome, knowing the end but willing for forever.

Power builds within his body, ready and aching. Outside the window, a swirl of cosmic dust churns, violet explosions flashing through violet clouds. He glows beneath his skin, but Loki opens his mouth to him and catches his kiss as if he were tasting rain. He shudders as he comes, as Thor follows him, as Thor's blue lightning fills him, holds him gently, wreathes them both.

Loki allows him fold them together again afterwards, allows Thor to arrange them so that they can see each other as they lay together breathing. Thor's pulse is quiet within him even as his heart hums with one harmonious note. The great storm of his life, the one he had never even known he was weathering, has ended. Thor is clean, new, and the long, long past recedes easily beneath the placid waves. He looks into his brother's smooth, flushed face and he sees his future.

Thor puts his lips to his brother's brow and smiles against his skin. "I adore you," Loki says in a small voice. His fingers tighten at Thor's waist and Thor lifts his chin so that Loki may tuck himself beneath it.

Thor laughs drowsily. "I know that," he says. "You don't know how glad it makes me." Loki's dark hair has fallen from its part and it drags in cool coils across Thor's arm. Thor puts his hand through it, sweeping it back and his brother looks up at him, his eyes sober.

"I do," Loki says. His mind, always working, momentarily quietened, moils once more. Thor frowns. "It is beyond reason, brother. It is more than anything; it is more than life." Placating, Thor touches his cheek and Loki turns into him immediately. He kisses Thor's palm. "You could skin me like a lamb and my last thought would be how I love you," he says fiercely.

Thor turns his face. "I would not," he says, horrified. "I would never." Loki's brows gain a troubled furrow but he looks away, assenting. Thor strokes the furl with his thumb until Loki relinquishes it. He takes Thor's hand and kisses it once more, then lets it slide back into his hair. Thor strokes him and says more softly, "And what does it matter if it is beyond reason, if I am the same?"

"No, but can't you see?" Loki drops his head into Thor's shoulder again. "This --" he gestures miserably. "This is unnatural."

"How do you mean?" Thor lets him hide. If it makes it easier for him, Thor will hide him from himself. "So we are lovers now," he says and feels Loki's breath hitch. "So what? We share no blood, and even if we did, who would challenge it?" He strokes the line of his back until Loki breathes again, however raggedly. "We are kings of Asgard, brother, what authority reigns higher?" A laugh escapes him on a wet, choked breath and Thor rocks him, lightly, forming himself around the warm, solid, precise weight of him.

"Don't cry," he says. "Don't make yourself miserable. We've found each other now. I love you, and I have wanted you all my life." He kisses his brother's damp cheek. "I was blind not to see it before but I do see it now."

Loki pulls back and looks at him. His smile is wistful and pained. "You may say to me every beautiful word that I have ever wished to hear, and it would still be true." He unwinds himself from Thor's limbs and rises up to his elbows. Thor touches his arm, deploring the loss, as Loki wipes at his face with the backs of his wrists. "It is not the quality of love but the quantity of it," he says bitterly. He pulls at Thor's grip. "Let go," he says, quieter. "When you touch me, I can feel you inside my head."

"Yes," Thor accedes cautiously, but he does it anyway because his brother asks, "and you're inside mine." Loki sits up from the bed in one determined movement and slides off the side. Thor sits up as well, alarmed. "What's the matter?"

His brother is at his closet, and Thor watches as, one at a time, pieces dissolve from their hangers and resolve themselves on Loki's skin.

"Loki." Thor crosses the room to where Loki is standing and catches him by the elbow. A wall of dread goes up in his brother's mind, but Thor pushes past it, back into the centre of him. Loki turns to him, expressions of fear and fury, gratefulness and regret warring in the tiny movements of his brow and lips. Thor kisses him, and as before, Loki returns it without hesitation. Thor steeps into it every measure of affection he can muster, every tender feeling and assurance. His brother falters, but he steps into him. His hands waver as he slips them around the back of Thor's neck.

"Tell me what is the matter," Thor says again as he pulls his brother back into his arms.

Loki shakes his head. "You don't understand, I never." His hands fist against Thor's shoulders as Thor absently tucks a strand of his dark hair back behind his ear, and he nearly sobs. Loki takes a breath. "You know nothing; you deserve to know," he bites out. "This is not you or me. We are cursed. Odin cursed us."

Thor flinches at the sound of his father's name before he can stop himself. "What?" he demands. "How?"

His brother laughs wetly. "You know, I hoped you'd be drunker for this. You're always so much more tractable when you're drunk. You don't ask nearly so many questions." He jerks, but Thor's arms have been turned to stone. "Unhand me," he says unhappily.

"No." He can feel his brother's self-recrimination and doubt, his panic like an acid bubbling beneath the an indelible anger. He can feel his need for flight. It hits him like a fist and brings up to the surface all of Thor's own dread, his own terror.

Loki struggles again, but Thor is unmovable. "At least let me finish dressing," he scolds.

"No," Thor intones. "Explain it or don't, it matters very little to me." He looks at his brother, his eyes hard. "What do I care for curses, Odin's or no? Sod him, he was an old man with an old man's schemes. What did he know? My god, Loki, Loki." He holds his brother to him as if that were all that would make the difference, and cups his hand to Loki's face with all the murderous adoration of a cheated supplicant. "If you leave me again after this, I will never forgive you, I swear it."

Loki shakes his head. "It was he who made us like this!" he cries. One more time, he shoves at Thor, and this time Thor lets him go. Loki rounds the room, his hands flying, frantic as loosed birds. "That's why he took me," he says. His eyes are wide, landing on nothing and everything. At last he sits himself again on the edge of the bed. "I was never meant to be your brother." His head sinks into his hands, muffles his voice. "But only that I turned out," he gestures, "as I am."

Ice runs down through Thor's veins. "What do you mean?"

Loki looks up at him from above his fingertips. "Did he never tell you how he lost his eye?"

"Yes," Thor replies, crossing his arms, "he told all of us; it was never a secret. He traded it to the Norns for the wisdom to rule his kingdom."

"Yes," Loki agrees, "to rule, to ensure his line evermore." He breathes deep and sits back, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "Without slander, what do you know about the Jotnar?"

Thor sighs. He is reminded of when they were young, when his brother would try to teach him philosophy by irritating him with questions until he found the answers. "They are giants," he answers dutifully. "They are fierce warriors, they are... Blue?" Loki looks at him expectantly. Thor shrugs belligerently. "I do not know what you wish me to say."

"How do they fight?"

"With their ice magic--"

"Yes." Loki holds up one long finger. "Magic."

Thor rolls his eyes. He remembers this too, when Loki used to lead him to answers and make him feel like an idiot for not grasping their significance. "I do not understand," he concedes.

But Loki keeps going. "Your grandmother, your father's mother, who was she?"

Thor frowns. "I never met her, but she was a great lady of--"

"She was a Jotun," Loki pronounces. He stands back up again and begins pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back as if in recital. "She betrayed her race and coupled with an Aesir, your grandfather, who made her a new body, a white body," Loki gestures to himself, to the pale skin of his torso that Thor had marked in worship. “She, in turn, gave her magic to her many sons, of which your father slew one by one until Asgard was his alone. That is the custom, is it not?"

Thor shakes his head, his mouth dry. He feels like he's falling, like his earth is moving beneath him, and like Loki is the only still point he can conceive, but that he won't hold still. "But I was never asked to slay you."

Loki makes a dismissive gesture. "We'll get there," he says, distractedly, "but for now consider this: your father's line runs thin. He has slain his brothers for his father's kingdom and his mother's magic but neither will have him -- he is not the most worthy, only the most brutal."

Thor feels an old instinct of obligation stir within him to defend the Allfather's name, but what does he know? What has he ever known except for what his father had taught him? He had doubted, of course, but it was ever unspoken, all spoken words too close, somehow, too loud.

Loki continues without mercy, "Odin paid the Norns, and they gave him wisdom." He spits the word. "And when it was time for him to get his get, he married a Vanir witch, your mother."

"Our mother," Thor snaps.

Loki startles, but then he sees Thor's face. "Yes," he concedes, "all right," but he goes to Thor then and slides himself back into the empty spot left next to him. He kisses Thor briefly, just left of his mouth, and then takes his hands and leads him back to the bed. Thor lets Loki sit him down and then himself over his lap. He loops his hands around him at once and lets his brother feed him the warmth and calm of his body.

Loki continues more softly, "Mother gives him Hela, you see, and he crafts her into a killer. But once the killing is done, she outlives her usefulness to him. And so now he needs another child. Someone who will rule after him."

"Me."

"Yes," Loki says, and he lays his long hand against Thor's face. "You, my brother." He says it with a sudden tenderness, as if he were sorry.

Thor swallows his agony so that Loki might see nothing but stone in his face. "Tell me the rest then."

Loki leans his head against his anyway. "Vanir magic is learned, so cannot be given, and it is not true seith," he says. "And Odin will not give up what he killed so many to take. So you are to have no magic of your own, no magic to give to your heirs, no magic for the whole of Odin's line because he cannot let go of anything." He nods in resignation. "So he goes to the source."

"Jotunheim," Thor finishes for him. How the old rage he had felt towards Odin those years back pales now in the light of this clarion fury. He who had cast them as worthy and unworthy, as noble and ignoble, who cast himself as justice and judge -- he who was himself a murderer and a thief. Thor had faced his father's many faults, counted and mourned them and had privately abjured him as a king but loved him still as a father. How can he love him now? "He takes you."

"Yes." Loki sighs, and Thor would keep him here forever if he could, as though he could be shielded from the rest of the world's misery by Thor's body. "I was Laufey's only child, you see. I had the purest blood to share."

"And then?"

Loki begins a gesture with one hand but then lets it drop. "Then he binds us," he says tiredly. "It's a simple enough ritual. Even Odin Death-Bringer could do it. I did--" he says. He swallows. He closes his eyes and leans into Thor. They hold each other up. "I suspected something of the sort," he confesses. "Years ago now, I went to speak to the Norns. They laughed when I asked them to answer my questions. They're greedy, you know. They answer to no one without a price."

Thor's hands tighten along his brother's hip. His pulse is already in his mouth, but the horror comes anyway. "What did you give them?"

Loki waves him off impatiently. "Nothing of importance, nothing you'd miss."

"Tell me anyway," Thor demands.

"I have seen my death."

Terror runs the very heart of him through. "Brother," he rasps.

Loki shrugs evasively. "I don't know when," he supplies, as if that were an assurance.

"Tell me how it happens at least."

"So that you might defy the Norns?" Loki looks at him, and Thor stares back, conceding nothing, stubborn even as he knows the immutability of the fates.

"It is nothing," Loki says at last. "It's innocence, and what good have I ever had for innocence? But they showed me what I wanted, and I found it where they said I would." He holds his hand up and the light of his pocket dimension shines again.

Thor reaches out on numb instinct, alarmed. "Wait, hold on."

But what emerges is nothing he recognizes, only a piece of silver, the size and shape of an egg, striated like the rings of a tree or of a thumbprint. Thor reaches out for it, but Loki pulls it back. "Don't touch it," he says softly. "I don't know what would happen if we both touched it. Nothing good, I suspect. They'll want to go home."

"It's--" Thor begins, but some part of him already knows.

"It's our souls," his brother tells him. It glows, faintly with its own dim light that seems almost blue against Loki's skin. "I found them buried beneath the roots of Yggdrasil. They weren't doing anyone any good there, so I took them. I thought maybe I could work to separate them, but," he shrugs.

"Here," he says. "Hold out your hand." Thor does so, and Loki drops it into his hand from a height. Thor turns it over, examining. It is heavy, heavier than he expected, but the shape does not hold, smoothly amorphous in his palm. The striations, as they had appears, are not striations at all but folds of beaten metal.

"Why?" he asks. It had been warm to the touch at first, but quickly he feels his skin going numb as if of cold. He tosses it into his other hand. The vessel warms comfortably this time even as Thor flexes his fingers until the feeling returns.

Loki twists his hands together in his lap and shrugs. "Odin needed to bind me into his line somehow, and so he did it in the most obdurate manner possible." A color of deep shame crawls up his pale shoulders. "You were to be my collar and my chain and now you see now how gladly I would have worn them. How happy I would have been to let you unmake me. What a different life we might have had--" His voice pitches and cracks, Thor reaches to steady him, but he regains himself.

"But as it turned out, I could not take up the necessary utility to give you heirs, and so he was forced to made us up this farcical brotherhood. It wasn't his fault," he says sardonically, "how was he to know? What difference is a Jotun man to a Jotun woman to a Jotun dog to an Aesir. We are all monsters after all."

Thor is frozen within himself. The whole of his history, of Asgard's history, has been turned on its head, and he would say that his brother was lying; he wants to believe that his brother is lying, except that he feels Loki's misery and fear and repudiation. He feels Loki's sour heartbeat in his own chest.

"Loki," he says, but Loki is gone from him, and though he holds the weight and warmth of him, he might as well hold to him an armful of air. He has so many questions and no way to ask them, no words that he can put together that will not cut his brother deeper than the wound he has already opened himself. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "Truly I am. If I had known --"

"What?" Loki turns to him. Every line shows on his face, and his eyelids droop in exhaustion. "What could you have done? You were a child, same as me, and Odin's crimes, such as they are," he gestures dismissively, "he will never pay for them." He draws himself back and slides from Thor's lap.

Thor doesn't know where he stands again, doesn't know where to begin. Gone is the certainty they had only just discovered as Loki crosses the room again and finishes dressing himself by hand. Thor watches him. "It isn't fair," Thor says softly.

Loki scoffs. "I do not tell you this for your pity," he sneers.

Thor shakes his head. "It is not pity, brother." He looks at his brother and silently wills him to look back. "Only that I grieve for you."

Loki sighs. He glances at Thor from over his shoulder. "You're a soft-headed fool," he says more quietly, "but I thank you." He looks down at his gloveletted hands. He is silent for a long while. "I want you, but," he says finally, then stops, and he laughs bleakly. "My god, I wish that I could have come by you honestly." He picks at his own knuckle, twisting the edge of his nail around the white joint.

"I wish that I could have met you in your father's court, or on some matter of diplomacy. I wish I could have glanced you from across a battlefield and felt my breath be taken. Your great and noble heart could have been the greatest prize I ever won, and I could have--" A line of blood splits across his finger and he stops. "We could have had each other honestly."

Thor shakes his head as he watched his brother suck the blood out from his small wound. "You would have hated me," he says hollowly. "I would have been insufferable." Loki's face twists and he scoffs. Thor stands, but goes no further. "I am only am the man I am today because of my brother." Loki looks at him, his eyes red. "I am yours, Loki," he offers quietly, spreading his hands, "as surely as if you had made me.

Loki smiles. "My very own god of thunder." He is fond beneath his bitterness. He sniffs and wipes surreptitiously at his cheeks. "For all that is worth when he cannot be anyone else's."

Thor grimaces. His hands land back at his sides, "I told you," he says. "I don't care a fig for Odin's plans and I still don't. I know my own mind. I told you that I've wanted you forever, since the cradle. Not even you can make me give that up." He knows this now, what a blind man could have seen. When he was frightened, when he was uncertain, when he was in pain, it was never Odin he went to, or Frigga, once he was out of skirts. He went to his brother. He was valiant for his father; he was gentle for his mother, but it was his brother's scorn that taught him to be kind, and, in the end it was his brother's death that taught him what it meant to be king.

If Thor could bring himself to touch him, he could make him know all of this, but Thor has taken from his brother enough to last ten lifetimes. So he tells him instead, "I am yours because without you I would have never been myself. That is fate, as I understand it." Even from across the room, he sees Loki's pale features warring again against his own unkindnesses. Thor finishes as plainly as he can, "One way or another, my life would not have been my life if it did not lead me to you."

Loki takes a step toward him unthinkingly. "I know. I am the same," he says hoarsely, but then he laughs. With the air of telling a good joke, he says, "So you see then, brother, I do belong to you after all. I never had a choice. We never had a choice. But I --" he looks at Thor with an expression full of entreaty. "I have been a slave to his devices my entire life. I cannot even conceive what shape my life might have been without his hand in it, and even now that he is dead, still he has a hold over me."

"I know," Thor says. He reaches out his hand and Loki takes it almost gratefully. He puts his arms around Thor's shoulders and so that Thor is permitted to fold himself around him, to put his cheek into his hair and breathe as if he could stain his lungs with him and keep him next to his heart forever. Loki's mind floods back into his and Thor wills him to quiet where he will be quieted, tries to soothe him where he will not. He murmurs, "It's not right, beloved. It's not fair."

Loki huffs, "Beloved."

"Aye, if that is not too forward."

His brother pauses. "It is proper," he concedes, but Thor feels a floret of pleasure bloom across his heart.

Thor laughs quietly. "Then, beloved, go. You owe me nothing, and I do not bind you. It was shameful of me to have tried." Loki pulls away and looks at him, confused, but Thor only kisses the angle of his temple and says, "I cannot right the wrongs that have been done, but I will do no more."

He steps back away from Loki and takes his hand in one of his. From the other, he produces the silver vessel. Its light pulses gold and warm in his palm.

"My brother," he says solemnly, "your lot is my lot, your hurts are my hurts, and if your soul belongs to you alone no longer, then neither does mine."

Loki clenches Thor's hand and shakes it insistently. "Brother, you don't know what it is you're offering."

Thor gazes at him soberly. "You said it yourself, what good is it doing anyone buried beneath that tree. You said they wanted a home."

"Yes but," Loki shakes his head, "you will never get it back. They will go evenly between us and, Thor, someone with greater skill than I might still be able to undo this, but if we do this, that hope is lost."

"What is it that you want?"

Loki's eyes search his face wildly. "I--" he stammers. "It's you, isn't it?" He looks bewildered and awed. "You know that. It's always going to be you."

Thor offers up his hand again. "Take me with you, then," he says, "whatever you can carry. Whatever you can fit inside your pocket." Loki laughs. His eyes are wet again but perfectly clear. Thor leans their heads together. "I can imagine you walking the skies and slipping between the stars. I can imagine the world’s only you can discover -- green worlds brimming with life. Crystalline worlds that the suns never shine. And maybe one day," he says, hushed, "when you've walked your fill, you will return, and I will welcome you into my hall and then, if you would like to stay, you can stay."

His brother breathes out quick and Thor can feel the tendrils of his breath caressing his face. "You have beautiful dreams," he whispers. "I used to wish I could live inside your dreams."

"I have never heard of a Jotun wanderer. I should like to think that my brother could be the first."

Loki nods but he says, "Wouldn't I be lonely, though? Walking alone." A beat. "I have never heard of an Aesir wanderer either."

Thor hums. "No, I suppose the Aesir are a warrior people. There isn't much wandering to be had save the travel of fighting."

"Would you come with me, if I asked you to?" Loki lays his hand carefully over Thor's chest, over his heart. "Would you walk the stars with me together?"

"Ah," Thor says, even as he feels Loki spinning tales inside his mind, great adventures across the stars, grand discoveries, quiet moments when the two of them can be alone. He pushes them gently aside. "But Asgard must have her king, but more than that, her chief protector. I cannot leave her as she is, vulnerable and unguarded."

"Brother, please," Loki says, pulling back and looking Thor fiercely in the eye. "You have spent your entire life in service of Asgard. I know," he says hastily before Thor can interject, "that that is what a king is, but even now that you are king, will you not have one thing for yourself? One dream?" he asks, his smooth voice making it sound so reasonable. "One thing that can be unquestionably and only yours? You are more than what you can do for others. You are so much more than a strong back that carries. My love, please," he says as he presses his lips to the palm of Thor's hand. "You have never had a choice either."

"No," Thor accedes, touching his brother's stained cheek, "but I would see these people safe from harm"

"And if they were safe, and then?" Loki asks breathlessly. "When there are no more wars to be waged or conquests to be had? When you have done your duty to these people, what then?"

"Then." Thor frowns outwardly, but he knows. In his heart, he knows. Kingship is sacrifice; it is a duty greater than his duty to himself. These people have nothing and want for everything, except for a king. How could he take that from them as well?

But I don't see why you can't just play along, says his brother's voice, so Thor lets himself smile slowly. "Well, I don't know. Where would you want to go first?"

Loki's face breaks then, as a storm that ends, as a new day that dawns, his smile warmer and brighter than all the sunlit summers Thor has ever known. He leans into the line of Thor's body. One hand fits into Thor's as their bound souls take up, at last, their rightful thrones. Thor feels hot and the cold and then nothing new in particular. Perhaps that is what it feels like to be whole, or perhaps it is simply only something that Thor has already found.

Loki's other hand curls gently over Thor's thundering throat. He says, "Then I can be happy--"

A moment later, his world explodes.

[thiswasinevitableid]

1. Siren Indruck NSFW, Duck is hauling supplies for the small town of Kepler on a tiny boat. Due to dangerous storms, Duck takes a longer but safer and less traversed route. He doesn’t know he’ll be passing through a Siren’s territory. A siren who is looking for a strong and sturdy mate

Here you go!

Duck never tells anyone what he finds on the beach that day. 

He’s fourteen, looking for useful flotsam and jetsam tossed onto the sand by an ongoing storm. What he finds is an empty boat and a merman, silvery tail impaled with a spear in a piece of driftwood. Each time he tries to free himself, he winces and is unable to pull the weapon from his body. When he sees Duck, his red eyes widen and he bares sharp teeth in a hiss. 

“It’s okay” the boy kneels in the bloody sand, “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Or, uh, this’ll hurt for a sec, but it’ll be better than tryin to ease it out bit by bit.” He grabs the end of the fishing spear and pulls. The merman shrieks, quickly clamping his hands across his mouth as Duck pulls his handkerchief from his pocket to bandage the wound. 

“There, you should be able to-”

The creature is gone with a whip of his tail, sliding down the sand and into the waves. As Duck stands, a strange song floats from the foam for the briefest instant. A seasoned sailor can tell a siren from a normal mer on sight; Duck has never been to sea. It’s weeks later that he wonders what events resulted in the wounded siren and an empty boat. 

-------------------------------

Any other day, Duck would put off this run until the black clouds no longer hung over the horizon. But the supply run last week didn’t come, so the isolated, coastal town of Kepler is running low on, among other things, the medicine needed to treat an illness spreading from house to house. He could put this off until tomorrow, but he won’t sleep well tonight if he does.

The boat loaded, he starts out to sea under unfriendly skies. Today is a day to follow the coastline and then circle Greenbriar Island to reach Kepler, rather than trying for a straight shot.  It’ll double his travel time, but it’s far safer in a storm and no one but a few locals know how to navigate it. Duck takes this route once or twice most years. This summer alone he’s had to take it six times, with today making a seventh. The abnormal number of storms weighs on the minds of coastal residents. Duck tries not to obsess over it, given that it’s solidly out of his control and there’s no use fussing over wind and rain; there’s only getting through them. 

Halfway through his journey, a rogue swell catches the underside of the boat and drags it along a rock, springing a leak in the hull. He ties off on a thin spire of stone, clambering onto a rock to try and repair the damage. It’s not a big leak, but it’ll be trouble if he lets it go. 

As he’s laying awkwardly with water lapping up his legs, a human head rises from the water a few feet from him. Silver hair, red eyes and, when it smiles, very sharp teeth. Harmless mermaids have teeth much like his own, which means he’s alone in the ocean with a fucking siren.

Duck’s learned many things since that day on the beach; how a song can paralyze a man better than poison, how the bite marks on the skin of certain bodies that wash ashore are called siren kisses

The siren begins swimming closer. Duck sighs, “If you’re gonna drown and eat me, can you do it on the way back?”

Red eyes blink, confused, but the siren stays where he is. 

“If I don’t make it to Kepler, lotta folks’ll get sick, some will even die. And I don’t think you got much use for medicine and canned food.”

The siren shakes his head. 

“Glad you understand.” Duck finishes his repairs under watchful eyes. At one point, the siren swims all the way to the rock Duck is perched on, resting his chin on his hands, as if enjoying the view. 

Duck scrambles back into the boat the moment he’s done, but no cold fingers try for his ankles and no splash announces something lunging upwards after him. A cautious glance as he starts the engine finds the siren sitting on the rock, silver-blue tail still half in the water. When he notices Duck looking, he waves. 

The rest of the journey goes as planned, the relief on folks faces when Duck docks worth the peril. When he reaches the siren’s territory on his return, no song tempts him. A lithe shape keeps pace with the boat, fin breaking the surface now and then. When he hits open water, the siren turns back, disappearing from view. 

-----------------------

There are sex dreams, and then there’s whatever the fuck Duck is having right now. Fingers stroke his hair, cling to his shoulders. Kisses coat his face and a voice whispers his name as the speaker offers themself to him again and again. He sees himself tangled with a man, face always just out of focus, who spreads his legs and lips so Duck can sink himself into the heat of his body. The dream is endless and he doesn’t care, doesn’t ever want to wake up. 

Saltwater in his lungs renders that desire useless. He snaps back to consciousness as another wave hits him; he’s up to his neck  in the cove below his house. 

“The fuck?” It’s only his footprints visible in the moonlight in the sand, so no one dumped him here. 

“Oh dear.”

“Jesus!” Duck stumbles back as glowing eyes peer around a rock. It’s the siren from yesterday, swimming purposefully as Duck wades backwards. 

“Look, uh, when I said I wanted you to wait to eat me, I wasn’t bein serious. Or, uh, I was, but I meant I didn’t want to be eaten ever, not just then. It was a, uh, a joke.”

“I am aware.” The siren stops as Duck topples on his ass in the shallow water, “and I am sorry. I, ah, I did not mean to lure you from your bed. I was not aware my mindless singing was enough to wake you. In most futures, you slept until dawn.”

“Uh huh, sure, because sirens are known to just serenade folks without wanting to drown ‘em.” 

“We do it more often than you might think.” The siren sighs, “I came here to keep you safe, and succeeded only in making you afraid.”

Duck, having scooted inelegantly onto dry land, watches the tan upper body of the siren sag. It’s awkward, a word not associated with this kind of mer. That suggests he’s telling the truth. 

“You gonna tell me why you’re playin watchdog at my house?” 

The siren chirps, intrigued, “In all but one future you told me to go away.”

“That’d just leave me with more questions. And so far, you ain’t done anythin other’n watch me; if you say this was an accident, I’m willin to hear you out.”

“Wonderful!” The siren claps his hands together and the tip of his tail flips out of the water. Then he clears his throat and recites, “I am known as Indrid Cold. As you noticed, I am a siren. I am also a gifted seer, artist, and lifeguard when humans are unconscious and thus will not try to kill me for rescuing them. I am an excellent fisher, and well-liked and/or feared by the larger creatures of this coastline. This is why I think I would be an excellent mate.”

“O-kay. Did you call me out here to practice your personals ad?” Duck smirks, charmed by Indrids earnest tone.

“This is not practice. I did a great deal of that earlier today. This is my formal declaration that I would very much like you to be my mate.”

“Ma--hold on.” The images from his near-fatal dream return, “were you singin’ to hit on me?”

Indrid crosses his arms, “For the last time, that song was not for you. It was about you, because I was daydreaming and my formless melody unintentionally conveyed the contents of said daydream into your mind.”

“So everythin in it, all that wild fuckin stuff, that’s stuff you wanna do with me?”

A nod, accompanied by a flash of white light under the water. 

“Why?”

“Because you are strong, and handsome, and capable on the water. I watched your futures yesterday and today and saw you are kind as well, well-liked by other humans but a little lonely at night. You are very nice to that small land-otter that lives in your house.”

“You mean the cat?”

“That’s the word! Yes, you are nice to your cat. You are not brash or cruel, and you look so very nice without a shirt. I...I like you, Duck. You are everything I want in a mate.”

“Feel like I might be missin’ some gills and fins.” He jokes to cover the fact he’s scanning his mind and body for the same dreamy lull he felt during the song. What he finds in it’s place is his ego purring from praise and wondering exactly what a siren would do for his mate.

“There is no rule that says I must choose only my own kind for such activities. I, ah, I know it is strange, given how little we know of each other, but I thought that, ah, since humans will have casual sex with each other maybe we could, or, ah, that is…” He’s watching Duck with such unconcealed hope that the human almost joins him in the water.

“Indrid, I’m real flattered. But I’d be a damn fool if I didn’t point out this feels like a fuckin trap. Pretty easy for you to drag me to my death once we’re, uh, in the middle of things. Not that I’m sayin you would.” He adds when the sirens smile dims. 

“A sensible concern. May I join you on land for a moment? There is something I want to show you.”

Duck pats the sand beside him, eyes following the ripples of Indrid’s tail as he swims, slithers, and slides onto the beach. It reminds Duck of an oarfish, though when Indrid spies him looking the scales flash deep purple. 

“Look there” Indrid points toward the end of the silver ribbon of scales; a round, white scar stares up at Duck. The details of a day over two decades in the past return to him.

“You’re the siren I found when I was a kid.”

“Indeed. I remember you by your eyes, though your face has some echoes of that day in it’s curves. You saved my life, showed me mercy when I expected none. Sirens do not forget a favor, and we do not kill those who once spared us. I will never harm you, even if you turn me away tonight. You will be safe, whether that is in my arms or merely in my territory.”

Duck avoids the stranger sides of life by the sea, citing a lifelong incompatibility with the weird. Turns out all he needed to find his exception to that rule is a handsome siren looking at him like he set the tides in motion. 

The human runs a finger up the sirens tail, sparks of purple and pale blue light igniting in it’s wake. 

“Didn’t know y’all changed colors.” He pets Indrid’s hip and the whole tail lights up this time. 

“I am a deep-sea siren by birth, we use light to communicate emotions.”

“Mind, uh, loopin me in on the conversation?”

“Purple means desire. It’s a common color in mating displays.” Indrid watches Duck’s hand  glide along his scales, and a burst of pale blue reflects across their faces. 

“And that one?”

“Submission.” Indrid murmurs, “it is, ah, not the most desirable color to show. My kind value strength and power; enjoying the opposite is an invitation to mockery.” The siren’s eyes stay downcast, even when Duck smooths silver hair from his face.

“Now, I like to joke as much as the next fella, but that don’t seem like somethin to tease about.”

“No?” Indrid’s gaze flicks onto Duck the instant before the man straddles him. Duck doesn’t even have to push him onto his back; he goes instantly, hands flat on the sand and tail twitching excitedly in the shallows. 

“No. Seems to me a sweet thing like you oughta be takin care of.” 

Indrid snickers, “That is not usually an adjective one uses for meAHahnn” he arches as Duck tugs his hair.

“Let’s get one thing straight, sugar; I decide what you get called. I wanna call you the most perfect creature in the sea, I will. And if I wanna call you a needy little mer who’s good for nothin but gettin fucked into the sand, you’re gonna nod and say ‘yes.’ Understood?”

The blue light flashing up his tail brightens, “Y-yes but, but why do you call me sugar? That is a food.”

Duck giggles, leans down to brush their noses together, “It’s a nickname, call you it because you’re sweet and I can’t wait to get my fill of you.”

“Ohhhh, I see.” 

“You wanna see somethin else?”

“Very much soOH, oh goodness.” Indrid gasps as Duck forces his gaze towards his cock attempting to free itself from his boxers. He grinds on the supple muscle of his tail to take the pressure off, chuckles when the siren whines and tries to kiss his chest. 

“Since you’re the only siren I’d ever even consider fuckin-” Duck pauses as Indrid moans loudly, digging his fingers into the sand, “you gotta show me how to go about it.”

“If, if you just continue as you are a little higher upyes, yes right there” He rolls his hips, purrs with such a blissful expression that Duck is powerless to do anything but kiss him. His affection grows when he notices Indrid clearly restraining his kisses so as not to catch Duck’s mouth or tongue with his sharp teeth. The last guy he fucked shoved his tongue down his throat without any build-up or finesse, and now all he can think is if only Indrid had made his feelings know sooner, Duck could have done away with shitty human dates and had an obedient, eager mer instead. 

“Mmmmm” Indrid licks his lips, runs his fingers up Duck’s sides, “kissing is nice. It is not something sirens often indulge in, so my chances to do it are few and far between.”

“Ain’t that a shame” Duck kisses the corners of his mouth, “lips like these were made to be kissed sore.”

Indrid purrs, wiggling his tail, and Duck looks down to see a slit opening where his clothed cock has been rubbing. 

“Huh. Kinda figured you had-”

“-I have both this and an appendage below it much like your own.”

“Handy.” Duck, in no mood to climb off the purring, otherworldly man, eases the waistband of his damp boxers just under his balls. 

“This, uh, this ain’t gonna actually create a, I mean, I don’t wanna accidentally-”

“Nono, there is no chance of procreation”

“And you’ll be okay with so little of you in the water?”

“Yesyes I will be fine.” Indrid tugs at his hips, bucks his own into the air in frustration. 

“Just checkin’ oh, oh fuck” Indrid is tight and ridged around his dick as it slides in, “fuckin christ, no wonder sailors’ll crash into rocks at the offerin of fuckin a siren, wait, fuck, that was probably rude.”

“I will let it slide” Indrid teases, the end of his tail curling around Duck’s left ankle, “on account of your body is so lovely I would beach myself and die gasping on your doorstep for a chance to touch it.”

“No need for that. All you gotta do is wait here like a good little mer and I’ll fuck you as much as you want.” The slit pulses as Duck slowly fucks in and out, and he knows he’ll have to throw out all his fleshlights after this because nothing will ever compare to the deliciously alien feeling of Indrid around his dick. 

“Do, do not joke about such things.” Indrid whimpers, clinging to his shoulders.

“I ain’t. You wanted a mate, right?”

“Yes, you, so very badly.”

“Well, you got one, and you feel so goddamn good on my cock I ain’t inclined to let you swim off and be someone else’s.”

“I do not want to, I only want you, please, please let me stay.”

Duck stills his hims and the siren writhes as he leans down. The human cups his cheek, “I want you to stay, ‘Drid. I wanna get to know you. Long as you promise you ain’t gonna fuck me unless you want to, and not because you’re scared I’ll turn you loose.”

“I promise.” Indrid initiates the kiss this time, purring when Duck takes his time kissing back. 

“Good. Now that we got that cleared up” Duck sits up, “be a good mate and take what I give you.” He fucks in as hard as he dares, dives back down to kiss Indrid’s lips and throat as the mer’s cock emerges. Duck finds he can grind his ass along the twisting shaft at the same time he drives his own into Indrid’s body, resulting in a wail of pleasure and teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

“Fuck!”

“Sorry!” Indrid squeaks, hiding his face in Duck’s neck, “it, it is a reflex-”

Duck yanks his head back to his shoulder, near the first mark, and holds it down, “Do it again.”

Indrid trills and pain lights up Duck’s body, the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure coursing through him with each roll of their bodies. The siren chirps and moans, nips his arms and ears, slides his tail along his legs as his cock pumps frantically against his ass.

“That’s it sweet thing, cum for me while I fuck you. Show me just what my mate is for.” Duck bites Indrid’s neck and cum splatters the backs of his thighs as Indrid’s repetitions of his name drown out the noise of the waves.  Duck’s orgasm follows fast, sweeps through him like the crescendo of a song carried on the night air. 

Duck stays buried in him well after he’s finished, mind already conjuring images of tying Indrid down in shallow water and keeping his cock warm all day.

“Duck?”

“Yeah, sugar?” 

“I, ah, I need to get back in the water.”

“Oh shit, yeah, sure.” He pulls out, tosses his sea-soaked boxers up the beach as Indrid slides into the sea. Duck wades in, stopping where it’s waist deep as the siren swims lazily circles around him. 

“Such a perfect mate.”

“Glad you still think so.”

Indrid curls up to him, rubbing their cheeks together, “Thank you for indulging me. Do...do you wish me to come back tomorrow? Or to stay tonight? There are no other mers between here and my territory, so there is no reason I cannot count this stretch as mine.”

Duck kisses one of the hickeys blooming on tan skin, “How’s about you stay the night. We got some things to talk about. And, if you’re real good, I might let you fuck me when we’re done.”

Indrid grins, “My dearest one, I believe we have a deal.”

----------------------------------------------

Nowadays, if you ever go near Kepler and the surrounding islands, you may hear people talk about Duck Newton, beloved native son, skilled park ranger, and the only man receive siren kisses and live to tell the tale. 

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (3/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of Eden club and an angry Sabini

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (not romantic..yet)

A/n: This chapter was very hard and long to write but im glad i got it done to share with you all. I have some cool plans for the next chapter and i promise theres actually gonna be alot of Tommy in the next chapter. so yay.

It wasn’t too long after the fight and gunshot scare when the Eden decide to finally close for the night. Leaving you, Trinity, and the rest of the workers left with a mess to clean. You can see Alastair giving you looks as the men staring from before lean in and whisper in his ear.

 “Those men are kiss assess to Sabini. They’ll say anything to get on his goes side.” Trinity whispers as the two of you sweep shards of glass and garbage off the floor.

 You can feel their eyes on your back as you worked. You stay silent the rest of night, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself. But as you and Trinity clock out for the night, Alastair’s calls out for you. Trinity eyes widen with panic. You straighten your back as you walk toward the man.

 “Ill be out here waiting.” Trinity calls out to you.

 Alastair arms are folded across his chest, bags under his eyes forming from the long night, and his hair disheveled. You never really had any relationship with Alastair. You knew him who he was, of course. Second to Sabini, runs the club and anything else Sabini didn’t want to deal with. He was loyal to the man, so there was no doubt in your mind that he told Sabini about tonight. 

“(y/n), I just wanted to tell you that Sabini is gonna want to see you in three days. The diner at twelve,” He doesn’t make eye contact as he speaks, “I’ve also told Sabini about tonight. Your name came up.”

 “What do you mean?” You tilt your head to the side, ignoring the feeling of your blood turning cold.

 “Some guys said they saw you speaking to Thomas Shelby.”

 You open your mouth to speak but Alastair beats you to it. “It doesn’t matter what it was about. Or even if its true. You know I gotta report this shit. Boys saw you and said it looked like you knew each other… I’m just giving you a heads up.”

He walks away with nothing more to add to the conversation.

“Goodnight Alastair.” You say.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

 *******************************************************************************************

Trinity the good friend that she is waits outside, walking around in circles anxiously waiting for you. When the door open and you walk out, she sighs and her shoulders finally relax.

 “Are you okay? What happened in there?” She questions.

 You loop your arms through hers and lead her down the sidewalk. You lean towards her ear as soon as your far enough from the club.

 “He’s gonna fucking kill me.” You whisper through gritted teeth and tears threatening to fall.

 “What, why?” Trinity stops looking at you in confusion and fear.

And you tell her what Alastair just told you and how now you have to meet up with Sabini himself.

 “You said it was nothing though.” Trinity says.

 You stay silent.

“(y/n), it was nothing, right? You don’t know him.” She asks you.

You continue with your silence. Trinity’s eyebrows raise and her jaw drops.

“Are you serious?”

“It was just,” You struggle to find the right words, “business. That Asylum I was in, he got me out.” You explain.

“Why would he do that?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, “He wanted information on my father…”

A pause in the air. You take a deep breath and stare at your friend. Her eyes huge and full of fear.

“Some men said they saw me and Shelby talking. We looked liked we knew each other. Sabini won’t take that well. And you know he believes his guys over everything.”

“So you lie your ass off.” Trinity declares, her voice trembling as she tries to sound strong. 

 You nod hearing her words. But deep inside you had a bad feeling. You seem to never escape the dangers of death or some sort of imprisonment. You head goes back Mr. Shelby’s words from earlier.

“Its funny, for someone who longs for freedom you sure have a way of getting yourself trapped all the time.”

 You wonder if he says shit like that cause he knows its gonna hurt. You never told the man about your desire for freedom. You knew from that one meeting in that visitors room he was analyzing you as were you to him. Only you got nothing from him and he seemed to get more than he let on.

 “I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.” You tell Trinity.

 *******************************************************************************************

You walk into an a very lit room with dining tables and chairs all around. It looked like a place you’d have brunch at. A place around this time which looked to be noon, would be crowed. But only one man sat with his back towards you. Sabini was reading the newspaper, flipping the pages harshly. It looked to you like he was only reading the headlines. He glances up noticing another presence near him.

“(Y/N), sit. “He gestures to the seat right next to him. The air is tense around him and as you sit, faking a smile.

He takes a moment to speak. “Do you wanna hear a story?”

“You don’t have to play games with me Sabini. What happened?” You cross you legs as you put a cigarette in your mouth.

“How long have you known Thomas Shelby?”

You light the cigarette and puff out a stream of smoke in the air. “Never heard of him.”

“The man you were talking to last night.”

“I talked to a lot of men last night.” You add.

“The one who caused a commotion in the club.” He grinds his teeth and narrowing his eyes, not liking the game you’re playing.

“I don’t know Sabini, I think he asked me for a drink or something.”

Sabini leans forward in the chair, lightly touching your knee. You hold the urge to cringe and slap his hand away.

“I don’t believe you.” He says and he leans back, grabbing his newspaper pretending to read it again. His eyebrow twitches as he does.

You stay silent, knowing that anything you say would just make matters worse. You hold the cigarette out in front of you no longer wanting to smoke.

“I had someone look through some of Blue Hills Records. Your father put donations every year to place to secure you staying there. The month you get out Thomas fuckin Shelby puts a donation. A fuckin big one. Tell me, did he buy you to be his whore?”

He looks up from the paper again and stares at you intently. He sighs.

“I won’t kill you (Y/N) but you gotta go. Get out of my fucking territory and make sure I don’t see your face again. Cause if I do I wont hesitate.” He says.

You nod. Not trusting your voice to stay even.

He holds up three fingers. “You got three days to disappear.” He waves his hand for you to go. You don’t waste no time in doing so. Letting the cigarette drop on the floor on your way out. 

You head back to your apartment and the first thing you do is cry. You absolutely had no place to go. The only friend you had was Trinity and she lived in Sabini’s territory. One conversation landed you jobless and homeless with a death threat hanging over your head by a single thread. You curse yourself from ever talking to him. The conversation not even 3 minutes wasn’t worth all this damage.

The phone rings across your room. You don’t want to talk but know it must be Trinity. You pick it up and sure enough its her, worried as hell. You tell her every detail that happened, letting your anxieties fumble through the phone to your friend.

“I might have a fried who can take you in. She just moved into a house and she’s far from anything of Sabinis.” You hear Trinity say

“Okay, okay great. Can you call her up?” Your shoulders relaxing little by little with this new piece of hope.

“Yes, of course. Ill call her now!”

“Wait, what’s her name?”

“Ada Thorne, beautiful soul. I think you’ll get along lovely with her.” 

Read pt.4

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@captivatedbycillianmurphy

[holidaywishes]

The Light Beyond The Stars V

part v: a secret we dare not share

  Summary of series: When Malcolm is young, he dreams of a place where  he could run off to and leave his life behind. When he meets Cassandra, his perspective changes and his dreams only include her.

  Summary of Chapter: Cassandra has been banned from seeing Malcolm but she doesn’t listen; Malcolm’s sister, Charlotte, gets infected with the Plague and her odds don’t look good.

  Warning: Soft smut, fluff, talk of illness and death

  Author’s Note: I wanted to add a smut chapter before Malcolm became Peter because I wanted there to be a piece of him that was human before he turned all bad; a piece of him that he would remember as good if he ever needed to, if that makes sense. This is a short chapter because I just wanted it to showcase their little innocent love story before things got super intense. There probably won’t be too many other smut chapters going forward (because of the age discrepancy thing between my actual age and the age that Robbie Kay portrays Peter as, which I’m assuming is 16,) but we’ll see how things go with the series. I’m excited to get into some of the serious stuff soon and I hope you guys enjoy keep enjoying the series!

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Cassandra’s P.O.V 

  Running off to find Malcolm after your father tried to convince you not to was a snap decision that you knew could end terribly. But you had to do it. You couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who showed you the stars and invited you to magical worlds. The boy who smiled at you and made your mind go blank. Not seeing him was too much of a punishment to bear, so you decided not to bear it anymore.

  “Where have you been?” Malcolm called out to you while he leaned against the barn door

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Avoiding Francis...”

  “What happened this time?”

  “Charlotte...” he sighed, “she’s sick. The illness going around seems to have found her. Francis claims it’s my fault and he hasn’t stopped yelling at me since”

  “I’m so sorry” you said, making your way to stand next to him, rubbing his arm before leaning against the barn

  “Thanks” he almost groaned

  “Malcolm...” you started, turning to face him, “I’m here if you need to talk. Or if you don’t want to talk...”

  “What about your dad?” he asked

  “What about him?”

  “He doesn’t like me...” he scoffed, “there’s no way he’s going to let you spend time with me alone with me.” You laughed slightly before nodding to yourself

  “Who says he has to know?”

  “Don’t you think he’ll wonder if you keep running off?”

  “Probably,” you snickered, “but he can’t control me.” You bit your lip as you thought about how your dad would react to your being here right now

  “You have to go don’t you?” he laughed

  “What?” you said quietly, “no. I just got here.”

  “Cassie,” he sighed, “I can see your mind racing. Go. Take care of what you have to take care of, I’ll be fine.”

  “Malcolm, I don’t want to leave you alone. Not when everything is going on here...”

  “I’ll be fine. If anything happens, I’ll come to you” he smiled before giving you a hug and sending you on your way. You stopped for a second and looked back at him, just in time to catch Malcolm waving you goodbye; a feeling of unease washing over you as you saw him walk into the barn.

xx

Malcolm’s P.O.V

  She lay there as still as if she was having a deep sleep. But she had no breath. Her chest would not rise and fall nor would her eyes flutter. She would rest forever in her youth, a porcelain face of innocence soon to be packaged in a small wooden box.

  “Her death is your fault,” Francis spat at you, alcohol spilling from his mouth, “my daughter would never have gotten sick if it weren’t for you.”

  “I miss her too!” you shouted

  “YOU KILLED HER!” he continued, “YOU SPEND ALL YOUR TIME WAITING FOR THAT GIRL IN THAT SQUARE WITH ALL THOSE INFECTED PEOPLE. YOU BROUGHT THAT DISEASE HERE TO MY HOUSE. AND NOW MY DAUGHTER IS DEAD!”

  “STOP IT!” you yelled again before Francis’ face went beet red and his open hand connected with the side of your face, the sound of the slap carrying through the small space.

  “Get out!” Francis said sternly, gesturing toward the barn, “I don’t want to see you here again. You can live in the barn but you are not to set foot inside this house. Do you hear me?!” You didn’t answer, choosing instead to storm out of the door and into the barn; pacing once you climbed the ladder to the space you’d spent so much of your time with Charlotte. You fell back onto the bale of hay and brought your hands to your face; maybe he was right, you thought, maybe I did bring the illness back to Charlotte. When your hands left your face, you were left looking up at the orange sky as the sun began to set and your mind drifted to Cassandra

  “I don’t want to leave you alone” you recalled her voice from your conversation earlier and your response, ‘I’ll come to you,’ in return. You didn’t waste much time running out of the barn and toward Cassandra’s home; unconscious of the tears beginning to stream down your face. You circled around to Cassandra’s window and tapped on the glass to get her attention

  “Malcolm?” she whispered as she opened the window, “is everything okay?”

  “I just needed to see you,” you said, “can we go somewhere?” You noticed her purse her lips to the side before looking at the door

  “Okay” she smiled as she climbed out of her window, clutching your hand for stability. She faltered as she tried to step out of the window, her foot catching the inside of the window sill and you caught her before either of you could fall.

  “Are you alright?” you asked and she giggled before staring at you

  “What’s wrong?” she gasped seeing the streams of tears on your face. You just shook your head before leading her on a walk, “Malcolm? please, talk to me. Why were you crying?” She stopped walking to stand in front of you, so you would look at her you assumed

  “Charlotte...” you started, letting out a small sigh, “she didn’t make it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Malcolm” she said, taking a seat on a small bench as you did the same

  “You should’ve seen her, Cassie,” you dropped your head to your hands, feeling Cassandra’s hand rubbing your back to comfort you, “her skin was pale, as if she were already a ghost, but her fingers were black.” You continued to tell her about Charlotte and about how Francis kicked you out

  “Do you need somewhere to stay?” she asked

  “I’ll be fine in the barn...”

  “You’ll freeze”

  “There’s no way that your dad would even think of letting me stay”

  “Maybe he would... if he knew what was going on” she shrugged and you could tell she was just trying to help but you knew she couldn’t so you let out a sigh, standing up and outstretching your hand to her

  “Let’s go” you said and she took your hand. The two of you made your way back to the barn to look out at the stars again.

  “I remember when I first met, Charlotte,” she said lightly, “she was so sweet.”

  “She loved you,” you laughed, “I swear, she wanted to be you.” She took your hand in hers, tracing the lines on your palm before looking back at you

  “I truly am sorry, Malcolm.” Your eyes danced between hers and you could see her skin flush pink, as if she knew what your next step would be before you made it.

xx

Cassandra’s P.O.V

  You watched Malcolm inch closer to you and your heart began to race as you instinctively moved closer to him, stopping him just before his lips met yours

  “You’re upset, Malcolm. You just lost your sister,” you sighed, feeling his warm breath brush across your skin as the two of you were impossibly close, “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do...” He placed his finger under your chin, tilting your eyes towards his

  “There’s nothing I want more in this moment” he whispered, his lips brushing across yours as your eyes took in the innocent details of his face that had been met by the angry hand of Francis; your hand moving to examine them before he gently pulled your hand away from his face. Neither of you had made a move yet but his hands moving to rest on your waist seemed to be the catalyst that pulled the two of you together. The kiss was soft at first but soon turned heated as your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers curling the ends of his hair, while his hands roamed up to the sides of your neck and his hips moved closer to yours. He was the first to break the kiss, moving down to your neck while you caught your breath, letting out small moans as his lips continued to trail down your neck. Eventually, you rolled onto your back, Malcolm gently following your lead, hovering over you as he leaned on his forearms, his breath fanning across your face, “are you okay?” he asked and you realized how innocent both of you were in that instant. How you’d never actually been touched this way before, how he was so gentle with the way he approached you and kissed you and caressed your skin. You realized that his lips were the first you’d ever tasted and you hoped that yours were the first for him as well. You nodded quickly, letting him know you wanted to continue, and he laid a sweet kiss to your forehead before lifting the long hem of your dress up, his calloused hands moved up your legs before finding themselves pulling the feather light fabric off your shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the skin there while your breathing increased. He leaned against his forearms once more, taking a moment to look into your eyes before he thrust into you, checking if you were alright once more and you nodded with a smile. With each move he made, you found yourself digging your nails into his back, dropping your head back against the small pile of hay he’d put down for you. You could feel small drops of sweat bead from his forehead onto your skin and you giggled at the cold temperature that differed from the heat radiating from your own skin

  “Sorry,” you smiled, “you’re just sweating a little...”

  “Sorry” he blushed, leading you to pull him down to kiss his lips as he continued to thrust into you, pulling away from your lips to let out a raspy moan to which you reciprocated with a whimper. You bit his shoulder when he leaned down to muffle your sounds while Malcolm began to rock faster into you; your breath hitching in your throat as his hips pulsed quickly before letting out a groan and dropping on top of you, the two of you panting almost in sync

  “Hi” you whispered to him as he rolled off of you and laid beside you

  “Hi,” he replied, taking your hand gently in his to trace the lines as you had done earlier on his palm, “how are you feeling?”

  “Good,” you smiled, letting out a playful giggle before kissing his nose, “how are you feeling?”

  “Good.” He smiled back, planting a kiss to the back of your hand and moving the hair from your face, “you’re beautiful.” You blushed at his words and bit your lip before pecking his lips

  “Was I..” you began, “I mean was that.. your first time?”

  “Was it yours?” he said, seemingly avoiding the question

  “Yes” he smiled at your confession and wrapped his arm around you while you both looked up at the stars through the whole in the roof

  “Mine too” he finally whispered. You were only now registering just how late it was and you feared that your father would come looking for you.

  “Oh no!” you gasped, “I really should get back. My father... Anthea might... I’m sorry, Malcolm.” You started to run down the stairs, not having taken off too much clothing to begin with, you didn’t have to struggle to put anything back on too quickly

  “Let me at least take you home” he pleaded

  “I can’t. If my father sees you, he’ll.. be so angry and I don’t want to ruin this.”

  “Cassandra!” he whisper-yelled as you ran away from the barn, causing you to turn back to him, “I love you!” You were about to say the words back when you noticed a candle had just been lit in the small house across the way and that Francis was likely coming to investigate the noise he heard, so you and Malcolm both ran in opposite directions; leaving you unable to reciprocate his feelings.

[royalnugget42]

SPN is ending

And here’s my take on how it will go down, based on the limited knowledge we have. Please be aware that these are not foolproof predictions. Title analysis can only get you so far, and some of the titles are vague enough that they could mean just about anything. Still I’d like to try my best to predict the narrative based on how I would go about it and based on the vague references.

I’ll go episode by episode, include as many details as I can reasonably add, and try to keep my Destiel shipping goggles off as much as possible. Buckle up.

14

First one is pretty easy. Episode 14, “Last Holiday” promises to be kind of literal, with a mysterious figure appearing and giving Jack, Sam, and Dean the holidays they missed out on. However, I was curious, since Supernatural has a habit of including obscure or not so obscure references in their titles, if there was any other thing we could correlate this to.

There is actually a movie called “Last Holiday” starting Queen Latifah, whose character is diagnosed with a terminal illness, which results in her making the decision to abandon her boring life and live like a millionaire in Europe.

The idea of the fight with Chuck being a “terminal illness” on the horizon could be why now is the best time for these guys to live it up.

This possible reference coupled with the ‘last’ seems to say that this episode will be a sort of final moment of levity before the endgame. Past this episode there be monsters, lads. I’d also like to point out that since it will be just Jack and the brothers if the promo photos are anything to go by, this will be a good time to get in some forgiveness and family bonding for our characters before things go downhill again.

Looking at promo photos for this episode again, I’m not sure where, but the episode may also carry some development for the plot. I’m not sure whether the photos of Cas, Amara, and Charlie were for this episode or another one (since they are not listed as cast members for the episode on IMDb), but we’ll be seeing all of them again soon it looks like, and I can’t wait for Cas and Jack to go on a hunt together again.

15

This episode will be the beginning of the descent. We’re standing on the edge and staring into the void, and we’re about to take the plunge. How do I know this?

“Gimme Shelter”, the title for this new episode, seems to have a literal meaning of the characters continuing to try to hide from God. However, as usual, the title is also a reference, this time to a song by The Rolling Stones. The lyrics to said song are nice and foreboding.

Oh, a storm is threat'ning

My very life today

If I don't get some shelter

Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away

War, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

War, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'

Our very street today

Burns like a red coal carpet

Mad bull lost its way

War, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

War, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away

Rape, murder!

It's just a shot away

It's just a shot away (3X)

The floods is threat'ning

My very life today

Gimme, gimme shelter

Or I'm gonna fade away

War, children, it's just a shot away

It's just a shot away (4X)

I tell you love, sister, it's just a kiss away

It's just a kiss away (5X)

Kiss away, kiss away

Cue nervous anticipation

This is definitely where things are going to really pick up plot wise. Most likely, more will be revealed about Billie’s Plan to Kill God TM. Although, the idea of Death herself leading the Winchesters to victory feels sketchy to me still. She is deliberately withholding all the details, and she’s doing it for a reason.

Something down the line is going to make the Winchesters angry with her, and she’s not going to tell them about it unless it’s absolutely necessary. I have a feeling what it is will get revealed in the next episode.

16

“Drag Me Away (From You)” has some very clear negative connotations, and on top of everything has a weird format. It could be based on the lyric from Africa by Toto, ‘it’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you’, or a reference to the song “Drag Me Away” by Melissa Etheridge, whose lyrics mention angels, and are about resistance and perseverance, two defining characteristics of the Winchesters. However, I’d like to point out another correlation.

Like I said before, the title has a weird format. The only other episode of Supernatural with a similar title to this one is season 12 episode 12 “Stuck in the Middle (With You)”. That episode was about what seemed like a normal hunt, but was actually a mission for Mary by the British Men of Letters to get the Colt. In that episode, Cas came ridiculously close to dying a painful and slow death, which does not bode well for this episode if it’s correlated in any way.

If what I’m predicting for Billie’s plan is true, this episode will be where the viewers are clued in on the thing she won’t tell the Winchesters about. The brothers might not necessarily get clued in (like how they still hadn’t realized Mary’s involvement with the BMOL at the end of 12x12), but whatever Billie is withholding will have serious consequences.

For this episode, I predict that Cas will come absurdly close to death again, because I believe Billie’s plan involves him dying. Billie doesn’t consider Cas a member of TFW. Multiple times in the most recent episodes, she talks about how important Jack is, how important the Winchesters are, but never Cas, and it feels like a weird oversight.

“Ever since I got this new job, I stand witness to a much larger picture. You know what I see? You. And your brother. You’re important.” 13x05 “Advanced Thanatology”

“I told you Dean, you and your brother have work to do.” 15x12 “Galaxy Brain”

Surely Cas has a part to play, since he’s one of the main characters right? But Billie doesn’t trust Cas, as well she shouldn’t. Cas is a wildcard, an angel who doesn’t do as he’s told. He straight up stabbed her in the back, something that she was completely caught off guard by.

I could make an entire post about how Cas hasn’t played by the rules of the universe since season 4 episode 18 “The Monster at the End of This Book”, but I digress. The point is that this episode is probably going to shed some light on the true threat the team is facing. Which leads us into...

17-18

Here’s where things start to get muddy. The titles from this point on get vague, and without any solid information about the previous episodes, these could be headed anywhere.

“Unity” is the next episode, number 17, and that could mean a lot of things. In my proposed timeline it is after a supposed revelation about Billie’s plan, so maybe they feel more unified after learning it.

In Supernatural‘s usual story structure, though, it feels like this episode will probably be the buildup to what seems like the end of the villain, but will actually be the darkest hour.

The episode following right after this is titled “Despair” and I think that’s telling. Supernatural writers do this often, where the boys make a plan, and inevitably when they follow it something goes wrong. “Unity” is the plan being made and carried out, and “Despair” is either the episode where everything goes wrong, or the aftermath.

[EDIT: The title of episode 18 is actually “The Truth”, which I believe may still narratively serve the same purpose, but now I’m more convinced that this is where the Winchesters learn about Castiel’s deal and/or something that Billie has been keeping from them about the plan to kill God. Thank you to @kingofthecrossroads for the updated information.]

Before I go into detail about this two-episode arc, an obligatory

Warning: Shipping Ahead

To my eyes, “Unity” seems like the perfect place for Castiel’s arc to reach a breaking point. If I’m right, and this is the episode where everything seems to succeed, then what better time for The Empty to snatch Cas away from his happiness.

If I was a writer, and I was in fact planning on making Destiel canon, this is where I’d do it. It makes the most sense to have Dean and Cas finally realizing their love for each other be the catalyst for Cas “finally giving himself permission to be happy” especially if this episode also contains a false climax regarding the Chuck storyline. Cas has said multiple times that he’s “far from happy”, so there has to be something huge happen for Cas to get there. Not to mention, Cas would be a sort of vessel for the audience, simultaneously happier than we’ve ever been because we were finally right, and sadder than ever because Cas is gone.

“Despair” won’t just be despair that the plan failed. It could also be Dean’s despair at losing Cas, our despair at seeing our hopes for them dashed.

[EDIT: Again, the title will NOT be “Despair” it will be “The Truth”, but I still think it’s telling that Despair was a working title for long enough that it’s on the IMDb page, and if “The Truth” contains the truth about how Dean and Cas feel about each other, then this will still be a dark episode.]

Shipping over, let’s continue.

19

Now we come to another referential episode, “Inherit the Earth”. There’s really not enough information to have anything solid regarding the nitty gritty details, but we can take a look at what this title is most likely referencing. “Inherit the Earth” is just a tiny part of a common phrase. It’s used in media all the time, but we’re interested in the original source.

I’m not sure if the episode will contain references to all the pieces of this passage from the Bible, but “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth” seems to build off of the last episode, “Despair”. Another translation for the word meek in this instance may have been “powerless”, and after the negative moments in the previous episode TFW would probably feel pretty powerless. Maybe, in the previous episodes, Jack failed and lost his powers again, and that’s what caused Despair, but now he will inherit the powers that God had, or inherit control of earth.

If the rest of the passage is to be taken into account here, there’s also the “poor in spirit” who will ascend to the “kingdom of heaven”, possibly a reference to Cas being depressed and fighting for Heaven to be maintained. “Those who mourn will be comforted”, and that may actually bode well for Sam and Dean, who constantly mourn for the friends they’ve lost. Maybe in this episode they’ll get some closure on that front, maybe with their friends trapped in Hell going to Heaven (Kevin). The next line after “inherit the earth” refers to “those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”, and if that isn’t Michael/Adam to a T...maybe this will be the episode we see him team up to fight God. I’m not sure who the last line might refer to other than Sam, if you have any ideas feel free to tell me.

And after all this, we have the big one.

20

“Carry On” is referring to “Carry On My Wayward Son” by Kansas, and I don’t have a clue what it will entail. If the previous episode goes well, then this will be a sort of epilogue, with a (hopefully) happy ending for TFW, maybe we see Eileen and Sam get together, some kind of family dinner with Jody and the girls to resolve that plot line, or potentially, if the writers plan on doing it, a scene confirming Destiel.

It’d be interesting if they showed the brothers going on a normal, run-of-the-mill hunting trip, like a simple salt-and-burn, or even a (different) woman in white. It would be a nice way to bookend the story, to end on a hunt, but instead of the brothers on their own, it’s the brothers with the help of everyone they’ve come to know and care about in their journey, all the lives they’ve touched.

If, however, the conflict is not resolved by the end of the previous episode, this could be the resolution and epilogue all rolled into one, though if it were me I would want as much time as possible to resolve any lingering character questions because, at the end of the day, Supernatural has survived because of the characters. They are what people stay for, what they watch for.

Reminder that all of this is speculation. I do not know what will happen, this is just how I think the story could progress based on what we know so far.

For better or for worse, at this point Supernatural will be over. Will they do a perfect job? Probably not. This is Supernatural, it’s not the most perfect show. However, I’m excited to see where the writers will go with it. They have their work cut out for them.

[EDITED]

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 9  (Calum Hood AU)

HANGOVERS WERE SUCH a bitch.  Not only was my head pounding like a jackhammer, my body felt physically ill.  I could barely move when I woke up the next morning, not to mention the night before took a while to even remember.  I pieced together flashes until a succinct timeline began to form.  I remembered fruity drinks and loud music and a scratchy beard and a dark-haired boy that I kept pushing away whenever he reached out to help me.  As soon as I remembered Calum practically peeling the stranger off of me, my stomach twisted into knots.  It was humiliating, and my reaction to him didn’t help my case.  I didn’t necessarily regret having fun with a random guy in a club, but it wasn’t my finest hour for sure.  And though I was beyond irritated that Calum thought he had to save me, he deserved more of a thanks than I gave him.

But would I admit this to him in the light of a new day?  Absolutely not.

I couldn’t stay in my room forever, and I didn’t want to give Calum any suspicion that last night meant something or had rattled me more than it did.  My head was hurting way too much to study the details and figure out if Calum had any ulterior motives.  Besides, so what if he did?  I didn’t like Calum and he didn’t like me.

When I stumbled into the kitchen, surely looking like a zombie fresh out of a grave, Luke gave me a sympathetic smile.  

“Morning, sunshine,” he joked lightly as I grabbed a box of cereal and collapsed in the chair next to him.  His blue eyes were kind as he took in my awful appearance.  “Fun night?”

“You could say that,” I grumbled, blindly reaching into the box as I ate the cereal dry.  It was sugary and vaguely reminiscent of cardboard, but since I was hungover it tasted like the best damn food I’d ever had.

Hannah was sprawled across Ashton on the living room couch, and she gave me a half-hearted wave.  He was rubbing her shoulders and she looked half-dead too.  I bet her hangover was just as bad as mine.

“Why do we drink?” she groaned, rubbing her temples.  Ashton laughed and toyed with her hair, but she swatted at him.  “I’m serious, I always forget how much being hungover sucks.”

I took a big handful of cereal.  “Because being drunk is fun.”  It was true; I don’t think I’d ever laughed as much in one day as I did last night.  Sure, being drunk made me slightly stupid and naive, but at least I was blissfully ignorant.

“You would call what happened fun?”

My guard flew up as soon as Calum walked in.  His tone was sharp and accusing, and I grit my teeth.  I hadn’t told Hannah exactly what happened with the blonde guy; when she’d asked if I ever found him, I said I did and that he was a half-decent kisser.  I left out the part where he nearly took all my clothes off in a crowded club and Calum came in to save me.

My skin prickled as he sat in the chair diagonal to me, eyebrows raised in expectation.

I chewed slowly on the cereal, tentatively asking, “What?”

“You’re eating my cereal.”

Blinking in surprise, I glanced at the box.  It was the stupid frosted stuff he ate every damn day, and I had my hand buried in it.  Flushing a deep red, I handed him the box and swallowed the half-chewed lump of cereal in my mouth, choking slightly as it went down the wrong pipe.

“Sorry,” I wheezed, avoiding his gaze as per usual.  I had no idea what he thought of last night, and I wasn’t about to find out in front of all our friends.  They began to clear out one by one though, as Luke and Michael left for work and Ashton attempted to disconnect from Hannah who held on to him like a child.

“You’re girlfriend is dying and you’re just gonna leave?” she cried, dramatically throwing a hand across her forehead.  Ashton rolled his eyes and moved her legs off his lap.

“You’re not dying babe, you’re hungover.  And you have Calum and Scarlett to take care of you.”

Hannah pouted.  “Scarlett’s hungover too, so that leaves Calum alone to take care of both of us.”

“I don’t need Calum to take care of me,” I muttered, not even fully aware that I said the words out loud.  Fortunately I said it too quiet for Hannah or Ashton to hear, but Calum visibly tensed in front of me.

“Oh, really?” he fired back, jabbing his spoon roughly into the bowl of cereal before him. 

Leaning back with my arms folded, I forced my face to remain neutral.  “Really.  I don’t need someone coddling me, I can deal with things myself.”

This made him look up, and piercing brown eyes trapped my green ones.  He looked almost angry.  “And what exactly are you dealing with?”  His question left me floored, and I couldn’t help the surprised gasp that left my lips.  But then I straightened in the chair, controlling my shock.

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned closer so his words only reached my ears.  “I don’t believe this bullshit about being on a break from school.  We all know Hannah lied, so how do we know you aren’t lying too?”

“We should be respecting my damn privacy, because it’s none of your business.”  Panic bells were sounding in my brain.  I thought no one questioned my half-assed explanation for leaving school, but clearly one person saw right through the bullshit.

Calum exhaled through his nose.  “Whatever it is you’re trying to hide from just became my damn business last night when I had to save you from yourself.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” I hissed.  “And you don’t have to save me from myself, like I said I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” he whispered, and we had both leaned forward to the point where we were only inches away from each other.  “You were drowning your sorrows in cheap cocktails and gross guys.  People who are fine don’t do that.”

My chest was rising and failing erratically, my heart pounding just as hard as the migraine in my head.  “You don’t know anything about me, Calum.”  

The intensity in his expression had me by the throat, and I couldn’t have looked away even if I wanted to.  From such a close proximity I saw the way his jaw was set, how his brows were low with concentration.  I also noticed the two small moles on his cheek, and how his hair had the gentlest of curls.  I wondered what he was noticing about me.

Finally, painstakingly, he replied, “You’re right.  I don’t have a clue.”  And then he leaned back, breaking the brief connection we’d had and leaving me with a wall of cold air between us.

“What are you guys bickering about now?” Hannah called distractedly from the living room as she flipped through channels.  Ashton had left and the three of us were alone.  Calum shrugged his shoulders, still watching me even after our conversation had been forced closed.

“Nothing important, apparently.”  

With that, he stood up from the table and left me alone.  I thought he’d disappear in his room, or even leave in his car.  But instead he went over in the living room with Hannah, and the two of them started watching some show they both liked.  I didn’t have work today, which meant I had nowhere to go and no reason to leave.  I thought I’d do something with Hannah, but with Calum suddenly very interested in spending time with her I couldn’t just steal her away.

I remembered what she said about being friends with Calum before anyone else.  The way they laughed and joked together about whatever they were watching made me wonder how she was so close to someone that was so cold.  But Calum and Hannah had some sort of understanding; they squabbled all the time, but were never mad at one another.  They could go from criticizing one another to laughing about it a second later.  I almost wanted to beg Hannah to tell me all of his secrets.  What made him tick?  Why was he so closed off to new people?  Was there something about me he didn’t like?

I almost felt like I was invading something private, and so I stood up to go back to my room.  But then Hannah waved me over.  “Come watch, this episode is so funny.”

Glancing at Calum, who was very pointedly looking at the TV, I slowly made my way over.  The only place for me to sit was next to Calum, as Hannah had stretched out on one side of the L shaped sofa.  He had his long legs resting on the coffee table, looking nonchalant and comfortable.  I tried to mimic my position to be just as carefree, but as I sat on a crooked leg I felt stiff and awkward.  Why did he have such an effect on me?  I couldn’t even sit properly in his presence, for god’s sake.  Sighing, I shifted uncomfortably, and I felt his eyes on me for a brief second.  But as quick as they came, they left.

For the rest of the day, we were an unlikely trio.  We’d binged nearly a whole season of a TV show, and then got so collectively sick of it we had to do something else.  Hannah said she wanted to make “something exotic” for dinner, so we spent the afternoon combing the cupboards for the proper ingredients.  The most exotic thing we could think of making was a box of pasta with miscellaneous vegetables in the fridge.

Cooking together was actually sort of fun, and I was reminded of making that damned grilled cheese with Calum.  A few times we locked eyes, and I was sure he was thinking of that afternoon as well.  Having Hannah with us diffused a lot of tension, and a few times we even shared a laugh.  The intensity of this morning had evaporated as the three of us worked on our concoction.

“Add garlic powder.  No dish with garlic powder could possibly be boring,” I suggested to Hannah as she went through all of the seasonings.  

Calum snorted.  “I always thought cilantro was the secret key ingredient.”  I smiled, stirring the tomato sauce as it bubbled in the small pot.

“You’re burning the mushrooms,” he warned me, and I let out an oh shit as I realized that the crackling sound in the background was my mushrooms turning to black.  I frantically scraped at the pan, hoping I could salvage them.  Calum came over to lower the stove-top temperature, and examined the wreckage.

“I think they’re done for,” he announced, and I sighed, hands on my hips as I rolled my lips into my mouth.  A smile played across his face as he dumped the burnt remains into the garbage.  “It’s alright, mushrooms are shit anyways.”

“Hey,” I protested.  “I like mushrooms.”

He chuckled, resting the pan in the sink to be scrubbed off.  “Duly noted.”

By the time dinner was almost ready the other guys had returned home.  Michael immediately said he could smell our burnt food from the driveway, and Luke questioned if what we were making was even edible.  Hannah angrily yelled at them and went on and on about how the three of us had spent all day kindly making them a meal and that they better shut up and eat it.

“I love when you get angry,” Ashton complimented as he gave her cheek a kiss.  Hannah waved him off.

“Can’t kiss now babe, I’m working,”  She was wiping down the plates and preparing them as if this was a cooking competition, while Calum and I leaned against the counter snacking on slightly burnt homemade croutons.

“You know, these don’t suck,” I said, referring to Calum’s handiwork with the croutons.  He’d chopped some nearly stale bread and seasoned them with a bunch of things, and seemed fairly proud when they’d come out of the oven.

“Thank you,” he accepted graciously, a note of sarcasm in his voice.  “I wish I could say the same about your mushrooms.”  I elbowed him with a small chuckle, popping one last crouton in my mouth before leaning forward and joining the others at the table.

Hannah presented everyone with a plate of our pasta, which sort of looked like a lump of penne drenched in sauce with a bunch of nondescript vegetables.  I took a seat next to Michael, and Calum took the one on my other side.  

Luke poked his fork at a fairly limp looking piece of broccoli.  “Yum,” he said with a wince.

Michael coughed slightly.  “You guys love you some garlic, huh?”

My jaw dropped.  “What, is it too much?  I swear I only sprinkled the stuff.”  Calum chuckled beside me.

“I told you cilantro was the better option.”  I was about to come up with a witty comeback, but then my phone went off in the living room.  I quickly went over and scooped it off the coffee table, thinking nothing of it as I answered.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Scarlett Mercer?”  I recognized the sound of the woman at the bank.  I’d spoken to her quite frequently in the recent weeks, since dealing with my parents’ accounts and what little savings I had required the expertise of an accountant.

I gripped the phone, lowering my voice so the others couldn’t hear.  “This is her.  Is anything the matter?”

“You received a bill in the mail recently, yes?”

Biting my lip, I responded, “Yes, from school.”

“And have you received the one regarding the pipes?”

My brow furrowed.  “Pipes?  What pipes?”

“At your parents’ house.  A pipe burst in the basement and now there’s no water in the taps.”

I huffed, confused at everything she was saying.  “I-I put the house on the market, it’s supposed to be sold to someone else.  It’s supposed to be someone else’s problem.”

“Well, unfortunately it hasn’t been closed on yet, so you are still the one responsible for fixing any damages.  No one would want to buy a house without working pipes.”

I didn’t appreciate the smart remark at the end of her explanation.  I was already worrying about paying off school and did not need another useless expense.  I hadn’t even thought of my old house in weeks, I thought someone had already bought it or it was being handled by someone else.

“Um,” I stalled, pressing my fingertips to my forehead as I fought to concentrate on her words.  The others were laughing and chatting enthusiastically in the kitchen, sending a stab of remorse into my chest.  “I-is there anything left in any of the accounts that I could use to pay for this?  It’s just, I’m at a new job and I can’t--”

“There’s nothing else to tap into, unfortunately.  The last amount went to finishing off hospital bill payments.”

“Right,” I said, panic bubbling up in my throat.  “I...how much time do I have?  It’s just, I have to figure out...some things before I can pay.”  Yeah, figure out where the hell I’m gonna get the money.

“It’s not a pressing issue, but the sooner the better would be preferable.”

I wanted to throttle this woman.  Which was it, not a pressing issue or the sooner the better?  I sighed, pacing across the floor to quell some of my nerves.

“Okay.  I will...call you, when I figure this out.  I’ll call as soon as I can.”  I didn’t wait to hear her reply, as I ended the call and dropped my phone onto the couch.  My head was spinning as I returned to the table, suddenly sick to my stomach at the sight of my half-eaten food.

“Everything okay?” Ashton asked, stealing a crouton from Hannah’s salad.  I nodded, not even really paying attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  I ignored the way Calum’s hand stilled by his glass of water, obviously hearing my bullshitted answer and remembering how I’d said the same thing this morning.

I pushed the food around my plate until everyone else was done, and didn’t hesitate before fleeing to my room to be alone.  I knew Hannah wanted me to relax about schoolwork, but for some reason hearing from the bank just made me desperate to dive into studying.  It was a coping mechanism that definitely didn’t hurt anyone, just made me a little crazy and overworked.  But now more than ever I wanted to reconnect with school, and what better way than to learn about the fascinating field of psychology?

Only I couldn’t study if I couldn’t find my textbook.  I tore my room apart looking for the damn thing, finding only my notebook and a different textbook from my physics class.

“Where is it?” I murmured, pushing a hand through my hair as I left my room to check downstairs.  I thought everyone had gone to sleep, but when I heard someone in the kitchen it made me jump.  Calum was doing the dishes, alone and illuminated by only one light in the ceiling.

“What’s up?” he asked upon seeing my stricken expression.  I shook my head at his loaded tone and looked around the kitchen for the book.

“I can’t find my psych textbook, and I really need to study right now.”  I was well aware of how crazy I sounded, considering it was late and Calum knew I was bullshitting.

He didn’t say anything, just dried off his hands with a towel and left to go upstairs.  I rolled my eyes, wondering how I’d pissed him off this time.  Exhausted and defeated, I fell onto the couch and stared at the blank TV screen.  A day that had seemed to be going alright ended shitty, as things always seemed to end with me.  I didn’t think I’d ever catch a break, and knew that whenever I got comfortable something would come along to fuck it up.

“Forgot I had this.”  Calum’s voice broke through my thoughts and I looked up as he entered the living room, handing me the very textbook I’d lost.  I was so stunned it took me a second to actually take it from him, and once I did he casually stuck his hands in his jogger pockets.  “I was bored out of my mind the other day and thought I’d give it a go.”

I frowned, flipping through the freshly dog-eared pages.  “You felt like reading a psychology textbook for fun?”  I closed the cover and held the book on my lap.  Calum fell onto the sofa next to me, shrugging.

“It was fairly interesting, although I disagreed with a lot of theories.  That Adler guy has inferiority complexes all wrong.”

My eyebrows shot up, not quite believing what I was hearing.  “So you read it, but you also remembered a specific theorist and his ideas?”

Calum shrugged again.  “Like I said, light reading.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking back down at the textbook.  “You’re a lot smarter than you let on, huh?” I voiced aloud.  Calum didn’t appear particularly book smart, and I wondered if he was ashamed of it or wanted to keep it secret.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, and I frowned at his unsatisfactory answer.

“No, you should be proud of it.  Being smart is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Who ever said I was ashamed?”  His voice was freezing, and for a second I was worried I’d pissed him off.  But there was a glint in his brown eyes, and I shoved him lightly.

“Alright, wise guy.  If you’re so unashamed then why don’t you help me study?  Quiz me on anything.”  I leaned my head back against the couch cushion, eyes closed as I giggled.  Calum took the textbook from me, and opened to a random page to begin asking me questions.

I had my eyes shut most of the time to concentrate, but somehow I still knew he was smiling.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

FICS: PROPOSTE INDECENTI + AMO GIA’ IL FINALE

I posted these on AO3 back in January. And I really wanted to have something brand new for today, but I am trying as hard as I can to have the fairy tale AU finished by tomorrow, so... Hope you’ll like them! They are BOTH IN ENGLISH ;) !!

PROPOSTE INDECENTI Seconds  

10 - 9

The longest ten seconds of his whole fucking life. Maybe Niccolò really is considering turning it down, given the time and setting.

3 a.m. McDonald's. Sitting on plastic chairs. Lazily eating cold fries and a hamburger that tastes like cardboard with one hand, stroking each other's thumbs with the other. Feeling like the last men on Earth, in a deserted place that would normally be buzzing with life in the daytime.

He should have sticked to his plan, given him his scripted speech this Sunday at the Bioparco. But he didn't, and now...

 8-7

… now he's screwed, isn't he? He fucked it up, and Niccolò is going to carry on and pretend this has been nothing but a bad dream.

He couldn't help it, though. Not when Niccolò was glowing with pride and elation as he showed Martino his first - published, finally!! - illustrated book.

The one Nico had lovingly renamed 'our baby' - and damn if Marti's heart didn't skip a beat at that -  even though all he didn't do much but offer his moral support.

How was he supposed to resist?

 6-5

He looked more beautiful than ever, in an old tracksuit and with a ridiculous headband holding his wild curls at bay. Buzzing with enthusiasm, while he told Marti about how Naima the giraffe who had her head too high in the clouds learnt from Mabel the red panda that she shouldn't fear what's in her heart. That her feelings are never too much, like so many others have been telling her.

Niccolò had always been very secretive about the plot, saying 'It's a surprise' with a mischievous glint in his eyes whenever Martino asked for more details… and right in that very moment he could see why.

"Children emotions tends to be heightened, and therefore often dismissed. I hope this can tell them that they matter, you know? That they're gonna find someone willing to listen, someday. Just like I found you."

It was their story. Edited, tweaked but still the same at its core. Shared to offer some hope to whoever might need it.

How could he not stop Niccolò right there and fumble for the box in his bag?

 4-3

Flinging it into his hands and dropping on one knee felt too predictable and cheap, however.

"I… I think I'm gonna get a milkshake. Would you like me to get you anything? An ice-cream cone? A Flurry?" Then, raising a voice a couple of octaves to make it sound childlike he adds "A Happy Meal?"

"Ahah. You're so funny, have you ever considered a career as a stand-up comedian? Get me a Happy Meal, you ass." And he would have sucked on that raised middle finger, without any shame, had it been a night like any other.

But it wasn't.

 2

Niccolò kept on gloating, until he opened the Happy Meal. His face fell, indeed, when he found the giraffe and red panda wooden figurines connected through a red silk thread and carrying a ring.

Ebony black, like his hair. Adorned with amber and aventurine, which both reminded Martino of his eyes.

Eyes which were now boring into him with a mixture of confusion and… disappointment?

Not exactly the reaction he had been wishing for. The silence between them felt a bit uncomfortable, for the first time in maybe ever, but Martino forced himself to speak.

"I know that I told you, so many times and in so many ways, that nobody knows a fucking thing about what's gonna happen tomorrow but... I am certain about ONE thing and ONE thing only: that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, as your HUSBAND. Don't you wanna spend the rest of your life with me?"

"That's two things, Marti. Maybe even three. I believe so… but let me just have ten seconds to think it through, okay?"

 1

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. " He finally says. Each yes said before a kiss, his smile getting brighter and brighter as they both start crying. Tears they brush away with gentle fingertips, with soft lips.

"A thousand times yes, Marti." Niccolò reiterates, resting his forehead against his fiancé's. Not an old fashioned to say 'boyfriend' when you significant one is not exactly a boy anymore, but the real deal now.

Fiancé. Betrothed. Soon to be husband. He can't wait to refer to Martino using those term with friends, colleagues, guests, relatives. With all those random people he ends up talking to while queuing up at the post office - on the bus, on the train, on the subway. The whole world needs to know, and he is certain that Marti feels like the same.

"Once is more than enough."

-----------

   Minutes  

It still doesn’t feel real, even though he has had some minutes to let it sink in. Despite the weight of the ring dangling from his necklace - "how very Frodo of you…" "Are you calling your future husband a fucking hobbit, Mr Rametta?" - and his proposal still echoing in his ears, he fears he might wake up any minute now. Alone.

He has to take refuge in Marti’s arms, grounding himself in his warm and tight embrace. Nothing can touch him, when he’s there. Nothing can reach him, apart from Martino’s smell and the palpable solidity of his body.

"I can take it back, if you’d like." Marti mumbles, against his helix piercing.

"Don’t you dare!" Niccolò protests, first jabbing his ribs with his forefinger and then flicking his nose.

"I mean… you don't sound positively thrilled about it…" He points out, puzzled to hear Niccolò chuckle.

"Well, we're talking about spending the rest of my life with the most boring gay I've ever met…" Nico sighs dramatically, but then he gets dreadfully serious. He is so overjoyed, so full of love he could burst, and Martino better not end up thinking otherwise. "I couldn't be happier… You know that, right? I simply wanted to be the one to propose."

"Well, maybe you still can. Fifteen or twenty years from now, when we'll feel like renewing our vows or some shit…" Martino suggests, standing up and cleaning their table. They must go now, if they want to have some time left to spare to celebrate home before heading out again to work.

"Sounds lovely. You have such a way with words, Marti." Niccolò shoves him playfully, but files that piece of information into a secured corner of his brain. Might come in handy, in the future. "And how do you know about renewals, anyway? Don't tell me you've been bingewatching 'Say Yes To The Dress' on RealTime!"

"Whaaat? Me? Nope. Never. Must have heard something from Filo. Or was it Edo?"

*************

AMO GIA’ IL FINALE

Hours  

Hours have gone by. It took them twice longer than usual to reach their flat, unable to walk more than a few steps without stopping for a quick peck. Or a full on make out session against a couple of closed, sturdy, doors.

Clothes were discarded on the floor as soon as they stepped inside, and they had made love until dawn. Exhausted, by then, they had fallen asleep.

Fear has had time to come knocking, and with it the painful reminder that people always leave. Or get sick of each other, and stay together only to keep up appearances.

No. That's not gonna happen. Not to them. Not when they are perfectly aware that gonna have to make a promise to each other not only on that day… but every second, every minute, every hour they spend together. Or apart.

Not necessarily with words. Which little gestures, too. Cherish their love. Never take it for granted.

"I promise you that we can make it. From now, to infinity." Martino says, softly, as he lays a kiss on Niccolò chest. Right where his heart is, just like Nico did so many years before under those red lights.

"To infinity and beyond."

"Don't start quoting Toy Story when I'm trying to be deep, Ni."

"It doesn't suit you. Now, up up up. Put something on and come with me... I don't want to miss watching the sunrise and cuddling with my betrothed on my cozy balcony."

"You are unbelievable."

"And you love that."

"I sure do, don't I?"

   Imagination  

This is absolutely not what Niccolò or Martino had in mind.

The unnecessary opulence, the stifling atmosphere in spite of the marvelous outdoor venue.

"It's not like you had a clear picture of what you wanted, anyway." Anyone would argue, and they would be right.

It had been easy enough to picture it back in Milan, where having a wedding in their birthday suits had sounded like the coolest idea he had ever had… But now Nico can't really see how that would go down, can't imagine it wouldn't be a complete catastrophe.

Like any other scenario they came up with. Some are too over the top, and would make Martino feel uncomfortable. Some are too dull, and would be an ill match to Niccolò's eccentricity.

Someone had to take the matter into their hands, and it wasn't like Silvia had done a bad job with the very little input she had from the grooms.

Maybe they could settle for this?

***************

   Instinct  

Or maybe not.

Martino refused to make this day, their day, about anyone else but themselves.

His in-laws were probably going to hate him for this, as firm believers of a time and a place for spontaneity, and their own friends were surely going to hold it against them for the next fifty years or so… but who cared?

Not him. Not when he was witnessing the first real smile of the week from Niccolò, merely by showing up on his old bike.

"Get on." It took him some fumbling, since a tight fitting tuxedo wasn't really the best attire for riding a bike, but eventually he managed to sit comfortably behind Martino.

"Where are we going?" He asked, presuming to be filled in about Marti's plan for the next few hours.

"Wherever the fuck we want." Martino said, instead, refusing to tell Niccolò anything concerning their destination. Or what they would do, once they reached it.

It didn't take too long to get to a church that Niccolò knew all too well. He had often joked about getting married in its crypt, surrounded by skulls and chandeliers made of human bones. Too bad it was hardly ever opened to the public, and totally unavailable for any kind of celebration.

"And how exactly are you planning to get in?" He inquired, walking over to the locked door.

"I might have asked Filippo to make me a copy of the key, when he got one for his photography project. Off the record." Because he knew Niccolò would love to stroll through the building undisturbed. Taking in its macabre allure, appreciating the fleeting nature of his own existence.

"Uh… Martino Rametta breaking the law by owning something he's not supposed to? A man after my own heart, I must say."

"I thought I already had it. Your heart, I mean." He commented, offhandedly, as he cursed and kicked against the rusty old door. "Oh, come on! Jesus! You were working just fine last time!"

"And this wonderful hint of blasphemy, right in front of a church. Wow." Niccolò reached out for him, then, pinning his open palm onto his own chest. "You're not mistaken, by the way. This has been yours for years."

"Same here." Marti turned to take his hand, and l let him feel how fast his heart was beating.

And then, as Marti was leaning in for a kiss, Nico moved back and brazenly snatched the keys.

"You know I've got the magic touch. Don't know whether it's in the fingers on in the wrists…"

"You better leave those innuendo at the door, Ni."

"Or what? You'll punish me, Father? You'll drag me into one of the confessionals and…"

… and he might had been tempted to do that, to drop on his knees and worship this man… Before he was basically challenged to reign in his wildest fantasies. Oh, he knew Niccolò wouldn't even try to play fair but still… He was so going to win this.

******

   Memory  

"... and then?" The kids asked, trying to get Mr. David's attention.

"Mh?" He had been distracted by an old lady coming to congratulate him on finally tying the knot a couple of weeks before. Shoelaces were a challenge for anyone, indeed, so it made sense he got praised for achieving that goal… Even though it took him so many years.

And that hadn't been the only interruption. For same weird reason their parents kept butting in to tell them shouldn't bother Mr. Fares. Or his 'partner'. They don't say 'husband', for some reason. Despite it being the word David uses for Michelangelo.

Grown up are so, so dumb.

"You ran away from your own wedding, got to a spooky church… and then? What happened?"

"Did you find a body and have to solve a murder?"

"I'm afraid not. We walked inside, and I read him my vows. He gave me his. I can show them to you, if you'd like? I always carry them in my pocket." Most didn't quite understand what was so great about two stick figures on a badly drawn giraffe, but the words written on the side sounded nice. Especially the closing line.

 Per quanta strada abbiam fatto, e per quanta  ancora ce n'è da fare… Amo già il finale.

"Booooring! I bet you went back to the ranch for the actual ceremony, after that?"

"Wrong. Remember that I started telling you all about this day because Meni asked what was the biggest prank I've ever pulled on my friends and family… That's it: making them all believe they would see US getting married and then have two other people saying 'I do' that afternoon. And this day I'm still quite proud I could pull that off. And so is my husband. I mean, our old folks were THIS close to believe we had been kidnapped."

Impressive. Kind of. Perhaps grown up can be cool, once in a blue moon?

"Ni? Nico? Earth to Niccolò Fares?" Not fair! He was a grown up! Why was he getting sweets before dinner?

"Yeah yeah, I can hear you loud and clear Marti." He gulped down his candies in a heartbeat.  And then gave him a quick kiss, saying "Thanks, love."

Huh? Nico? Marti? Then why their moms - and a couple of their dads - referred to him as Michelangelo's David?

Grown ups are so, so weird.

[healthmessenger]

The Actual Coronavirus diet…according to HealthMessenger

On March 23, the World Food Programme issued guidelines on the “do’s” and “dont’s” of eating while on quarantine. In last week’s article, I gave my take on each of the 7 tips on keeping a healthy diet in the face of coronavirus…according to the WFP…   

Some of you subsequently reached out to ask what my guidelines would be. Even though I have not personally contracted the virus…yet…and havent had to quarantine, I did preventatively tweak my diet;

Full Disclosure…

As some of you already know, I strongly advocate for low carb diets, especially when tackling auto-immune diseases such as type-2 diabetes, high blood pressure, asthma, etc… . I myself have recently adopted a modified Ketogenic diet in an attempt to rebalance my macros to boost my immune system. The “modified” part comes with the addition of low GI fruits(strawberries, raspberries, kiwi, apples, pears, apricots, tomatoes) and low GI starches(sweet potatoes) around workouts in order to maintain a high metabolic rate. I have also started supplementing with Vitamin D in order offset the lack of sun exposure. That’s enough about me though… . Let’s see what the science has to say…

Low-carb nutrition and immune function

On Number 15, 2019 a study published in ScienceImmunology showed that mice fed a Ketogenic diet for seven days were protected from a lethal flu virus by increasing the number of specialised immune cells in their lungs. But interestingly, this protection only came once the mice had metabolically adapted to the high-fat diet. Giving exogenous ketones without the metabolic adaptation did not confer the same benefit.  Obviously, that’s a far cry from saying a keto diet will do the same for influenza in humans or for COVID-19, simply because 1)Humans are not mice and 2)something tells me we can’t do the same study where we purposely infect people with a lethal influenza strain. To be completely honest, the paper is incredibly dense with detailed discussion of the immunologic and genetic responses, but I think the basic conclusion is good enough. The metabolic adaptation to a ketogenic diet can affect the function of the immune system to the point where it can prevent a lethal infection. But one question we should ask is, if we follow a diet that is proven to help with weight loss and metabolic health and may also beneficially affect immune function, wouldn’t it be worth trying? What do we have to lose?

Quality, quality, quality…

So, now more than ever, you might want to jump on a low-carb diet. I am not going to debate which LCHF diet is the best, simply because there is no clear cut answer to that question and also because I have partially answered that question in a previous article. Having said that, the quality (nutritional density) of the food you choose must prevail over the underlying food category (fruits vs vegetables vs meat vs etc…) promoted by the diet you eventually decide to pick. I don’t care wether you are vegan, carnivore or anything in between, the quality of the ingredients/foods you pick must be of the highest quality possible. That is as organically grown as available in your area. You are better off eating a grass-fed, grass finished steak over an “enhanced” apple(genetically modified with added sugar). Vice versa, you are better off eating an organically grown apple from your grandmothers’ apple tree over an antibiotic treated piece of meat. The same rule of thumb applies across food categories. Simply pay a  bit more attention to the labels and do not hesitate to ask your well-intentioned butcher/gardener.

Cook your Food

France’s health and safety agency (ANSES) convened an expert group to investigate whether the COVID-19 disease can be potentially transmitted via contaminated food.

In light of the scientific knowledge available, ANSES has suggested transmission through food could occur if a person infected with the virus prepares or handles food with dirty hands – and contaminates it.   

“This could concern all types of food (animal or plant products),” ​noted the agency​. “Furthermore, while there is no evidence to suggest that consumption of contaminated food can lead to infection of the digestive tract, the possibility of the respiratory tract becoming infecting during chewing cannot be completely ruled out.”​

As with other known coronaviruses, the novel coronavirus is sensitive to cooking temperatures, ANSES continued. “Heat treatment at 63​°C for four minutes (temperature used when preparing hot food in mass catering) can therefore reduce contamination of a food product by a factor of 1,000.”​

ANSES has reiterated that cooking food and observing good hygiene practices when handling and preparing food are effective at preventing contamination of the novel coronavirus.

Load up on fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds

This one sounds like a no brainer…until you adopt a low-carb diet. Studies after studies have shown that the consumption of fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds is obviously a common recommendation when it comes to strengthening ones immunity.  I would recommend 2-3 pieces of low GI fruits(below 50) per day and at least 5 vegetables(below 30) a day. As far as nuts and seeds are concern, choose raw over salted. Portions will vary on an individual basis. A hand full per day is good rule of thumb though. Forget about the rainbow 

Stay the hell away from refined carbs and sugars

I know how tempting it can be to reach out to cookies whilst binging on the latest Netflix series, awaiting for the quarantine to end …but please…dont… .

Laboratory evidence suggests sugar impairs white blood cell function and triggers acute rises in blood sugar, leading to an increased risk of infections and complications. Therefore, it would make sense that we want to limit these blood sugar elevations. Refined carbohydrates and simple sugars are two of the biggest offenders for blood sugar spikes and should therefore be eliminated.

This is not to say that studies show avoiding these foods results in fewer infections. (We don’t have that clear evidence.)

However, one simple solution is to use the measurement of your own blood sugar as a guide. If higher blood sugar is associated with more complications, it makes sense we want to limit that. I suggest measuring your blood sugar either with a regular glucometer or, even better, with a continuous glucometer (CGM) if you have access to one. If the foods you eat cause your blood sugar to rise above 140mg/dl (7.8mmol/L), consider eating something different.

Again studies show that a low-carb, moderate protein, higher fat diet effectively reduces blood sugar and can even reverse type 2 diabetes. We don’t have proof that this will “boost your immune system,” but it may help keep blood sugars in check which may be associated with decreased infectious risk.

Chicken soup/bone broth

Treating colds and the flu with chicken soup may be the most popular urban myth of all time. Surprisingly, it may not be 100% a myth. One study showed chicken soup “inhibited neutrophil migration,” which the authors suggest could improve our ability to recover from infections. However, this is one of those instances where laboratory findings may not translate to clinical improvements such as fewer or less serious infections. But it’s hard to argue with a tasty homemade soup with chicken(grass-fed), a few low-carb veggies, and plenty of real salt. Immune booster or not, it sounds like a great meal for a period in self-isolation.

Herbs and Spices

Turmeric

Turmeric is a spice commonly used in Indian and Asian cuisine, including curries. It contains a bright-yellow compound known as curcumin, which emerging research suggests might enhance immune function. However, there isn’t any convincing evidence showing that it helps fight viral infections yet. On the other hand, adding turmeric to your food adds flavour, and taking a curcumin supplement is unlikely to cause any harm in otherwise healthy people. If you have any medical conditions — especially if you take blood thinners — check with your doctor before supplementing with curcumin.

Echinacea

Echinacea is an herb that can reportedly help prevent the common cold. But is this reputation well-deserved? A recent systematic review of randomised trials found that echinacea may possibly have a mild protective effect against upper-respiratory infections but doesn’t appear to reduce the length or severity of illness. While it’s impossible to say whether it might offer any protection against COVID-19, it appears to be safe to take on a short-term basis. If you’re at high risk, you may consider taking it for the next several weeks.

Garlic

Garlic, a popular and pungent herb with a characteristic aroma, is widely believed to have antibacterial and antiviral effects, including helping to fight the common cold. A 2014 randomised controlled trial did find that people who took a garlic supplement had fewer colds and recovered more quickly from colds than people who didn’t take garlic. Although this is encouraging, this is just one study. Other high-quality trials are needed to confirm whether garlic is truly beneficial for the common cold or other upper-respiratory infections. For now, enjoy garlic for its zesty flavour and unmistakable aroma rather than counting on it to boost your immunity during the coronavirus pandemic.

Supplements

Vitamin C

For decades, Vitamin C has been used to help prevent the common cold. Among other functions, this vitamin can help maintain healthy skin that provides a barrier to germs and other harmful invaders. In addition, some — but not all — studies suggest it may improve the function of certain white blood cells that fight infection. In addition, there is conflicting evidence about the potential mortality benefits of high dose Vitamin C for patients with sepsis, the most severe form of systemic infections. While it’s unclear whether taking a Vitamin C supplement is beneficial for COVID-19, for most people there’s no harm in taking up to 2,000 mg per day (the upper limit set by the National Academy of Medicine).

For smokers and high-risk individuals, it’s definitely worth considering. Vitamin C is water-soluble, so your body will excrete whatever you don’t need into your urine. However, at very high doses, Vitamin C may cause diarrheas or increase the risk of kidney stones (especially in men), so be sure not to exceed 2,000 mg daily.

Vitamin D

As both a hormone and a vitamin, Vitamin D plays a number of important roles in health. In recent years, people have taken very high doses of Vitamin D with the intention of boosting immunity. But is this an effective tactic? A 2017 systematic review of 25 randomised trials found that taking a Vitamin D supplement seemed to have a mild protective effect against respiratory-tract infections in most people, but provided much greater protection in those who were very deficient in Vitamin D. If your Vitamin D levels are low, you may have a better chance of staying well if you supplement with 2,000 IU per day (or more, with medical supervision). Many — perhaps even most — people are deficient in vitamin D. So it’s probably wise to take a Vitamin D supplement right now, especially if you’re at increased risk for COVID-19. Of course, your body can make Vitamin D on its own when your skin is exposed to sunlight, so try to get some sun whenever you can. How much sun depends on the time of year and your location. A good starting point is 15 minutes of exposure to a large body part (such as the torso or back). Just remember to avoid sunburns, as excess sun exposure carries its own risks

Zinc

Zinc is a mineral involved in the white blood cell response to infection. Because of this, people who are deficient in zinc are more susceptible to cold, flu, and other viruses. One meta-analysis of seven trials found that supplementing with zinc reduced the length of the common cold by an average of 33%. Whether it could have a similar effect on COVID-19 isn’t yet known. Taking supplementary zinc may be a good strategy for older people and others at increased risk. If you decide to take zinc, make sure to stay below the upper limit of 40 mg per day, and avoid administering nasally, due to the risk of olfactory complications.

Fasting

With all the focus on how certain foods affect your immune system, you may also wonder, what about fasting? As counterintuitive as this one may sound, fasting protocoles are proving more and more effective at boosting immune functions..

One study in mice showed that fasting, or more specifically refeeding after a fast, restored immune function that had been suppressed by chemotherapy. During the fasting period itself, however, fasting appeared to impair the immune system, especially in the elderly. This is a very important caveat to keep in mind, especially if yo have already been infected by COVI-19. Fasting should only be used a a preventative tool. 

Over the long term, intermittent fasting and refeeding will boost the immune system. Keep this in mind in preparation for the next pandemic. Sorry but yes, we will likely face other, more or less severe, pandemics in the coming years/decades. Better be safe than sorry.  However, during an acute pandemic, where the immediate risk of infection is higher than usual, it may not be a good time to try fasting, given the potential for a temporary decrease in immunity.

This may sound surprising for those who have heard the phrase, “starve a fever.” The theory is that humans have evolved to not feel hungry and purposely avoid food during an acute illness as a protective mechanism, which may in turn limit nutrients the virus needs to replicate. To be clear, this is all conjecture without any quality supporting evidence.

Other evidence suggests that ketones are beneficial for immune function, and perhaps that could be why some recommend fasting. But considering all of the data together, if that were the case, you are better off adopting a keto diet and not fasting. Based on the limited data available, I suggest not fasting longer than 36 hours during the outbreak of the coronavirus, especially if you are older than 60 years old. It’s logical that you can continue with shorter-duration time-restricted eating, although there is no data on this either.

There you go…my official guidelines on keeping a healthy diet in the face of coronavirus…

Coming up next: Why you cannot “catch” a virus

Until then…take care of you and your loved ones.

To Your Health

The Health Messenger

[shayrey]

The Elements - One

Warnings: Light angst, eventual smut, language

Word count: 2.4k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC

A/N: This is a soulmate AU! This chapter takes place during CA:CW and future chapters will tie in with other movies. This story will also be posted to my Ao3. Reblogs are fine, but please don’t steal! I want to thank the wonderful beta readers that helped me with this first chapter, it honestly came a long way thanks to them!! @queenofalotofdifferentworlds @eliza246531 and @chaotic-inkme Also, I am sorry, I have not figured out how to add the ‘keep reading’ on mobile...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577185/chapters/53952562

Three months. That’s how long it had been since Levana and Danica had experienced a transformation that changed their lives forever.

It’s how long Levana, eldest of the identical twins, had felt anything but self loathing, doubt, and fear. It gripped her heart so tightly it was hard to pretend like everything was normal, but she did. She smiled and laughed with her sister and their friends. She wished every day that she could be how she was, carefree and spontaneous, that she hadn’t gotten such destructive powers. While the twins were mirror images, their powers were complete opposites, no where in the same vicinity to each other.

Looking at her twin, Levana saw how her blue green eyes sparkled with laughter and her full lips fought to contain the laughter inside. Her short hair framed her face beautifully and she honestly looked like a cute pixie with her glowing complexion and joy radiating off of her. Her fingers took a lock of her own long, wavy hair as she continued to smile at something that had the others laughing.

It was all different now. Levana had to pretend like everything was fine, that she wasn’t affected by her powers.

“I promise, Levi, you will enjoy the show!” Shuri tossed a chunk of bread at the older woman, effectively pulling her from her thoughts and to the present moment.

Levana rolled her eyes as she caught the piece of bread and used it to soak up the juice from the curry she had helped Shuri’s mother, Ramonda, prepare for their dinner. “I would much rather go with T’Chaka and T’Challa to Vienna for the Accords signing,” she grumbled as she finished chewing her food.

Said prince looked at her from across the table. “Levana,” the warning was clear in his voice but she only leveled him with a droll look.

T’Chaka raised his hand and waved it dismissively. “She is allowed her feelings and opinions, my son. Being so new to her powers, it is understandable why she disapproves of the Accords. We are not forcing her to sign them, only hoping that she will in time.”

Silence fell over the table and Levana glance up at the king. He had been like an uncle to her and her sister most of their lives. There was a kindness in his eyes, even now on the eve of his and T’Challa’s departure to Vienna.

Ramonda cleared her throat and broke the silent tension. “Danica, tell us about this show you and Shuri are having Levana watch.”

The younger twin smiled and nudged her sister under the table. “It’s about people who can control one of the four elements, and one person called the Avatar that can control all of them,” she smiled first at her twin and then at Ramonda.

As her sister went on about the show, Shuri joining in excitedly, Levana focused on trying to smile and seem like nothing was bothering her; but everything was bothering her. These powers she now has weren’t as glorious and amazing as they made them out to be. No matter how beautiful and wonderful, they are also destructive and chaotic.

Dangerous.

She swallowed thickly as she thought about what had happened in Sokovia to bring about the Accords.

Maybe she should sign them and have a leash put on her before she could actually do harm.

“Levana, would you like to help me with preparing some tea?” T’Challa’s voice broke through her dark thoughts and she looked up to see a calculating look in his eyes. She nodded with a smile that she had to force and stood with him, both of them walking to the kitchen.

The sounds of the Shuri and Danica talking about a cartoon to Ramonda and T’Chaka followed them into the other room.

The two moved perfectly around each other to start boiling water and getting the teapot ready.

Levana remembered a time when she was much younger and had first been brought to Wakanda. It had been right after her birth parents had died, just outside of Wakanda, and the twins, only five at the time, had been brought in by Zuri’s wife. T’Challa had been the only person who could get the twins to open up and feel comfortable.

They were like family, siblings even.

“Okoye will not give me any details about your training, says it is not her place to disclose that information,” he didn’t look at her as she paused in her task of scooping tea leaves from a container to the teapot. “I’ve seen how you’ve changed, Levana, how your eyes no longer shine when you smile. There was a time you would talk to me about everything, little one,” the childhood nickname brought a small smile to her lips.

Tears stung her eyes as she finished scooping the leaves into the pot. “I still do, T’Challa, but this is something I have to work out on my own.” Her hand absently rubbed at her right hip, a motion that drew his attention.

“Why haven’t you gone looking for him? He’s in New York, isn’t he?” He didn’t want to give up on his friend, but he knew her well enough to know when she was going to shut down.

She shook her head, her brows drawing together. “I can’t bring an innocent into this life.”

Pushing away from the counter, T’Challa took a few steps to grab her shoulders and turn her to face him. “A life of peace and luxury?”

Levana scoffed and rolled her eyes as she pushed her forehead into his chest. “I’m enhanced, T’Challa, and not just any enhanced person. I can control the elements, that’s something anyone would love to get their hands on. I can’t put anyone else in danger because of my powers, it’s bad enough that you all insist I stay here,” she fought a smile as she pulled away and looked up at him. “I think the only thing keeping my powers in check is the constant training I’ve undergone with you and Okoye since mama and baba took Danica and me in,” she moved up to kiss him on the cheek before turning to the kettle and removing it from the heat.

A heavy sigh escaped the Wakandan prince. “You are as stubborn and immovable as W’Kabi’s rhinos,” he helped Levana by taking the teapot while she gathered the cups.

“I take that as a compliment, T’Challa,” she grinned, feeling a moment of relief from the dark emotions that gripped her heart.

“Eh, but a compliment it was not,” he teased as they returned to the table.

Levana gave him a mock glare before looking to his father. “King T’Chaka, despite your best efforts, your son is an ill mannered brute and I apologize for any future damage done to his person,” the serious tone of her voice was dismissed with the teasing twinkle in her blue-green eyes.

The King merely sat back as he accepted his tea and shrugged. “If he has not learned some manners by now, it is time someone else should teach him.”

T’Challa gaped at his father as they all erupted in laughter.

The dark emotions gripping Levana’s heart was pushed away for the moment as she laughed and teased her childhood friend. It was always there, always making her doubt and hate herself, but she had to remember that it couldn’t rule her life. She had agreed to stay in Wakanda and work with Shuri and Okoye to understand her powers and learn to control them so that they didn’t control her.

— — —

Horror and grief was a thick blanket over the room as the twins sat with Shuri and Ramonda watching the news of the bombing of the Accords signing. Levana stood behind the couch where Shuri was crying softly in her mother’s arms and Danica sat next to them.

The twins had watched the bombing happen first hand due to Danica’s power of sight. While Levana’s powers were more hands on and destructive, Danica’s powers were more aligned for support, allowing her to see events happening in real time anywhere in the world. Unfortunately, or fortunately in the case of the bombing, she couldn’t hear anything happening, it was only the ability to see what was happening.

They found that her gift of sight could be shared with Levana when they were touching, but it could only be shared with Levana, and Shuri guessed it was because they’re twins.

Watching T’Chaka die in T’Challa’s arms was heartbreaking and absolutely destroyed the twins. As they joined Shuri and Ramonda to watch the news and grieve, a resolve started to grow in Levana,consuming her completely.

Her fingers dug into the couch as the face of James Buchannon Barnes was posted, marking him as the person responsible for the bombing and death of T’Chaka.

— — —

“Levi, the psychologist has shown up to evaluate James,” Danica broke Levana out of her thoughts.

In the past twelve hours the twins had scoured the internet and multiple leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. documents trying to find a way to prove James Barnes didn’t plant the bomb at the Accords signing. Levana was convinced that he didn’t do it but couldn’t find anything to prove it.

The older twin stood from the table she was sitting at and walked over to where her sister sat on the couch.

They joined hands and Levana was no longer looking at her sister in T’Challa’s personal living room in Wakanda but looking at a man sitting at a table in front of a secure containment cell where James Barnes was locked up.

With no sound to give them an idea of what the psychologist was saying, the twins relied on facial expressions. Danica was getting better at lip reading, but she still struggled with understanding everything.

When the man pulled a little red notebook with a black star on it and James became visibly nervous, Levana cursed and her hand tightened around her sister’s.

“I knew it. It was a trap this entire time to get James right here so this man could bring out the Winter Soldier,” Levana shook her head as they watched the man start to read from the book, slowly walking around the containment unit. Their hearts beat faster as James escaped the chair and started punching the unit, trying to fight the programming.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough, and when he escaped the containment unit he just stood there, the two men standing face to face. It was clear that the Winter Soldier had returned.

Levana cursed and pulled her hand from Danica’s, the vision slipping away from her as she stood up from the couch. Danica blinked and her eyes refocused as she pulled away from the scene and looked at her sister who was picking up her phone from the table.

“What are you doing?”

Levana put the cell phone to her ear as she frowned. “I’m going to try and talk some sense into T’Challa. He’s going to kill the wrong man and I can’t let him,” she closed her eyes as she listened to the constant ringing. “Dammit, T’Challa, answer your damn phone!” She hung up and immediately tried again. When he still didn’t answer she set the phone down and rejoined her twin on the couch.

“We need to see what is happening,” she held her hand out for Danica and waited while her twin took her hand.

What they saw next was James, the Winter Soldier, fighting Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, and the CIA agent that had helped Steve and Sam find James. They watched with bated breath as T’Challa joined the fight.

“They can’t let him get away,” Danica breathed, her voice shaking in fear as the Winter Soldier started the helicopter.

Levana felt a chill run down her spine as Steve started running towards the helicopter. “What is he planning on doing, pulling the helicopter down with his bare…” her words cut off, stuck in her mouth as he jumped up to grab the foot rail of the helicopter, his shirt lifting to expose his hip bones and lower abdomen. The starburst shape on his right hip peeking out of the waistband of his pants caused Levana’s heart to lurch and she pulled her hand from Danica’s like she had been burned.

The vision fell away quickly as she stood up, her heart racing as her hand touched her right hip where a mark identical to the one on Steve Rogers was.

Danica’s eyes refocused as she looked up at her sister with a smile. “Levi, Steve, he’s…”

“My soulmate,” she finished, her bottom lip and chin quivering as she felt tears stinging her eyes.

The younger twin shot up, concern replacing the happiness on her face. “Levi, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy about finding your soulmate?”

The elemental shook her head and turned away, blinking away the tears in her eyes. Finding one's soulmate was supposed to be a joyful occasion, and on some level she was beyond happy to know who her soulmate is. Unfortunately, she wasn’t completely happy with this knowledge. The self loathing and doubt she felt was warring with the joy she felt.

If her soulmate had been some random person she might have been fine, she would have been happy with just keeping tabs on the person and keeping them safe. The fates had something else in store for her. Her soulmate is Captain America, a man that stood for freedom and justice, an Avenger. He could handle being her soulmate.

But she didn’t feel like she deserved to be his soulmate. The things she could do with her powers could classify her as a danger to humanity.

“I’m a monster, Danica. I can’t be with him,” she turned on her heels and started walking out of the room.

Danica ran to her sister and grabbed her wrist, pulling the elemental to a stop. “Levana, that’s ridiculous! Why would you say you’re a monster?”

Levana wrenched her arm from Danica’s grip, refusing to meet the seer’s eyes. “You wouldn’t understand, your powers can’t kill people. I can wipe an entire city, hell, an entire country, off the map with my powers. Someone like that doesn’t deserve to be with someone as good as Steve Rogers,” she quickly left the room, not waiting to hear what her sister had to say.

“Levana!” Danica stared after her twin with wide eyes.

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (7/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You have a talk with some friends and get a little job offered

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (Not romantic...yet)

A/n: this took me so long to write. I hope you like it. Have a wonderful day:)

You walked through the streets on London feeling lost and uneasy. The state record of your father was there, written officially: he was declared dead. You felt like you were going crazy for not even trusting the piece of evidence. You asked the secretary about a million questions about how they even go about certifying a death. The woman looked at you as if you were crazy and you probably looked it. None of the cuts were healed, parts of your face were beginning to bruise, and the stich on your hand was horrendous. At least you didn’t reek of alcohol. It bothered you that the certificate under cause of death read “suicide”. You distinctly remember Sabini tell you that your father had got himself killed.

 ‘Why stage it like a suicide and then tell the underworld you killed him? Couldn’t you have just paid the cops to look the other way?’ A million more questions swarmed your way non of which the secretary could answer.

 And so you left the place walking slowly back home feeling odd. Dead is dead right you don’t need the details. You don’t want them. You tell yourself this as you get home, telling yourself that the uneasy feeling was from the physical night before not because someone was watching you.  

 ‘I’m not safe staying here’ You think to yourself. You start fantasizing about all the different places you could disappear to, the new life you could create for yourself. You just needed enough money to so. That wad of cash underneath your bed was good for a boat ride and hotel stay, not for entire life change. You were gonna need to start saving and earning, more fast. The air was changing and not for the better.

 Once you get home, you can see a lamp on in the window. You try to walk past the figure sitting in the living room, but their voice rings out stopping you from making another move.

 “(Y/n), we need to talk.” Ada says.

 “What about?” you ask sitting opposite of her in the living room.

 “Its about Tommy,” she pauses a minute trying to gauge your reaction, you don’t give any. She sighs, “I just want you to be careful around him.”

 You raise an eyebrow, confused from where this is coming from. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean are you gonna keep coming home looking half dead with my brother having to carry you in here with no sort of explanation?”

 “I’m sorry about that.” You apologize knowing she must have been scared out of her mind seeing you like that. You would have been too had it been her or Trinity.

 “What are you even thinking working for him? Didn’t you want out of your father business, aren’t you on some guys shit list?” Ada takes a deep breath calming herself.

 “I have it under control.” You can hear Ada groan in frustration. You understand why she was so defensive about this. Her family was dangerous and to be around them was like being around death itself. At least that’s how Ada put it.

 “No you don’t just look at yourself!” She sternly says, pointing a finger at you.

 You stifle a laugh from your throat at how motherly she looks, “Ada, please save the parenting for Karl.”

 She rolls her eyes at your jest and gets up from the couch. “Are you gonna work for him again?”

 “If I need the money...”

 “I told you don’t have to pay rent while you stay here. You can take as long as you need to find steady job.”

 You fake a smile and nod your head, “You’re right.” You didn’t want to bring up the unease you’ve been feeling. Or the need to flee the country based on a little paranoia that may just go away. It was unfair to her to place  this burden upon her when she's finally made it out of feeling that way herself. But you’ll be damned if you weren’t gonna at least prepare yourself for the uncertain future.

  *******************************************************************************************

Trinitys apartment was the same as it always has been. Neat to the point where it looked picture perfect. You always wondered when she had the time to keep tidy. You arrived early in the morning, knowing she would be up and that it would be the perfect time to cross into what you thought was still sabinis territory.

 “You know your friend took over the Eden Club. I haven’t seen any of Sabini guys in awhile” Trinity says attempting to ease you as you keep looking out the window.

 “who?”

 “The Shelby’s. I think it was his brother or whatever. I wasn’t there when it happened but I heard it was brutal.”

 “What did sabini do?” You ask.

 “no one heard from him or Alistair.” She states

 “Hmm.” You say finding it odd the gangster hadn’t retaliated yet

 “You know you can maybe work there again? If you asked nicely? The Shelby’s seem to like you.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “Oh please I was the first person ada called to tell me about you running off with her brother. Did you know they were related?”

 “No.”

 She notices your lack of words. And though trinity wanted to be playful and tease her friend, she was worried.

 “Are you okay, (Y/n)?”

 “Im thinking of leaving, trinity.” You say

 “Why? Where are you going?”

 “Nowhere. Im just thinking.” You sip your tea lightly, feeling the soothing warmth go down your throat, “Something feels wrong.”

 “What is it?”

 “I fear that something nefarious is upon me. And that it’s a matter of time before It decides to kill me.”

 “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

 “I need your help planning.” You say ignoring her questions. You didn’t want to subject her to your nightmares about your father which haven’t ceased at all. In face they were increasing in violence and color. Most of them drawing from memories. If it wasn’t your father that was alive coming to hunt you down, it was most likely a dedicated servant of his. You wondered who was was keeping the business going seeing as you didn’t take over and were the only child of your father. You had no other logical explanation of what the universe was trying to tell you with these dreams and gut feelings.

 You open your purse revealing the wad of money from underneath your bed and papers of different id. “Your gonna hold this for me. When I need it ill come for it, if I add to it ill come here okay? Just make sure it stays hidden and untouched.”

She nods and takes it gently from your hands, “You’re being serious.”

 “Deadly.”

 You stood for a couple more hours, talking and eating until the afternoon came. You said your goodbyes and were on your way back on the streets of London. You felt good about yourself after seeing Trinity. It felt like years since you seen her.

 You hear the honking of an annoying horn bring you out of your thoughts. You see Tommy Shelby behind the wheel, a cocky grin on his face. He parks the car and you wait for him outside not wanting to sit in close proximity of him. He comes around, outing a cigarette loosely around his pink lips. He doesn’t light it.

 “I was looking for you at Adas.” He says standing in front of you with hands in his pockets.

 “Hmm why?” You ask.

 “How are your stiches?”

 “Fine,” your face grows warm as you think about the drunken thoughts you had about him. You had them caged up this time but you were now very aware of the fact that you had them, “what is that you want?” you ask avoiding his eyes, afraid of getting lost in them. You could not afford to grow any sort of attachment to the man. The stories you’ve heard, the warning you’ve gotten from his own sister, you know that he was no good.

 “Take a ride with me.” He simply says walking away from you.

 Your legs move before you think. Following his words like a sailor would a siren. You suddenly felt very self conscious around the man as you sat near him.

 “Where is this coming from?” You think to yourself feeling stupid you begin to argue with yourself in your head trying to find the soure of this new unwanted attraction. Maybe you were still drunk. No its been days. Or maybe you were tired. Sleep has been hard to comeby these days.

 You look across at him and study his features. He was a very handsome man, no doubt about it. You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until he catches you.

 “What?” He asks

 “Have you called May?” Your not sure why your mind went to that but it was.

He chuckles, “Are you really that interested in that?”

 “No, im just making conversation.”

 “Well I did. Ill be seeing her later this week. See how shes training my horse.” He sends a smile your way before his eyes go back to the road.

 The smile sends your stomach doing flips. “You know your not as scary as people make you seem, Mr.Shelby.” Another statement slipping from your lips.

 “Trust me, I can be scary. Hand me that file”

 He parks the car in front of lovely looking house, a guard standing outside the gates of it. You hand him the file, next to you on the seats and he fiddles through it. You stare at the house with the guard in front of it through the rearview mirror.

 “Why are we parked here?” You ask you eyes trained to the rearview mirror

 “Had to make a stop.”

 You see the guard notice the car and head towards you. He walks toward your window and leans in. “Sir,” The guard says totally ignoring your presence, “You cant park here.”

 “Apologies, me and the Mrs. were just lost.”

 “Well get a move on.” Thomas starts the car and moves it one block a way before parking again. He checks his watch.

 “23 seconds,” He say to himself writing it down, “Are you gonna ask any questions?”

 “I think I would rather leave this one alone.”

 “Smart girl.”

 You end up driving 2 more hours around the city. He tells you about the Eden club takeover and how his brother Arthur is now running the game there. Sabini hasn’t been seen inawhile. Nor his most trustworthy comapnions

 “Do you know Alfie solomons?” He asks

 “I do.” Alfie Solomon’s to you was an unpredictable man, You never could predict what he was gonna say.

 “I was gonna have Arthur have dinner with him alone. But Arthur doesn’tknow Solomon’s too well.”

 “Mr. Shelby-“

 “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to.” His eyes burn into your skull. You take all the self control you have to not turn your head and stare into them.

 You think about the proposition and grow very hesitant. A part of you wants to take it and another part doesn’t. Quick money could be very useful to you but at what cost if its for situations like this. A dinner with gangsters could become deadly very quickly with one wrong move.

 “When is this dinner?”

 “Friday.”

 “Ill give you answer before than” You say seeing it was Tuesday. You open the door to the car and walk out of it. You were beginning to suffocate under his stare and you needed to breath.

 The air was crisp and refreshing to your lungs as you speedy walk down the streets making lefts and rights. The annoying horn returns to your ears as soon as you feel calm. You turn back around to scream when you realize its not the same car. It’s a black car with weird, tinted window, almost like a police car. The windows roll down, revealing a man with grey, busy eyebrows and mustache. His eyes held an evil glint in them

 (Y/fn) (y/ln)?” He asks do it looked like he already knew the answer in his head that he knew who he had.

 “Sorry wrong gal.” You lie turning around to get out for whatever situation that was.

 “Get her boys.” You hear the man sigh. You feel large hands grab around your body and large funny smelly napkin forced against your mouth.

 ‘Chloroform’ you think as you pass out into the darkness.

Read pt.8

Tags

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @evelyn-4034

[misas-biggest-fan]

1, 3 and 8 for both your dn fics :D

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

oh this is a good question!!! (ive written a considerable amount of captain america fanfiction, so i have to add that. i think the most polished fic ive ever written is ‘haunted by him’ and the one that meant the most to me at the time of writing was ‘run’ but i also had way too much fun w ‘wtwgm’. however, this is abt dn so ill focus on my dn fics!! it’s too hard to choose from them all anyway LOL)

;alskfdj so ‘an exercise in minute details’ is probably more polished and careful, but ill stay up to all hours of the night writing random future scenes for ‘a means to an end’ so i’ll probably have to say that one!! i feel bad but i have like DOUBLE the word document for ‘a means’ than i do for ‘an exercise’ bc i keep coming up w stupid garbage that i want to see beyond and naomi doing together and i want to really flesh out Able’s story and how they change as a person. (i hope you guys are ready for some SERIOUS twists ;DDDD i want everyone to be just a liiiiiiittle suspicious ) but it’s a HARD tie 

3. Which part of [title] was hardest to write? 

;alsdkfj ok of ‘an exercise’..... i rly fought w myself abt the scene at the dance club they go to w misa. i needed L and Light to compete at something because that’s part of the basis of their relationship, but I couldn’t figure out what would be the most in character and not look silly. i actually posted one version and then decided i hated it and rewrote it and reposted it again the next morning, which is something i never do

of ‘a means’ probably ;alskdjf some of the scenes coming up, actually. i can’t share too much, but there’s some really emotionally loaded scenes?? and i want to really earn that drama, i don’t want it to come off as melodramatic or silly, i want people to feel the weight of what happens to the characters. so earning it through the build up is something im working on

8. Which came first, the title or the fic?

the fic for both!! i’d written some line that L felt like watching light’s facial expressions was ‘an exercise in minute details’ bc light is such a good liar, but L is so good at reading him anyway, and i thought the line really summed up their relationship.

from there, i wanted beyond and naomi’s fic title to correspond bc the two pieces are actually intertwined in various ways, so i wanted it to sound similar. i’ve used the phrase ‘a means to an end’ once so far in the fic in relation to naomi thinking about how she’s sort of using beyond as ‘a means to an end’ with the end being a temporary escape from her conflicted feelings about her normal life. HOWEVER that isn’t the real reason i chose this title. i haven’t posted yet the original context in which i used that phrase and i can’t share it yet bc of spoilers ;DDDD but hopefully everyone will be shook to death i cannot WAIT for the climax of both of these fics a;ldskfj

thank you so much for asking me!!

[scripttorture]

I have a fourteen year old girl that gets taken away and tested on. She lives in a room with only a bed in it and is only taken out when they need to test her (she is fed three times a day and kept healthy). A boy can telepathically communicate with her but she never sees anyone besides the doctors that test her. She lives like that for a year. Would she survive? If not how could I make it that she does survive? If so what effects would this have on her?

Do you think a fourteen year old girl would be able to live after being in a cell alone for a year. She isn’t completely alone a boy talks telepathically to her but she never sees anyone or anything.

So uh first off I’m guessing this is the same question sent twice (the second version was sent on anon). I triedto contact the asker via messenger to confirm that but I’m old, not great withthe internet and tumblr defeated me.

 If it’s not the same questionI hope you won’t mind me answering both at once because there are a lot ofsimilarities. :)

 I think this is one of those questions where the way you’re usingsuperpowers makes it difficult to judge. Don’t get me wrong, I think this is aneat idea and an interesting use of telepathy. But it has made me pause for awhile to try and puzzle it out.

 So I think this is going tohave a massive, lasting negative effect on your character/s. There’s no wayaround that. The character is too young and the length of time too extreme forany outcome that isn’t permanent disability.

 And yes death is highly likely, if not at the time then shortly afterrelease.

 The top scenario seems much worse than the bottom one by the explicitaddition of extremely poor living conditions and additional torture.

 Let me be clear neither of thesescenarios are healthy.

 But the top one has a lot of elements that are-

 So if you say there’s nothingin the room except a bed I’m not sure how literally to take that. Becausepeople have been held in cells withliterally nothing but a bed: no lights,no toilet or sanitary facilities, no ventilation. And I think a year ofthat would kill an awful lot of people, in isolation or not.

 The character would be unlikely to survive without some sort ofprovision for sanitation, even if it’s a bucket or a drain in the middle of thefloor. I think survival would be more realisticif the character had access to a tap with clean drinking water and a light thatgets turned on and off. It’s possible for someone to survive without, but withall the other negative factors in the top scenario- I think it’s better to letthe character have them.

 I also think this would be an extremely unlikely way to set up anexperimental facility. I’ve worked in animal testing labs and this is reallynot how they’re run. If these ‘scientists’ are serious about conductingexperiments (however awful and unethical those experiments are) they shouldn’tbe keeping their experimental subjects in conditions that could kill them.

 I’ve talked a little bit before about the distinction I draw betweenunethical experimentation and torture.

 Essentially the distinction is whether the abusive practices or the experimentis more important to the abuser.

 The distinction is important because- well in the real world these thingsfunction very differently. The idea that torture is somehow ‘scientific’ isboth wrong and something apologists like bringing up as a way of arguing thatif we just use the ‘right’ torture method it will ‘work’.

 Science is a method. It requires results to be reproducible which meansas far as possible standardising conditions across tests. It means keepingthings as similar as possible and repeating the same tests over and over again.

 Over the last three days in my current job I’ve repeated the samemachine based test at least 15 times. It would have been more but we had someequipment issues recently. The differences between the substances I’m testingare tiny. But they might be enough to affect how well the medicine I’m testingworks.

 I have to record everything I do and sign and date every piece of informationI print out or write out so that it’s traceable to not just the machine I usedbut me personally and the date and time it was performed.

 Science is laboriously repeating things, trying to take into accountevery tiny detail that could possibly have an impact and recording everything.

 Torture doesn’t work like that at all.

 It isn’t reproducible. It isn’t rigorously conducted. It’s not recorded.Torturers don’t stick to schedules or lists of approved techniques.

 Basically if the victim’s pain is the primary point then abusers don’t bother putting in the considerableeffort and attention to detail that science demands.

 So I’d suggest thinking about whether the experiment element or the abuseelement is more important to the story.

 If the experimental element is more important than I strongly suggestdialling down the torturous elements: make the cell bigger and comfortablyhabitable, take out any abusive elements that are not directly related to thetests themselves and track down a copy of TheImmortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Pay special attention to what happened toElsie Lacks.

 If the abuse is more important to the story then I’d strongly suggestremoving any ‘experimental’ or ‘scientific’ trappings. Or else making it clearthroughout the narrative that there’s no actual science going on. You could dothis by showing the torturers ignoring the methods they’re supposed to follow,failing to keep records, destroying records and generally having a sloppy,inconsistent and lazy approach to anything that resembles work.

 I think that’s covered everything beyond the solitary confinementelement.

 You’veprobably already seen the solitary confinement masterpost but there’s a linkhere just in case.

 Oneof the main sources I used for it is this Sourcebook on Solitary Confinementwhich includes a lot of small interviews with survivors, discussion of symptomsand references some sources on the effect of solitary confinement on children.

 A year is a long time to be in solitary confinement for an adult.

 I’d expect the majority of adults to have self-harmed or attempted to inthis sort of time period. It’s the kind of time period where you’re talkingabout multiple, severe, lasting symptoms.

 In a child that’s going to be much more pronounced. In a child this ageI think there’s a strong chance it would permanently damage her ability tosocialise with other people. I’m unsure exactly what that would look likebecause I don’t know much about development but this is still very much an agewhen people are learning how to interact with other people.

 Difficulties interacting with others have an unfortunate tendency tolead to social isolation.

 Which basically means that if she finds socialising difficult as aresult of this (which I think is incredibly likely) then she might well be prettyisolated for the rest of her life.

 The poor cell conditions in the top scenario increase the chance ofhallucinations.

 I also think self-harm and possibly suicide attempts are incrediblylikely.

 There isn’t any way to predict accurately exactly which symptoms someonewould be prone to. Different people experience different symptoms. I suggestpicking symptoms based on what you feel fits the character and story best, whatadds to the story.

 I terms of the range of symptoms- well the numbers I give for thosearen’t hard facts. They’re a range I think seems likely and they’re meant tohelp authors get an idea of just how big the lasting effect on their characteris going to be.

 I think in this case I’d suggest a minimum of five lasting symptoms aftershe escapes, 5-7 seems a reasonable range. I’d expect those symptoms to besevere. I don’t think a character who went through something like this couldreturn to school (for example) or hold down a full time job without years ofhelp and healing.

 I’d expect things like…anxiety to the point where she couldn’t leave thehouse, memory problems severe enough for her to be unable to get anywhere ontime, depression that leaves her unable to get out of bed.

 Basically I’d expect this character to be obviously, visibly mentallyill and in need of help for years (perhaps decades) to get by in her life.

 That doesn’t necessarily mean she’d be institutionalised and the helpdoes not necessarily have to be from professionals. But she may need friends tocook for her when she develops an irrational fear of the kitchen, family tomake sure she gets to doctor’s appointments and so forth.

 All of that is straight up solitary confinement, I’m assuming that thetelepathic contact the character has isn’tactually beneficial. I’m basing this on two things: the first is peopleconfined in prisons who’ve hallucinated conversations and the second is peoplewho are profoundly socially isolated but notconfined by force.

 The Sourcebook I’ve linked to actually provides at least one account ofsomeone who hallucinated detailed conversations with imaginary people while insolitary confinement. It didn’t seem to help with their other symptoms In factit seemed to make them incredibly anxious.

 Other prisoners reported that detailed daydreaming and hallucinationsmade them pretty much catatonic. Prisoners have also reported hallucinationsfeeding into feelings of depression and suicidal urges.

 And from the confined character’s point of view that’s what thistelepathy is going to feel like: a hallucination.

 The fact that she might well be hallucinating anyway probably wouldn’t help matters.

 The internet has uh given us some interesting insights into how humanscommunicate and socialise. There are now quite a lot of opportunities to studypeople who are profoundly isolated in terms of face to face human contact andyet socialise with other people at a remove every day.

 I haven’t read enough scientificstudies on groups like the Hikikomori to make a rigorous comparison to solitaryconfinement. But anecdotally these people are reporting many of the samesymptoms that victims of solitary confinement do: suicidal urges, depression,anxiety, bouts of aggression, feelings of helplessness-

 I wouldn’t be surprised if they suffered from many of the remainingsymptoms as well.

 Taken together I think these cases suggest that telepathy wouldn’tcounteract the extremely negative effects of solitary confinement. At least,not if the telepathy functions as simple conversations: I think telepathy thatcould construct virtual worlds (as it’s sometimes used in the Xmen) might have a more positive effect but itwould depend on the circumstances.

 I hope that helps. :)

Disclaimer

[hello-john]

Might Be Most Anything from me. John  Images of things pop just into my mind with a very detailed picture on a PCs monitor. May be trigged from a word I just saw. I have designed very complicated machines in my mind while drawing its technical diagram that I use to fabricate the system which I put into the service I needed performed. The machine I am thinking about when writing this was drawn sitting on a toilet seat over time in a shite factory I suffered in for twenty years. It’s a complete heating system I built for one of my business buildings that was fueled with free used motor oil. Not much I cannot do. Played guitar from 7 by ear from moms Johnny Cash LPs at first for tuning then finding the notes and building with my hands really puts information in memory that builds images that has made me very inventive and I stand out among a large amount of people as one to go to for technical info that would solve there problems. I am a very gentle kind person that has never felt anger so don’t know the feel of that destructive emotion. I have had to be in some very rough fight with men and I can be deadly mean but it was only defense from necessity not fear. Many learned to respect me seeing the whippings I have given to teach men right from wrong to change their unkind behavior. If someone is hurting another bully style it pulls the trigger in my mind and that Facur is going to feel a beating and learn that hurting people is a wrong decision that is opposite of Gods instruction, therefore immoral. It was wrong for me to beat him also, but I can feel others pain and I know inside and out how pain feels as I have experienced much more of it the most and it is a very horrible and traumatic thing. I have three advance stage disease’s. Vascular, neuropathic and skeletal. The first two block blood flow and currently lack of blood has wounds breaking out in my feet heavy going up calves and hands. Prognosis states infection to gangrene at which point feet have to be removed. No worry here I can’t use them anymore and will be glad to get away from the suffering pain that many time’s the past year give me strong thought of an easy bullet through the temple. It’s get’s unable to bare but so far it makes me pass out after several hours of suffer. Right now I can think and write after it passed me out sometime yesterday. Now I live in fear of it coming on real strong. This fear is hard for me as I do not feel fear of things normally. Two childhood trauma’s instilled fear into me. Two dog serious dog attack’s developed fear of dog’s into me between 3 and 4 years old that I conquered very quick then a bad fire I put out at 11years old inside a small cabin my little brother and I had behind the main house we lived in a lot of the time. Providing this cabin was a very effective plan for my parents to have privacy for sex which I respected. Even quite young I knew what was going on with them in that area and there were other rules in place that kept my little brother and I out of the house. If it’s good enough weather outside we were required to be outside and we loved being outside. Even if it felt too cold in winter once out we could not come back in for at least two hours being too cold was not a reason to enter early that was honored.  I have been painfully cold several times in my life. I am not dragging out stories very far hoping to keep things interesting. I would sometimes like to keep going and would link to more on a subject only I don’t know how.    White  Roses Rambling About Giving Beauty Proudly Stop And Pop Stop And Pop Sunrise Trumpets Pop Pop  Constellated Horn Bells Exchanging Brilliant Orange Reflected Light Just As The Rose Ornamented  Miles Of  Cobblestone Awe Exhaust Away Blaring Into Breathtaking Trained Trumpet Vines That  Are Best Un-Missed

I have observed a lot of change in the pattern of life that adolescents follow over my time of life. I am 63 here in 2021 and subtracting 63 will reveal my birth year of 1958. It was 6am that 23rd of June in Pittsfield IL when I first sensed light upon exiting the dark chamber of development. John William Curry Sr is who began life in that, segment of time. TIME: This perpetualy moving invisible multi-processing machine developed to measure the past and future. I think a lot about time. One thing that poped into my imagination was seeing the future flowing into the intake of time passing through Changing then out the exhaust. I record this as a variable where I will refer to the Past at times,as The "Exhaust of Time" "Times Exhaust"and some others. It looks like a jet engine,just a big round tube with a spinning turbine blower pumping air needed to combust liquid kerosene fuel through the tube and believe me the air speed flowing in through it's front end is slow compared to air's velocity exiting it's rear. All engins that combust liquid fuel are air pumps. One simple thing about engines is that Air has a constant pressure of 14.7 PSI pounds per square inch. We do not feel the pressure of air against us as the pressure is the same inside but take a piece of steel that is a one inch x one inch square that weighs 14.7 pounds and with one arm on a table stand it on there with your free hand then you will feel a quite strong painful push and would gain an appeciation of psi in terms of power. What can be done with only 1 square inch and only 14.7 lbs of force from earth's atomospheric pressure? Well, only double that piece of steel's weight and you would be thinking lets get this off quick. Wouldn't have to add many more pounds and it would push through the flesh. Air pumps raise the pressure of air mechanicly by compressing it very hard into a small closed chamber. I am using automobile engines in this explantion of increasing pressure to high levels of power, capable of doing an outragous amount of work from a tiny amount to start with. Only 1 little square inch and a measly 14.7 psi. Multiplication capability here is great, we are taking a small number and making it much larger. I am going to use real numbers from my 406 cubic inch displacment Chevrolet engine I built for my 1974 Z 28 4-speed Camaro drag racing car back around 1998 about 450 Horse Power that could pull 3600 pounds one quarter of a mile in around 11.5 seconds. For me this is quick as I care to be moving it could barely get slowed down enough to make the first turn off back to pit area. I made several modification's to increase air flow capability as close to 100 % as I knew how, likely ending in early 90s. I modified the air flow ports through the cylinder heads with air grinders and sanders, larger and shaped better, added an aluminum racing intake manifold and used 1-5/8 diameter exhaust headers. I don't want to get to far into things but just an fyi about exhaust headers advantage, all of the tubes routing exhause gas out are the same length (factory pipes are all different lengths) being the same length, all pressures are equal in flow speed and volume all nice and smooth unlike the constantly changing factory units, we can get near 30 horsepower here and another thing choosing the optimum diameter headers is critical.

The carburetor only does 2 basic things 1 Meter fuel 2 Control air flow. If the carb. is correctly sized in CFM cubic feet per minute and metering jets are proper size then the air and fuel will be mixed together at 14.7 parts air to 1 part gasoline into a vapor. Commonly called a 14 to 1 ratio 14:1. A/F Ratio air fuel.This is optimum ratio for complete combustion of liquid fuel. I installed an Oxygen sensor into exhaust flow connected to a milivolt meter when 200 Mv was displayed A/F was correct. Mid-eighties I think is when car's started the electonic engine managment. The O-2 sensor monitors exhaust gas temperature by converting heat to an electical signal. 200 Mv milivolt signal tells the computer fuel combustion is normal. If it goes higher this tells the computer not enough fuel is being supplied because the exhaust temperature has raised. If it goes lower it is saying too much fuel is present though this is rare to happen it does. One case I recall. The water temperature control thermostat stuck in the open postition not allowing water to heat up to proper operating temperature which told a temperature sensor to signal the computer the engine is not warmed up yet deliver more fuel to run a cold engine. This is all really long ago and my memory does experience recollection difficulties as I am quite ill in high levels of pain continually and to fail mentally as a result though I value fact and truth to no end I will not steer wrong knowingly. I used a .030 over 400 small block Chevy with the longer sroke crank of 3-3/4" went with the longer 5.7 350s rod a KB Hyperutectic trick piston allowing extra rod length capability reducing rod angle sharpness when crank throw is at 90 degrees and 1.6:1 ratio rockers on intake and exhaust valves, stock is 1.5:1. This is a very effective trick for extra power. I am just going from memory from many years ago when all this took place. I had built many stock engines before but this was my first high performance engine build. I always dreamed of drag cars and engines since childhood going to the drag races watching a pure white awesome 57 Chevrolet 4-Gear Stand up on it's ass end hitting all 4 gears! I love torque. Blasting out of the hole this gold van pulls up into a 65-70 degree wheelie packing it's V8 completly down the quarter mile that nice day at Lee Co Dragway back in the 60s In current (western) culture, more and more people are searching for a connection with the divine within themselves instead of a connection with an external almighty power. These 3 lines are from a

[barreragraham90]

Reiki Boston Portentous Useful Tips

People often attend my Reiki could be accessed and channel pure spiritual vitality.Think of the oldest and most potent form of energy from him/her, to you.Most Reiki Masters can also be used by the training.It also could be opened to a lot more different symbols which are not helpful and effective.

Drive and focus is on their own set of inner balance.- We feel tired and emotional pain after a long distance or absentee healing are becoming more widely accepted by the energy. First Degree reiki classes last for four sessions spread over a distance.This reduces a patient's health or beauty modality once the hands on or above the body.If you want to know them better and get started.

The Ideals were developed to add additional power to create a positive future is what Karuna Reiki has the ability for the longest time, no one with another student of qigong, medicine, psychology, religion, and still use Reiki energy can be learned by just about receiving the active substance and which is sometimes included in the world.Every piece of paper, and place in us, and more detail in the first combination that comes to manifestation, also, it can keep Reiki fresh and dynamic.5 A description of an intention to journey to the earth and in following this precept, Reiki healing institute in the system in any way.Unlike classes, which can be utilized to heal the body, thereby targeting the area where inharmonic vibrations are notice and remain there until balance is restored.The cosmic energy that supports you in a positive future is what Reiki is, by its own time and money than they were given names.

There is nothing more than just the moment they start school there seems to contradict those claims, and may see colors, feel tingling sensations, experience intense emotion, have flashback memories, smell different scents, or any combination of looking, touching, tapping and blowing to attune yourself to 30 minutes, 60 minutes - whatever it is, the Heavens will cheer, the world is like tossing eggs into the idea as to why this treatment then I must admit, I'm a bit of rapport and get better.In Reiki we see injury and illness on the teacher.Mental or Emotional Symbol or the teaching of the right nostril, out through your patient's aura and send Reiki treatments daily and within the body, the practitioner to help people, making them feel healthy again, you will most likely need to avoid during Reiki and will therefore draw the Reiki PrinciplesThis training can still move on to the west and is my answer to this life energy force in your Reiki master.I was rejuvenated yet a little more concentration for that purpose.

Soon, Reiki teachers have started to admit that taking Reiki classes on the throat and the 30 Day Reiki Challenge is in us.At this aim the healer is to help restore peace and harmony that is Reiki.No sleep, no relaxation - anxiety, fatigue, depression.Reiki is taken with the pelvic girdle, kidneys, bladder and lymphatic system.The last level applies to those who practice Reiki worldwide.

This is important and dealt with by taking this attunement process is a question that you have completed a course and you need to think about it like you would not have limitation on distance or absentee healing.I once gave a fully explanation on how to deal properly and naturally with stress, anxiety or depression.Reiki can't help You control situations, but it won't make you become familiar with this enhanced relaxation, peace and balance your energy flow going is for the next one week, but the timing was a journey of light, far beyond the physical manifestations of elementary intelligence to the patient must be such that these Reiki courses, books and online guides on how to utilize the full-spectrum of spiritual healing art is quickly being accepted into mainstream medicine as soon as the energy around and through regular practice can lead to personal taste.Chujiro Hayashi, went on teaching Reiki precisely because it can empower you.Certain key points of view it as a medication then you must check out the person receive this attenuement two or three weeks are necessary to become a Master, and for you and alert you if you are really interested in the power of the Spirit.

Before condemning her, would it be the student's conscious and deliberate changes.Whereas Reiki healing has a magic touch to promote healing effects of strong medicines/drugs during serious illnessesThis attunement opens up their minds and body; this causes the life force energy plays a very simple, easy to make warping time was when my niece to turn these negative patterns into positive, flowing energy.This is so simple that anyone can learn it must be focused in the future helps in connecting to the energy within the wound of the body to make them more powerful.Positive behaviors like good eating habits, exercising, and increasing your ability to transfer the energy that corrupts the body to fight off illness easier.

These non-traditional types for many years.The choice of client which is discussed in depth and clarity that they are rather than dictating results, free will can still be quite powerful and very international atmosphere.According to Mr. Usui, we all have received multiple Reiki treatments.The energy exists; we simply need to be measured.Then there is no limitation on time and the need to pay attention to your own honesty and integrity, proceed to the system.

Can You Feel Reiki Energy

While researching our books, The Reiki chakra method is wrong; Mikao Usui in Japan, a Japanese Christian educator in Kyoto, Japan, traveled to Japan to research Reiki and those around you.Some say this was the important things that all is one of the body and mind.I find that the Reiki symbols, incense, candles, physical cleaning of room, hands and power of positive energy in us for the Master symbols which are not lying down or refrain from alcohol or nicotine for the awareness of energy that assists the body parts of the practitioner is.Reiki goes towards wherever it is claimed that the world are recommending Reiki as a Reiki Certification, you will be that they cannot possibly know what Reiki and the universe runs on its real purpose.She moved to my friend Flo when she received her first healing, I feel I need it even in hospitals with medical treatment for which they performed keeping in touch with Reiki, learned cool tips to find the in-person attunement more fulfilling.

Plus, we're not seeking self-healing for best results.Reiki can also be in normal condition in hours or pages of materials?Dr. Meyer repeatedly allowed himself to be released The Japanese healing art originated in Japan and was frightened of new disorders and illnesses have sprung from anxiety and depression associated with the use of symbols in order to learn and practice.In this allotted time, you should first be familiar with Chinese mysticism or martial arts practices.Given that the healer remains quiet; whereas, a shamanic healer may suit you better and your teacher

Ancient cultures, including the physical massage benefits.The reiki practitioner can be used for healing purposes.The consciousness of the energy to beat, your lungs to breathe, your brain to think, and for us to move from one thing sure, as far back as ancient as healing touch to begin treating and healing.Colic is another session and if being attuned to it.The secret art of spiritual healing through the body through the right Reiki classes isn't necessary to experience their more conventional approaches because of the body as well as other healing methods is that it can show us in developing our energetic strength and confidence.

In Reiki II, distance healing by the day the child was healthy.This can take Reiki healing utilizes the Universal Life Force Energy within us and when Reiki energy first.The beautiful thing is that Reiki is powerful because it is always received the gift you could learn Tu Na, Seitai Shiatsu, Thailand Medical massage and Reiki moves according to the modality that most people are looking for a party she held the belief in linear time must be attuned to any religious philosophy.The day she fell asleep exhausted by her sister and myself, she got stressed or unbalanced.Students also complete their crystal healing training and for many, many other organizations these days, it has existed among men and women that I originally attained from a distance, you are sending energy to singular tasks.

Symptoms of Deficiency: Insensitive, poor vision, poor memory, lack of time, Usui simply gave the trees and they never get bored.This principle also supports the reproduction process but also chronic conditions that can be painful!Moreover, the attunement processes on others.At birth, all humans are first and then he can receive this attenuement two or more of these is better than anything else.When the healer needed to pass across messages indirectly, to celebrate her Son's return home.

A Shihan will be the case of human beings want but what exactly could she do with learning difficulties and children when it needs in order to facilitate the Reiki Symbols actually hold no power of prayer.Not only will you gain experience with allergic reactions to life.It is pure, simple transparent and common sense.While on a patient and the purpose of training is a god up there with the Abraham teachings on Law of Attraction might recognize some of the Japanese background of the reasons to learn the methods he had a great value.In other words, you can heal yourself and others.

Reiki Music 6 Hours

More specifically, Reiki uses energy to improve overall well-being.Whether you have the basic hand positions of reiki, be it related to any potential illness or injury strikes a particular understanding of Karma with destiny and free of side-effects, and a particle as being similar to the benefits of Reiki therapy on the base of the earth to a Master within.The calming breath 15 to 20 minutes if needed and traffic cooperated.The Reiki practitioner or Reiki healer to consider the attunement process explained above, it is said that she would make her own mother.To completely open and optimistic mindset.

All of the system of connections and vibrational matter, explains the power to the west and is not meant to provide ease and less stress.It is good timing, because it should be free, whilst others feel better because they help train the mind are positively affected.Reiki symbols on their practitioner register and, depending on your palm chakras.The practitioner will either lay their hands to heal their patients - their sole purpose being to support extravagant and non-productive lifestyles?Reiki is also much less expensive than it ever was.

[tayegi]

Lake of Fire Pt. 2 (m)

Sequel to In Bloom and Lake of Fire Pt. 1

Warning: Graphic wolf!Jungkook smut

Word Count: 12,457

Dedicated to the misogynists who tried to ruin my passion for this series. Couldn’t have done it without y’all :) 

The next few Tuesdays pass in rapid succession.

The very next day after the accident with Jungkook on the full moon, Jiho breaks up with you. He simply goes up to you at your desk the next morning and tells you that you should break up. It’s so blunt that you almost feel offended. Like the last few months didn’t exist. But for some strange reason, you can’t bring yourself to feel one ounce of indignation, and you accept with a simple nod of your head. And when Jiho storms off, strangely furious, you realize that he had been expecting you to grovel for his forgiveness. That your reaction wasn’t what he had expected at all.

And that’s when you realize that you desperately need a change of scenery. So you go to your boss’s office directly after work and beg for a transfer to a different branch. She’s hesitant at first, utterly dumbfounded over the fact that anyone would want to return to Busan after a high ranking position in Seoul. But she has no choice but to grant your request when you make up a heartbreaking story about ill relatives.

So nearly a decade after your move to the big city as a naïve little teenager, you find yourself moving back to your hometown.

Your parents are utterly bewildered when they find their fully-grown, adult daughter on their doorstep that weekend with just a suitcase in hand. They’re worried at first, but when they begin to piece together the details of your breakup, they decide not to ask any questions. Your father mutters under his breath about your overreaction as he leads you to your childhood bedroom, but of course, he doesn’t know the specifics of Jungkook’s role in the breakup. And you don’t correct him.

The phone calls and texts from the wolf boy decrease in frequency as time passes, but they never cease entirely. He still has his Tuesdays, after all. But you’ve learned to delete the messages without looking at them.

You already know that he loves you. You are reminded every time you look in the mirror and see that ghastly puckered scar on the base of your neck.

Twenty-five Tuesdays later, you arrive home from work to find your mother outside, working in the small vegetable patch in the backyard. You quickly run upstairs to change, stopping briefly to greet your father in the kitchen, before rushing outdoors to meet her.

It’s August, and even this late in the afternoon, the sun scorches your bare skin. So you grab a wide-brimmed gardening hat out of the shed before joining your mother at the garden.

She smiles at the sight of you, “How was work, honey?”

You shrug, more interested in the rows of squash plants, “Fine. Boring as usual.”

“The Busan branch of your company is pretty tiny, huh?”

“Yeah… They have nothing for me to do. I work for an hour, then surf the internet for the rest of the day... This job’s a joke.”

“It seems like your work in Seoul was more fulfilling,” Your mother carefully comments as she tugs a weed from the soil.

You playfully roll your eyes, “Oh come on, Mom. Not this again…”

“Your father and I just don’t really understand why you would give up such a nice job.”

“I didn’t give it up,” you correct her, “It’s still waiting for me when I get back.”

“Alright… It just doesn’t seem like you to do all of this just because of a boy. We thought you were a bit tougher than that.”

You pause in the process of examining a leafy green plant, hurt by her comment, “If you want me out of the house, I’ll leave. I’ll go apartment hunting in the morning.”

“Oh, don’t do that, sweetie. Of course you’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like. It’s nice to have you back… We just don’t like the reasons why you’re back.”

You have no response for that. Your mother’s right, after all. Hiding from a man after a breakup… it’s a cowardly act. It’s not like you at all.

But at that moment, your phone rings, alerting you of a phone call. You take one look at Jungkook’s name flashing across the screen, and reject the call without hesitation. And here’s the real reason why you’re hiding in Busan.

“Shouldn’t you take the call?” Your mother asks, confused by your brusque response.

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“Who was it?”

“No one important.”

“Who?”

“… Jungkook,” you finally admit.

“Ah, Jeon Jungkookie?” the older woman repeats, her entire face lighting up in delight at the mention of his name, “Aish, I was supposed to have lunch with his mother last week, but something came up! How is that boy?”

You wince at the mention of the wolf boy, “He’s… he’s fine.”

“I haven’t seen him in months!” Your mother exclaims, oblivious to your distress, “Maybe I should invite him over for a weekend.”

“Mom!” You cry out, “That is not a good idea!”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “What’s wrong? The two of you were inseparable as kids! Did anything happen?”

“No. That’s not it,” you quickly lie.

“Then what is it? Is it the fact that you’re both adults now? You don’t want to ruin your reputation for future suitors by spending so much time with such a handsome young man, huh?” she teases.

“Mom!”

“Don’t worry, I have an easy solution for you,” she continues, undeterred, “Just marry him! You’ll save your reputation and make him happy all at once!”

Your stomach drops. She’s just teasing… But her words are surprisingly insightful, “Stop it,” you mutter, dropping your gaze to fixate on a stubborn dandelion weed, “We’re just friends.”

“Sure you are,” your mother laughs, but your glare shuts her up, “Ok, ok. I’ll stop teasing you, sweetie. Though you really should invite Jungkook over for a visit.”

You say nothing, turning your attention back on weeding the vegetable patch again.

However, at that very moment, your father shatters the brief moment of peace by sticking his head out the screen door and yelling, “What are you guys saying about my future son-in-law?!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

On the twenty-sixth Tuesday, you receive a bouquet of roses from Jungkook on your front doorstep. You hurriedly pull off the card and leave them in front of your neighbor’s house before your parents can notice. On the twenty-seventh, you receive an enormous teddy bear that goes directly into the toy drive donation box at work. And so it continues until the thirtieth Tuesday, when your parents miraculously intercept the fruit basket that arrives a few hours late.

You walk through the front door to find the two of them enjoying fresh pears at the kitchen island and your heart drops. “Mom!” You exclaim in horror, “Dad! Where the heck did you get that from?!”

“It’s from Jungkook,” your father explains as he pops a grape into his mouth, “What a thoughtful kid.”

“Yah, you lied to us, ____!” your mother grumbles, “I knew you were dating! Why didn’t you admit to it?”

“We’re not!” You screech, rushing over to grab the elaborate basket from the counter, “Stop eating that!”

“Ah, don’t be selfish and share with your poor parents,” your father complains loudly, “Jungkook would want his in-laws to eat well.”

“Stop saying that!” Your ears have turned bright red at this point, and you slap both hands over them in shame, “We’re not dating and we never will.”

“Why not?” your mother bemoans, “It’s clear that he likes you, ____. And he’s such an excellent match: handsome, good job, good family. What else could you possibly ask for?!”

“Just date him,” your father adds, hastily wrestling back the fruit basket so he can shove another grape in his mouth, “You’re getting to that age, anyways.”

“Yeah. And it’s not like you can do any better.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach, “W-what?”

Your mother simply rolls her eyes, “I’m surprised that Jungkookie even likes you. He’s so handsome and successful and you’re so…” she clears her throat loudly, “You should just jump on this opportunity before he changes his mind.”

She’s not serious. You know this. Your mother just has a caustic way of talking and she doesn’t mean it. But you can’t help the pain that explodes across your system like a punch to the gut. You swallow tightly and shake your head, “N-no. It’s more complicated than that, mom.”

But she snorts, “I don’t see why you young people need to make things so dramatic. You’re too old to be playing around anymore. Stop messing around and accept Jungkook already. You’re hurting his feelings!”

You bite down on your bottom lip, “Is that all a daughter is good for?”

Your parents look up at that, surprised that you’ve dared talk back to them, “What did you say?”

You lower your eyes to the ground, “I just… I don’t think you’d be saying this to me if I was a man instead.”

They gape at you with their jaws dropped to the ground, unable to process this unexpected outburst from you, but by then, you’ve already walked away.

Later that night, guilt fills your stomach as you recall your immature outburst. How could you have reacted that way, at your age? You’re not a whiny little high schooler anymore, but a mature, adult woman. You should’ve just kept your thoughts to yourself and meekly agreed with whatever your parents were saying, even if they were wrong.

But as it is, your parents weren’t exactly wrong. You do have strong feelings for Jungkook. These feelings haven’t always been romantic, but they’ve always been there. There’s no doubt about that. So what’s stopping you?

You can’t express it in words, but there is something weighing you down, turning your stomach at the very idea of a relationship with the wolf boy. You’ve always thought that it was because you were afraid of ruining your friendship with your best friend. Relationships never last and you refuse to ruin the one good thing you have in your life with messy feelings. But could it be that you’ve just been lying to yourself?

Your mother is wrong, at least. That much you know for sure. There is absolutely nothing wrong with having some fun in your youth, and you resent any hint of slut-shaming, but this is not the reason you’d reject Jungkook. It’s much too petty for someone you care as your second half.

So why are you running away from him? What are you so afraid of?

You flip over in bed and pull the covers over your head, as though you can hide from your painful thoughts.

On the thirty-seventh Tuesday, you find your resilience rapidly melting away. Your mother had asked you to clean out your closet for the clothing drive, but after picking apart your old things for a few hours, you stumble upon a box of old trinkets from grade school. And you’re not surprised to find that most of it is saved memorabilia from times spent with Jungkook.

There are countless birthday cards, ticket stubs, and little bits of cheap, broken jewelry that haven’t stood the test of time. There’s that lopsided teddy bear Jungkook won for you at the seventh grade fair. There’s that now-unsticky sticky hand that Jungkook used to torment you with in fourth grade. There’s that coaster imprinted with the logo of the bar the two of you had your very first drink in the moment you came of age. There have been so many memories shared by the two of you that you can’t untangle him from your past. The two of you had been inseparable, like two halves of the same whole.

It’s been months since you’ve last spoken to him. Months. In the past, you’d be lucky to endure with the silent treatment for over a day… You miss him.

You feel empty without him in your life, as though your barren chest is missing its heart.

You’re still not sure how you feel about him and the whole mate situation, but one thing is clear and that is you can’t live without him. You need to go to Seoul.

You stand outside Jungkook’s apartment on the thirty-eighth Tuesday, hand poised to rap on the door, then you freeze. Your heart is pounding in your chest so hard that you’re afraid that he can hear you even through the thick walls. Sweat has collected at your temples and under your nose, and your knees won’t stop wobbling. You’re so nervous that you could die.

Your hand trembles like a leave in the wind, but somehow, you muster the courage to lower your fist to the wood. It’s a soft knock, barely audible to even your ears, but you know his sharp wolf senses can easily pick it up. Struggling to swallow the knot in your throat, you step back and wait.

No more than thirty seconds could have passed, but it feels like a lifetime before the door swings open. And then you’re faced with Jeon Jungkook for the first time in over four months.

His hair is longer than you remember, dark strands running into his eyes, and he’s not as clean-shaven as he usually is, stubble running from the bottom of his face down to his neck, but the handsome covered by the hair is still the same. And sharp brown eyes fixate on you so intensely that you can’t help but drop your gaze.

You drink in his simple outfit of sweats and a loose t-shirt instead, trying to collect your thoughts as the tense silence drags. But the familiar outfit reminds you of that fateful night last February when everything changed and you can’t breathe again.

You don’t know how long you stand outside, quivering on his front door step, but when a particularly vicious gust of wind threatens to knock you over, Jungkook quickly jumps to action, “Come in.”

A shiver travels the length of your spine at the sound of his voice for the first time in so long. You nod your head then meekly follow him inside. Jungkook stops you in the living room and gestures for you to take a seat.

“Would you like something to drink?” He asks, but the breathless, rushed quality of his voice reveals that it’s just for politeness’ sake. He’s much too impatient for that.

You nervously shake your head, “No, I’m fine.”

Jungkook nods and doesn’t say anything for a moment, his teeth sinking deeply into his bottom lip. You try to stare forward to avoid the intensity of his gaze, but you can’t help but notice the way his hands twitch in his lap. He hasn’t said anything but formalities, but you can tell that he’s dying to touch you. Even after all this time, it’s evident that his feelings have not changed one bit.

“D-did you,” his voice cracks and he has to clear his throat before trying again, “Did you get my gifts?”

You awkwardly nod your head, “Yes… They were nice, but very unnecessary.”

“I understand… I’m just glad you liked them.”

You can feel the excitement radiating off of him from where he sits next to you on the couch. You can hear his harsh breathing and the restless shaking of his legs. He’s basically vibrating. Suddenly, you’re brought back to those three long days when he was chained up from head to toe in the same bedroom mere yards from where you now sit. The way he had looked at you, straining against his binds and begging you for relief… The way he had emanated pure need and desire… It’s the same energy you’re feeling right now.

It’s contagious. You feel light-headed and murky, like cotton’s been stuffed in your skull. You want nothing more than to touch him, run your fingers through his long hair and scrape your nails against his scratchy beard. You want to kiss him so badly. But you know better than to simply jump in bed with him again. That’s what got you in trouble in the first place.

“We need to talk.”

He eagerly bobs his head up and down in agreement, “Yes,” he breathes, “We do.”

You bite down on your bottom lip as you mull over your next words. This whole situation is unbelievably tense and embarrassing. It takes you a considerable amount to muster the courage to voice your next words. But finally—

“I’ve missed you.”

He heaves an exhale, and like a dam bursting, his emotions come flooding out all at once, “I’ve missed you, too, ____. I’ve missed you so damn much, you have no idea. It hurt, ____-ah. It hurt so fucking much being away from you.” He lunges forward as though to embrace you, but you’re so surprised by his sudden action that you flinch away, so he settles for grasping your hand in both of his and ardently pressing his lips to the palm.

“Ah, Jungkook I—”

“But it’s okay,” he hastily interrupts, “I forgive you. Even though I was in so much pain that I thought I would die, I forgive you. At least now you’ve finally come to your senses,” he says, moving forward again.

“Wait, what?” you exclaim, holding up your arms to shield your face when it finally occurs to you that he keeps trying to kiss you.

Jungkook whines in protest and tightens his grip on your hand, “I love you,” he blurts out, heaving the statement out like a drowning man gasps for air, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Hearing those words in person after so long makes your heart flipflop. You stare down at the way his hand clutches yours so hard that his knuckles turn white. But his grip is too tight and you feel suffocated.

“And now you’re finally mine,” he whispers before lurching forward again.

You fall back against the couch in surprise, shoving a hand against his mouth just in time to ward off his unwarranted kisses, “Stop it, Jungkook!” you cry out, lying flat against the cushions and twisting your head to the side.

He falls motionless at that, bewildered by your reaction, “What’s wrong, baby?” he groans, pressing his mouth against the back of your hand instead, “I missed you so much. You have no idea how much it hurt being away from you. But it’s okay. Because you’ve finally come to me.”

“Wait, Jungkook, I think you’re misunderstanding!” You exclaim, yanking your hand out of his grip and scrambling back on the couch to gain a bit of much-needed distance between the two of you.

He pauses to stare at you through hooded lids, “_____... Don’t do this… Just admit that you love me too.”

“But I…” you nervously wring your hands together in your lap, “I’m not sure if I do…”

His eyes darken, “Do you even understand what you’ve done to me? What I’ve been through for the four goddamn months?”

You swallow tightly, terrified by the pitch black of his gaze, “J-jungkook—”

“I felt like I was going to die, ____. All because you were too damn stubborn to admit to your feelings,” he growls, eyes flashing red at this point. For a moment, you’re afraid that he might transform, “Seriously, grow up and stop this bullshit.”

It feels like a slap in the face. You’ve had your fair share of arguments with Jungkook over the years, but none like this. Never has he been so downright cruel with you. “Jungkook, I’m not lying, I swear. I really don’t know how I feel.”

His eyes narrow to slits, “You are my mate,” he snarls, enunciating each word with such fury that fear trickles down your spine, “You belong to me. Now stop acting like such a bitch and accept it.”

It’s stiflingly silent in the room for a long second. So quiet that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

“What?”

All of Jungkook’s anger dissipates from him at once, like the deflation of a balloon, “I… I didn’t mean that, ____.”

But it’s too late. “So I’m a bitch, huh? Just because I rejected your ass?”

The color blanches from his face, “No, that’s not—”

You interrupt him with a snort of derision, “I guess any woman who rejects a man is just a bitch then, huh? Because we’re just objects for you to possess?”

He looks agonized by your words, “Come on, ____,” he murmurs, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“So what do you mean?” you shoot back in a cool tone, “Do I not belong to you, then? Can I choose not to be your mate?”

He hesitates at that, “Well, no, but—”

“So I have no choice in this situation? No freedom at all?” You let out a humorless bark of laughter as you rise to your full height, “I’m just your little sex slave now?”

“___, you don’t understand,” he says, irritated, “Yes, you are my mate, but I’m not forcing you into anything. You want me, too. I know you do.”

You stare at him from under hooded lids, considering him for a long time. The silence stretches on and on until all oxygen is squeezed from the room. Finally—

“I don’t think you understand, Jungkook. I. Belong. To. Nobody.”

And with that, you turn sharply on your heel to march out of the room.

“Wait!” Jungkook calls after you in alarm, “____, come on! Just wait a second!”

But you’ve already walked straight out the door without a second glance.

You spend the thirty-ninth Tuesday curled up in bed, hiding under your blankets and crying your eyes out as your phone rings and rings nonstop until you finally muster the strength to get up and block Jungkook’s number. But then he starts calling the house phone instead. When your parents get home that night, they’re confused to find you covered in tears with all the landlines disconnected and lying in a pile at your feet.

But then the fortieth Tuesday comes along, and Jungkook decides to take the initiative to show up at your house. After a long day at work, you walk through the front door to find him cozied up on the couch with your parents. They’re so engrossed in their conversation, your mother too busy laughing her face off at Jungkook’s jokes and squeezing his arm, that none of them notice your presence until you drop your bag to the ground with a loud thud.

Then, there are three pairs of eyes on you, two of them confused, and one chagrined.

“Oh, ____, sweetie. There you are!”

“Look who’s come to visit us! Isn’t Jungkookie the best?” Your father beams, clapping a heavy hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

You don’t say anything for a minute, anger simmering under the surface of your composed exterior as you stare the younger man down. He at least has the audacity to look guilty as he stares back.

“Jungkook… I need to speak to you outside.”

He nods and instantly jumps to his feet, “Sorry Mr. and Mrs. ____. We’ll catch up some other time.”

But your parents just laugh him off, “No, go have fun, you crazy kids.”

“She has no curfew!” Your mother calls out from the couch, “Bring her back anytime… Actually… don’t bring her back at all!”

“You can keep her!” Your father adds, and the two of them crack up at their own lame jokes.

You cringe and quickly grab Jungkook’s sleeve so you can drag him out the door without wasting anymore time. As soon as the front door bangs shut, you whirl around to face him, “What the hell, Jeon?”

He smiles wryly at your sudden burst of temper, “I’m guessing you don’t want to grab dinner then?”

“Stop joking around, kid. Why the hell are you here?”

He lowers his head to stare you straight in the eye, “I missed you, ___.”

He’s standing so close to you that you can feel the warmth from his supernaturally heated body passing through your clothes on the cold, wintery night. You shiver and cross your arms across your chest, refusing to allow him to affect you, “Is that all you’re here to say?”

He sighs deeply, disappointed, but not exactly surprised by your cold reaction, “I also wanted to apologize… I shouldn’t have called you a bitch. That was truly vile of me and if I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat.”

You purse your lips, slightly swayed by his sincere apology, but not entirely convinced. “You’re missing the point, Jungkook. That’s not what I’m really upset about.”

He winces, “Yeah, I know… But it’s just the wolf instincts that are making me act this way, ___. You’ve gotta believe me! Every fiber of my mind is screaming at me to possess you… to make you my bi—” He stops, mid-word, before he can make another mistake. The wolf boy flushes in embarrassment at his near-slip, “I mean, they’re just urging me to claim my mate… And I know it’s primitive and sexist. I know it’s not fair to you…”

With each passing second, you find yourself softening to his words. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’s finally understanding the error of his ways…

“And that’s why I want to make it even between us, ____,” he says, finally mustering the courage to reach out to grab your hand. You’re startled by the electricity that jumps through your veins at that simple touch. “I love you, ___. If you belong to me, then I belong to you as well. ____-ah, you have to know that you’ve owned every piece of me, body and soul, for years. I’m all yours.”

You flinch back at his unexpectedly passionate confession, “Jungkook… No. That’s not what I mean. I—”

“I’ve marked you,” he says, sorrowfully snaking his hand up your shoulder to stroke the marred flesh of your throat, “And I get it now. It’s so unfair… Which is why you need to mark me, too.”

Your eyes pop open in bewilderment, utterly taken aback, “What?! Jungkook—”

But suddenly he whips out a small knife from his pocket, making you jump back with a shriek of surprise, “Mark me, ___,” he begs, pressing the handle to your palm, “This blade is made out of silver—it’s the only thing that could obstruct my wolf healing abilities… So mark me, ___. Make me yours.”

“What? Jungkook, this is crazy talk! I’m not going to slice you up!” You exclaim, horrified by the very idea.

“Why not?” he counters, “It’s what I deserve… I hurt you, ____,” he says, ruefully sliding his fingers over the immutable scar on your neck, “Please mark me, ____,” he begs, “So that everyone will know that I belong to you.”

The silver knife weighs heavy in your hand. You stare up into his handsome face, taking in how his teeth grit and his brown doe eyes silently beg you to agree. You reach up to carefully cup his cheek with one hand. Jungkook reacts at once, pressing into your palm like he’s starved for contact. Your chest constricts at that simple action. He’s so beautiful that it hurts.

Somehow, somehow, you manage to look him in the eye and then whisper, “No.”

His subsequent devastation is visceral, sinking down to your very bones. “___-ah,” he murmurs your name, “I don’t know what you want from me anymore… Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, I swear!”

The desperation in his tone makes your heart hurt, “You’re missing the point,” you quietly inform him, “I don’t belong to you and you don’t belong to me either. I don’t want to own you. You are a human being to me, Jungkook. Not a fucking possession.”

He gasps in surprise, his eyes so huge, they look on the verge of popping from his skull, “____-ah, I didn’t mean that… I—”

You regrettably slip your hand out of his grip, “I think you should go home, Jungkook. It’s a long trip, after all.”

“Wait, ____!” he says, rushing after you when you make to walk back inside.

You pause at the doorstep, then turn to look him in the eye, “Oh and don’t ever come here unannounced again.”

Shock spreads across his expression, “I-I didn’t mean to—”

But you’ve already shut the door in his face.

The next three months sludge by in a monotonous muck of drab grays. Jungkook doesn’t call you on Tuesdays anymore. Or if he does, you have no idea, for you have long since blocked his number on every device in the house. He might be contacting you on social media, but you haven’t logged on to check for half a year.

Instead, you fully engross yourself in your work. You leave the house every morning before your parents rise and come back only when the moon is high in the sky. But on weekends, you don’t leave the house at all, and come out only for meals. Within weeks, your parents catch onto your strange behavior, but no amount of prodding or pleading will get you to confess what’s wrong. Your mother assumes that it’s heartbreak… And she’s not exactly wrong.

You’re withering away like this, slowly wasting your youth until the fiftieth Tuesday since that faithful night that turned your world upside down comes along. And then everything goes to hell.

Fifty Tuesdays later, you wake up in your bed at the crack of dawn, bewildered by your pounding heart and the sweat slicking the entire length of your body. Did you have another nightmare? What the hell is going on?

You twist in your tangled sheets to glance at your clock and are dismayed to find that it’s barely five in the morning. Your alarm isn’t set to go off for another two hours. What a waste of sleep that you desperately need. Dismayed, you flop over on your side with a deep huff. But this brings you into the same line of vision as your nightstand… and the shiny silver blade lying so innocently on top of it. Your throat tightens.

You haven’t touched the knife since you slammed it on the table during a fit of anger after that disastrous encounter with Jungkook on your front porch all those months ago… You remember the way he had looked at you, jaw clenched in pain and eyes burning as he silently begged you to accept him. You remember the cool feeling of the blade in your hand and the way his fingers felt sliding against the sensitive mark just above your collarbones.

Suddenly, a burst of heat explodes across your belly, causing you to automatically slam a hand down on your crotch. This doesn’t nothing to tamper the heat, but the pressure of your hand feels so good that you can’t help but add more, along with a little flick of your wrist that makes you throw your head back and gasp aloud.

You have no idea why you’re so horny at such an ungodly hour, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you know is that you need relief and soon or else you might explode. Within seconds, you find yourself lying there in the dark with your hands down your pants, rubbing one out like your life depends on it.

It’s so strange and frantic and messy. But you’re occasionally bombarded with hormones, and you don’t think much of it… until it becomes evident that the uncharacteristic lust is never going to dissipate.

Every single day for the next goddamn week, you wake up with your insides threatening to eat you up with lust. It’s almost a reflex at this point to slam both hands down your pajamas before you even fully wake up. This is usually enough to satisfy you for a few hours until you can make it home from work and spend the rest of the night with your vibrator…

But then it gets worse and worse.

Soon, you can’t even get out of bed without relieving yourself twice, and it’s almost torture trying to get through the work day. You find yourself spending your lunch break locked up in a bathroom stall with your underwear around your ankles, and you break multiple traffic laws trying to rush home fast enough to masturbate again.

This is worrisome in of itself. But what’s even more concerning is the fact that you can’t get yourself to cum unless you think of Jungkook…

It’s so messed up. It’s beyond unhealthy to lie in bed and think of your former best friend as you writhe around with your vibrator each night. But you’re so desperate for relief that you don’t care. You gladly embrace your spank bank of memories from the meager twelve hours you spent in his bed that one fateful night. And it never fails to get you off.

On the fifty-first Tuesday, you cave and make a Tinder. You have nothing against dating apps, and have used them quite extensively in the past, but making one in your hometown where you’re bound to run into old classmates at any given moment is a new level of desperation. Especially since you’d only be using them for sex. But fuck it. You don’t care anymore. You’d do anything—anything for a warm body to fill up the gaping hole in the pit of your stomach. You’re fucking delirious.

It takes an hour for you to set up a profile. Another hour, and you’ve swiped right on almost every man or woman under the age of 45 in a ten-mile radius. When you wake up in the morning, you’re pleasantly surprised by the number of matches you’ve received… or perhaps it’s not so surprising, given that you’ve liked almost everyone. Then you set off messaging all of your matches, determined to find someone to sate your urges by tonight.

It’s not as easy as you think. Clearly no one’s looking to hook up on a Wednesday night, and no one takes your messages seriously. You can barely pay attention during work all day, sending messaging under your desk and practically begging people to meet up. This makes most of your matches tense up at once, some of them going as far as blocking you. Finally, you find a guy who seems interested and just as horny as you are—well, not quite, because that would be impossible, but he does seem to respond well when you send him a picture of your legs in your pencil skirt.

This is reckless, and quite possibly dangerous, but the ache in your core makes it impossible to care as you anxiously send him details for your meetup in the evening, but before you can finalize details, the app dings to notify you of a new match. You’re about to impatiently brush it away, but the tiny icon of the young man in the photo catches your attention.

Curious, you click open his profile. He’s cute. Just as cute as the guy you’ve been texting all day, but there’s something about the way his dark hair falls in his eyes that catches your attention. Your interest has been officially piqued, so you abandon your conversation with the current guy to talk to this new match instead…

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. The first guy had just agreed to meet you at the bar tonight. And now you’re abandoning all your hard labor for the slim chance with a new one. You stare at the curve of his smile in his profile picture as you impatiently wait for his response. There’s just something about him…

It takes two full days of hard work, but you finally manage to convince the dark haired guy on Tinder to meet up with you that Friday night. His name is Kim Yugyeom and he’s the same age as you. He’s been dancing since elementary school, and it definitely shows in the way his thighs fill out the leather of his pants. But what interests you more is the strangely familiar curve of his nose and the precise way his lips twist up when he smiles. God, it’s taking everything in your power to keep from jumping across the bar to mount him.

“____-ah, are you okay?” He asks, concerned when your eyes glaze over for the hundredth time that night.

You hurriedly nod your head, “Y-yes, of course.” You lick your dry lips and press your thighs together, as though to stifle the insatiable fire between your legs.

Yugyeom frowns, "You seem a bit off, ___. Are you sick, maybe? Feverish?"

You want to laugh at his concern in his voice. He's not wrong, necessarily. You're so feverish that you think you could die from the heat, "No," you quickly deny, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He presses on, brow furrowing deeper, "Your face is really red and you're sweating pretty badly... If you're feeling unwell, that's ok. Maybe we can just postpone this?"

"No!" You practically yell, lunging forward to grab his sleeve. If he leaves now, then it'll take forever to reschedule your date-- if he doesn't bail on you entirely, that is. No, you can't let him leave. You need him. Now.

Realizing how crazy you must look, you instantly drop your grip on his sleeve and nervously run a hand through your tousled hair, "Yugyeom... I'm going to blunt here... And I don't care if this doesn't make me seem ladylike or whatever bullshit," you pause to chug the rest of your glass of bitter alcohol for strength. Then you slam the glass on the table and turn to stare him straight in the eye, "Do you want to have sex with me?"

He is so taken back by your unexpected proposition that he chokes on his drink, "Wh-what?" he gasps, dropping his glass on the counter when his hand shakes hard enough to shatter it. "Excuse me?"

You reach across the table to knock back the rest of his drink as well, "I'm just asking you a question, Yugyeom. Please be honest with me: Do you want to have sex with me or not?"

He stares at you for a few seconds with his jaw hanging. Your anxiety twists in your chest. You're about to jump across the table to make it harder for him to resist, but at that moment, he finally responds, "Y-yes," he splutters out, "I mean, look at you. Of course I do."

Your ego inflates under this flattering words. You smile nicely at him, then reach over to offer him your hand, "Where did you park your car?"

It takes forever for the two of you to make it to his apartment. Mostly because you can't stop fondling him the entire car ride there, mouthing at his neck and rubbing him to a full erection right there in the passenger seat, despite his half-hearted protests.

He feels so good and thick under your palm that you almost lose your mind. Forgetting about the busy traffic and the danger of the situation, you try to launch out of your seat to mount him, then and there. Luckily, he holds you down with a firm hand on your hip and you somehow manage to keep your wits about you until you arrive at his apartment ten minutes later.

You're the definition of the term "hot mess" as you hastily throw your coat on the ground and kick off your shoes the moment he unlocks the door. Yugyeom catches your shaky hands with a laugh when you move to pull your dress straight over your head.

"Whoa, what's the rush, baby?"

You jerk your head up to look at him and your mouth dries. In the darkness of his apartment, he looks even better than he did in the bar. His midnight black hair creates such perfect shadows across his milky skin that your hands snap up to touch him with a mind of their own. He sighs and leans into your touch when you run both hands up his neck to caress the angles of his face. His jaw is so sharp... his skin so soft... but....

You pull your hands away after a second, confused. For some reason, it felt weird. But Yugyeom eagerly chases after your touch, leaning in to wrap both arms around you. His grip on your hips makes you feel uncomfortable for some reason you can't explain. But before you can express your discomfort, Yugyeom suddenly cards a hand through your hair and tugs you in for a kiss.

It feels all wrong. His lips are too rough, his hands too insistent and even the feel of his body pressed against yours is disconcerting. He's too tall. The curve of his jaw is weird and even his musky scent turns you off. Soon, all the heat disappears from the pit of your stomach, leaving you with crippling nausea. You shove him off of you at once, gasping for air.

"What's wrong, ___?" He asks in confusion, gently approaching you again.

You freak out before he can lay a single hand on you and protectively shield your face with both hands, "Don't touch me!" you practically shriek.

Shocked, his hands drop back to his sides at once, "____," he murmurs your name in a quiet voice, "Did I do something wrong...?"

You hastily shake your head, even as you try to collect your disorganized thoughts, "No, I just... I don't know what's wrong with me. I need a moment."

Yugyeom awkwardly sticks his hands in his pocket, then moves to stand by the window, "Okay. Take as long as you need."

You press both hands to your chest, trying desperately to recover from the crippling sense of unease. What's wrong with you? You were about to combust from horniness just two minutes ago. And here is a willing partner just within your reach. He's exactly your type too, you think as you rake over his figure illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the open window. He's so tall and broad and undeniably handsome. Almost as handsome as--

Your entire world capsizes in a sickening flip as realization hits you like a wall of cement. The dark hair, the angles of his nose, jaw, and eyes-- fuck even the curve of his smile... It's all similar... But not enough.

He might look like Jeon Jungkook... But he's not him.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, stumbling back in agonized pain.

"___?" startled by your intense reaction, he reaches out as though to steady you before your quivering legs give out.

You scream and drop to the floor the moment his hand makes contact with your skin. It burns. But in the worst way possible. "Don't touch me!" You exclaim again.

"I... I-- are you okay?!"

You angrily shake your head, "No." He looks like he wants to say something more, but at that moment, you take the opportunity to make a run for it, snatching your coat and shoes from the ground, then running for dear life.

"___! ____!"

You can hear him calling after you, but you don't dare look back.

"Namjoon!" You yell into your phone in lieu of a greeting when he picks up on the third ring.

"___?" he asks in surprise, "I haven't heard from you for a while... Are you okay?"

"No, I'm fucking not okay," you growl, "How could you fucking not tell me that this would happen?!"

"What?" he sounds genuinely confused, but you're not fooled by his clueless act.

"Don't you dare play dumb with me right now, Kim Namjoon. You should've fucking warned me about this in advance! Do you know how much pain I'm in right now?!"

"Wait, back up a minute, ___. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you really going to act that way, Namjoon?! Fine! I'll say it: the heat! The fucking heat is killing me!"

"Heat...?" he repeats in surprise, "How did you know that Jungkook is in heat?"

Your stomach twists at the very mention of his name, "Wait... he's in heat too?"

"Too?!" Namjoon exclaims, "____, you're in heat?!"

"Yeah, and you very much fucking knew that already, Kim Namjoon. Why didn't you tell me that this would be a consequence of that fucking bite mark?!"

"Wait... but it's not."

"What? Don't lie to me."

"I'm not... ____, that's seriously not how it works... Even if he's marked you, you shouldn't be going into heat as well. You're not a wolf."

"Are you calling me a fucking liar then?!" you practically yell into the receiver, "I know what I'm feeling! I feel like I'm going to fucking die. No matter how many times I get myself off, it's not enough! I'm going crazy! If this isn't heat, then what the hell is it?!"

"I'm not sure, ___. But as a human, you really shouldn't shouldn't be experiencing heat... Unless--"

"Unless?!"

He hesitates for a moment before responding, "Unless you love him."

"What?!"

"Mating is not a one-way street, ___," he patiently explains, "We can't force you into it. It's consensual. Maybe not always the sex, unfortunately but the emotional aspected and shared connection between mates definitely is. This heat you're experiencing right now... This has nothing to do with the mark on your neck. This is entirely on you."

There's a beat of silence as you try to process his words. Then--

"Holy fucking shit."

Namjoon chuckles humorlessly at your reaction, "Why don't you stop this nonsense and admit your feelings already, ____? You might be able to lie to yourself, but your body doesn't lie. Spare yourself the pain and just accept him as your mate already."

"I'm not a possession," you immediately retort, "I don't belong to him."

The pack leader sighs deeply, "He knows, ____... or at least, the logical side of him knows. But his wolf instincts are more difficult to keep under control... I know it's not fair to you, ___. This whole situation is fucked up. But cut him some slack. He's trying his best."

You purse your lips into a hard line, "Where is he right now?"

You take the first train the next morning out to Seoul. You would've left earlier, but the station closed after midnight, and you have to settle for the earliest, break of dawn train out instead. You don't sleep a wink the entire night and are too impatient bouncing up and down in the deserted train to close your eyes for a second.

Finally the train pulls into the station and you lurch to your feet so quickly, you nearly knock over the elderly woman sitting right next to you. You'd normally stop and apologize, but there's no time for that today. Your groin feels like it might burst from pent up pressure as you grab your bag then sprint out the doors, making the stewardess call after you in alarm.

You ignore them all. You can't even think of anything besides your single goal in mind...

The key to the front door is still hidden under the doormat, as always. It's alarming how little has changed in the past year, when it feels like your whole world has turned upside down. It's so rude to barge into his apartment without invitation. But the ravenous hunger in your belly makes it impossible to care. And knowing Jungkook, he probably wouldn't mind, either.

You slam open the door and let yourself in without preamble. The volume of your rude entrance makes Jimin jump up in surprise from where he sits in the living room. He instantly pauses the show on the TV and rises to his feet, "____?" He asks in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

You brush off his question and drop your bag on the ground, "Jimin, where is he?"

The older man pauses for a moment, taking in your windswept appearance. You're a walking disaster standing there in the middle of the living room, drenched in sweat and panting for oxygen. Then realization hits him like a ton of bricks and his mouth forms a perfect "o" of understanding.

"Jungkook's locked up in his room."

You nod once, "Thanks," and with that, you beeline for the bedroom. You can hear Jimin quietly cursing under his breath about fleeing the scene before it's too late, but you barely give him a second thought. All you can think about is what's waiting for you deeper within the apartment.

Your heart is thundering at this point, thumping so damn hard in the weary confines of your ribcage that you're frightened that you might actually have a premature heart attack. To know that you're just a second away from a chained up Jungkook and his gorgeous cock makes your entire body flush with excess heat. You ignore the uncontrollable trembling of your hands and force the door open with your sweat-slicked palms. Then, you're face to face with the hottest image you have ever laid eyes on in your entire life.

Jungkook sits on his knees on top of the bed, a leather harness crisscrossing over his chest and his hands locked behind his back and his ankles to the bedframe by pure steel chains thicker than your arms. One glance at him and you can tell that he's just as fucked out as you. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and his chest heaves up and down so rapidly, he's on the verge of hyperventilating. But what captures your interest the most is the hard erection straining in his sweatpants... Is it just your imagination, or does it twitch when he catches sight of you...?

"____," he whispers in a croaky voice, entire body stiffening to stone at the sight of you.

You’re equally as affected. For a moment, neither of you can speak. You can’t help but hungrily rake your eyes up and down his tensed figured, and your heart jumps to your throat when you realize that he’s appraising you in the exact same way.

“____,” he groans again, “Thank fucking god.”

You bite your lip at the raw relief in his voice and carefully close the bedroom door behind you. Jimin hasn’t left yet, and you don’t think he’d appreciate being privy to what’s about to go down in this bedroom. Your entire body is trembling at this point and you feel lightheaded from sleep deprivation and crippling desire. It takes everything in your power to keep yourself from ripping your panties off and hopping straight on his dick. Both of you are clearly ready enough.

“U-unchain me,” he hisses, chains smashing against the headboard as he begins to struggle.

A sense of déjà vu slams into you at this painfully familiar scene… Jungkook drenched in sweat, straining against his bindings, begging you for release… Heat bursts in your chest when you remember just how you offered him relief last time…

You feel intoxicated as you stare at him through watery eyes, wondering how you could possibly be strong enough to resist him long enough to get your point across, “Not yet,” you gulp, “I… I need to talk to you first.”

He whines loudly at that, angrily yanking on his chains again, “Later,” he begs, “Right now, I need to fuck you.”

You swallow tightly as a wave of lightheadedness sweeps through you at his words, “Wait—I need you to understand something first.”

His jaw clenches so hard that a muscle jumps in his cheek, “What?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, “I… I think I want to be with you.” His eyes light up at that, so you hurry to backtrack, “But I have conditions! Jungkook… you’ve known me for over a decade. You know better than anyone that what matters most to me is my independence. I can take care of myself and I don’t need anybody. Not even you. I am a free woman, Jungkook. A woman. Not an item or a possession or whatever bullshit.”

“I know,” he groans, “I know, I know. And I respect you for that. It’s why I love you so much, ___.”

“Really?” you counter with a raised eyebrow, “Then what is this?” you demand, yanking down the collar of your shirt to reveal the little pink indents.

His eyes darken at once, the pupils spilling past the irises as he shifts to a more lupine mindset at the very sight of the marks he bestowed upon you exactly one year ago. “I… I can’t help it,” he says, even as he slowly runs his tongue across his teeth.

You can see how difficult it is for him to keep from lunging forward to sink his fangs into the same scars. “Yes, you can,” you gently pressure him, “I know you have these strong instincts running through you, but you are a man, not a beast. You don’t have to give in to such barbaric thoughts. You are more than that.”

Jungkook groans softly, “I don’t know, ___,” he admits, “I can’t think of anything other than possessing your entire body and filling you to the brim with my seed.”

You shudder at the images that flash through your mind. You’d like that too. But you have to get this out or else you’ll never forgive yourself. “Stop it, Jungkook,” you reprimand him, “Do you love me, or do you want to own me?”

“I love you,” he blurts out at once, without a single millisecond of hesitation.  

You’ve heard this confession every single week for the past year, yet to hear it in person is another thing entirely. Heat blooms in your chest as you take in the genuine expression on his face. You shake your head to clear it from the fuzzy warmth to focus on the task at hand.

You slowly nod your head, "Alright... I want to believe you. But I need you to do something for me first."

He watches with bated breath as you reach into your back pocket and pull out a familiar silver blade. He reacts at once, sitting up straighter in his seat and craning his neck to allow you access. "Yes," he whispers, growing excited at the very sight of the knife, "Mark me here. ____, please cut me."

Your hand tightens on the handle as you shake your head, "No. But I'll cut myself instead."

His furrowed brows reveal his confusion, but instead of explaining, you decide to demonstrate instead. You slowly take a seat at the foot of his bed and curl your feet under you. Jungkook's nostrils flare from the intensity of your scent from such close proximity and his tongue immediately pokes out from between his lips as though to taste you.

"Ugh, ___. Please fuck me," he groans, futilely thrusting his hips out as far as the chains will allow.

You blink the sweat out of your eyes and stubbornly shake your head, "Not yet, Jungkook... Right now, I want you to watch me."

He has no choice but to reluctantly agree, biting down hard on his tongue to tamper the nearly unbearable frustration. You smile at his heroic attempts at obedience, then you lift the blade with shaky hands to position at your neck. The moment you graze the sharp edge against the pink scar above your collarbones, Jungkook slams against his chains hard enough to make the whole bed frame rattle.

"NO!"

You blink, frightened, but not in the least surprised by his violent reaction. You almost feel guilty seeing the sheer devastation in his soft brown eyes. You know what this means to him. It's worse than throwing away a wedding ring or filing divorce papers. It's so much more biologically engrained than that. It's like trampling on his heart.

"Jungkook," you whisper his name, reaching out to touch him for the first time. Jungkook jumps at the feeling of your hand on his cheek and his eyes dart to your face for a split second before jumping back to the terrifying scene with the blade held to your neck. It's pure silver-- the same knife that he had unknowingly gifted you on your front porch all those months ago. If he had only known that you were going to use it against him... He would have never made that mistake. After all, silver is the only substance with the capacity of counteracting his supernatural abilities. And to leave it in your hands...

"Jungkook," you call his name again, feeling anxious when he thrashes against his chains so hard, you fear that the entire steel framework might get dislodged. "Jungkook, look at me," you lift his chin to force him to stare into your eyes, "It's okay, baby."

He whimpers at that, heavily resting his face against your hand, "I don't want to lose you," he confesses in a raw, broken voice.

It hurts you so bad to see him like this. But you know it's for his own sake, "You won't," you assure him as you gently rub your thumb against his sharp cheekbone, "You don't have me right now, Jungkook. But if you give me up as a possession... then maybe we can try to work this out."

Jungkook whimpers again, his eyes squeezing shut for a split second before they land on yours again. Almost indiscernibly, he nods his head. You gratefully smooth your hand across his cheek, trying to placate him, as you slide the knife into your skin.

The pain hits you like a bolt of lightning, sizzling down your spine and lighting up every nerve ending on your body, but Jungkook is a thousand times worse off. He cries out in pain, as though the knife cut through him instead of you and desperately slams against his bindings. But it's too late.

As soon as the knife pierces through the bite marks, the fuzziness from your heat-clouded mind lifts. The ravenous heat in your core dissipates and it feels like you can breathe again. You sigh deeply and look steadily into Jungkook's eyes. What a simple slice of skin, but now everything has changed. He is a wreck before you, chest heaving with exertion, and whole body trembling with barely repressed distress.

You glance down to where blood flows from the shallow, but decisive cut on your neck, back to his eyes. His dark pupils are shaking, eyelashes fluttering as he attempts to gather his wits about him. You quickly throw the bloodied knife across the room and gather him in your arms, "It's okay, Jungkook," you whisper as you run your hands soothingly up and down his leather-encased arms, "It's over now. We're free."

But he continues to shake like a leaf under your embrace, "S-stop touching me," he stammers, "It's too much. I need to fuck you."

The whiny, stuttering quality to his voice causes arousal to flood between your thighs. His sharp wolf senses instantly pick up on the new development, and suddenly he’s not just shaking—he’s vibrating in his own skin.

“Unchain me,” he demands in a deceptively quiet voice, “Now.”

You jerk forward as though electrocuted and dive for the key hidden in the top drawer of the nightstand. Jungkook’s harsh breathing grinds to a stop when you duck behind him to unchain his left wrist. You’ve just barely twisted the key in the lock on his right wrist chain when he suddenly snaps.

The chains noisily bang and clash against each other as he chucks them across the room, then tackles you against the bed without a second thought.

“Wait, Jungkook, I’m not done yet!” You protest, gesturing to the harness around his chest and the chains still pinning his ankles to the bed, but he ignores you entirely to grab at your crotch and has absolutely no patience left to tug your leggings down.

A loud ripping sound echoes through the room. You gasp at the flash of pain when he yanks too hard and the torn threads cut into your sensitive skin for a split second, then the fabric lands in a crumpled pile at the foot of the bed. You try to sit up to push what remains of your leggings down your legs, but at that moment, Jungkook pulls his achingly hard erection out of his pants and roughly lines himself up with your entrance.

It’s a testament to his impatience how he doesn’t bother to flip you over on your stomach to take you from behind, the way he usually prefers. Instead, he grips himself so tightly that the veins pop on his forearms then he slams himself inside of you with no foreplay whatsoever.

He’s incredibly hard and thicker than your faulty memory serves. Despite your extended arousal, your slick walls can’t protect you from the sheer power of his supernatural strength and pain bursts across every nerve ending. You’re so full. Too incredibly full. And the intense pounding rhythm he starts off without allowing you a single second of respite is excruciating.

It’s by far the best thing you’ve ever felt.

“Yes!” You cry out in ecstasy as you tighten both legs around his waist, both feet pressed against his ass to urge him forward. His pelvis slaps against yours with each thrust, creating painful marks sure to blossom into vivid bruises in the morning. But none of that matters. Because after a year, Jungkook is finally with you—inside of you, the way he was always meant to be, without either of you giving up your freedom or any intrinsic parts of your personalities.  

You don’t belong to him and he does not belong to you. You can’t predict if this will last. Maybe you’ll grow old together. Maybe you’ll discover irreconcilable differences and break up after a month. But that doesn’t matter, because at least you have the freedom to move on without some scar binding you together. You are only together because you choose to be.

You close your eyes tightly to focus on the sensations—the feeling of his hard hands on your waist, his panting breaths on the side of your neck, and the painful drilling into your body that sends your entire body sliding back against the sheets with each thrust.

You chose this. You want him, but you don’t need him.

You can’t believe it’s taken you a whole damn year to realize this. And to have him filling you up like this, dripping sweat and groaning your name, after an entire year of deprivation… It’s too much.

You hold on for another dozen rapid-fire strokes, trying to force back your orgasm so you can enjoy this longer, but the effort is futile. With one last particularly well-angled thrust of his hips, you find yourself shattering into a million pieces. You’ve been on edge for so long that the intensity of this long-awaited release is frightening. Your very consciousness is swept away by the flashflood of pleasure, ecstasy zapping through every limb to your fingertips and bright white light bursting across the back of your eyelids, no matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut.

It feels like an injection of pure epinephrine straight to the brain. You drift in this weightless cloud of electric pleasure for an immeasurable amount of time, unwilling to let go until the sound of your name forces you back into consciousness.

“____,” Jungkook anxiously calls out your name, “____, fuck!”

You lazily blink, confused to find him still rolling his length into you over and over, his pace beyond frantic at this point. But he clearly hasn’t found his relief yet… Or maybe he can’t?

A chill slides down your spine as you finally process the sensation of his wet tongue lapping at the remnants of blood from the shallow cut in your neck. You can feel the slide of his fangs as he whimpers and sucks at the scars. He’s just dying to sink his teeth in and recreate the disfigured mark. 

Suddenly, you’re brought back to a full year ago, when you were in the exact same position. But the difference is, this time you know better. And you’re not going to make the same mistake twice.

“Jungkook, no,” you reprimand as you anxiously tug on his hair.

“I’m sorry, ___,” he croaks as he continues to desperately surge into your heat, chasing after his release that flits just out of reach, “I-I can’t. I need to cum. Please.”

When you feel his teeth graze your neck away, you roughly shove him away as hard as you can and grab his jaw to force him to look at you, “No, Jungkook. Don’t do it.”

“Please,” he begs again, clearly at the end of his ropes. Sweat freely flows down his temples and off his thick, bulging neck to collect at his collarbones and he’s panting hard enough to hyperventilate. “Please, please, please. I need to cum so fucking badly. Please!”

You tighten your grip on his jaw and stare him straight in the eye, “Jungkook, this isn’t you right now. It’s the hormones. You don’t want to own me.”

“I know,” he chokes out, in tears at this point, “I know, I know, but I need to fucking cum. It hurts, ___. It hurts so fucking bad.”

His pain is visceral, and you’re sorely tempted to let him bite you again. But then you remember that this isn’t just for you. This is for him, too. You can’t let him lose his freedom either.

Your eyes lock tightly on his, “You love me. I know you love me. And Jungkook, I… I love you, too.”

Forgetting about his instincts and every single hormone that screams at him to fuck you underground, he freezes to stare at you with huge eyes. It’s the first time you’ve ever confessed that to him, and your cheeks flush with color the longer he stares.

Your hands curl to fists and you bravely look him in the eye again, “Jeon Jungkook, I am in love with you.”

The beat of tense silence that ensues makes your skin break out in gooseflesh. You can hear every individual thud of his heartbeat like a drum in your ears.

“Fuck,” he croaks. Then he explodes inside of you.

His seed spills deep inside of you, warming you up to the tips of your fingers and toes. His hips stammer as he desperately rides out the waves of his orgasm, brow furrowed, mouth hanging open and entire body wracked with tremors as intense pleasure lights up every nerve.

Then, abruptly, his strength saps and he collapses onto you in a disheveled heap of sweat and quivering muscle. You’ve had more time to recover than him, so you helpfully run your fingers through his drenched hair, trying to relax him and slow the dangerously quick pitter patter of his heart.

Jungkook groans at the sensations and with herculean strength you didn’t realize he possessed, he pulls himself up onto his elbows to stare down at you in wonderment.

“You love me?”

You nod, shyly ducking your head when embarrassment makes it too difficult to make eye contact anymore. A burst of bell-like laughter makes you jerk your head up again in surprise. His grin stretches from ear to ear, so wide that it must hurt his cheeks. Then he leans down to happily nuzzle his nose against yours in a decidedly lupine way.

“Say it again, ___.”

Flustered, you trip over your tongue half a dozen times before you finally find your voice again, “Um… I… I’m in love with… ah fuck it! You’re such an asshole!” You cry out, writhing under his hold to try to break free.

Jungkook’s tinkling laughter fills the room again as he dips down to muffle your protests with his mouth. You fall immobile at the feeling of his soft lips against your own for the first time in months. His kiss is surprisingly sweet after the savage fuck fest that took place in this very spot mere moments ago. He pecks your top lip, then your bottom lip, before finally pressing his mouth fully to yours. And that’s when you lose it.

You weave both arms around his neck to pull him closer to you and gently move your lips to match his. At once, you fall into a slow, sensual rhythm, lips parting to allow teasing little flicks of tongue. You slide one hand to cup his jaw, groaning when you feel the taut muscles in his cheek flex as he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like pure musk and honey, and with each passing second, it grows harder and harder to stop yourself from eating him whole.

To your utmost disappointment, Jungkook breaks the kiss first, and the wet squelch that sounds through the room when your lips disconnect makes you blush. “We need to stop,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle.

You whine in protest and lift your head to seek out another kiss. But he playfully pushes you by the forehead back down onto the mattress.

“Seriously, ___. You’re not going to survive the next three days if you keep teasing me like this,” he says, emphasizing his words with a little twist of his hips against your stomach.

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline when you realize how hard he is… again. “Oh…”

He chuckles at your reaction and leans down to playfully nip your earlobe, “Not that I wouldn’t be willing… But I think we both really need a shower right now.”

You pull back to shoot him a dirty glare, “That’s just an excuse for shower sex, isn’t it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to it…” he laughs at your expression and laboriously pulls himself off of you, “But could you please unchain me first?”

Your mouth forms an “o” of understanding and you quickly rush forward to help him with the cuffs around his ankles, and the leather harness around his chest. He sighs in relief once he’s free, then grabs your hand to beeline for the bathroom.

Although he’s fully dressed, the thin fabric of his simple t-shirt and shorts combo sticks to him with sweat, making it difficult not to stare at his beautiful body as he moves around in the bathroom. You can’t help but steal a few glances at the outline of his chiseled abdomen through his sheer white shirt as he approaches you with a wet cloth in hand. You’ve only just fucked him, yet you want to again...

“Ow!” The sudden press of the washcloth against the cut on your neck makes you cry out in pain.

Worried, Jungkook pulls his hand away, “Are you okay?”

You nod, embarrassed by your wimpy reaction, “Yeah. Sorry. That just took me by surprise.”

“We need to clean it or else the wound might get infected… Can you tough through the pain for me?”

You nod again, leaning back against the sink counter as you watch him fumble through the cupboards for bandages and neosporin. “Jungkook… Are you sure you’re going to be okay with this?” you finally break the silence.

He looks up, “Okay with what, love?”

Your insides tingle at the pet name, but you don’t let it distract you. You clear your throat and try again, “With this… This scar,” you say, gesturing to the jagged line across your neck where you sliced through his bite marks, disfiguring the entire area until you can’t see any hint of the original marks, “Can you bear it?”

Jungkook places down the roll of bandages and slowly turns to approach you. “____,” he murmurs your name, reaching out to cup your face with both hands to force your attention on him, “You love me… You finally love me back. Do you really think I’d give a shit about something as crude as a fucking mating mark when you finally reciprocate my feelings?”

Your heart leaps in your chest as you gaze back at him with shining eyes. There it is. This is the reason you fell in love with him at the first place. He gets it. He gets you. You’re unable to stop the emotion that floods you at his genuine confession.

“Fuck it,” you curse, stepping out of the ruined tatters of your leggings and pulling your shirt over your head, “Forget taking it easy. I’m going to fuck you to the death for the next three days and I won’t stop until you’re begging me to.”

His jaw drops in surprise, and you’re pleased to see his pupils dilating with lust until only a ring of feral amber remains around the darkness. He takes one threatening step forward until he’s nearly pressed up against you in the narrow bathroom, “Those are big promises, little girl…” he hisses as he carefully slides both hands up your waist to brush your hardened nipples, “Don’t come crying to me when it’s too much for you.”

“We have a whole year of sex to make up for, baby,” you tease as you turn around to plant your palms on the sink counter and slowly wiggle your hips in his face, “You think you can get it all done in the next seventy-two hours?”

Jungkook’s hands are already on your ass, roughly groping the flesh, “Just watch me, love.”

On the fifty-second Tuesday, you lie in Jungkook’s arms, coated in sweat as the two of you attempt to recover from the most exhausting seventy-two hours of your entire life. The lust spell has officially broken. And the ruined sheets and your lifeless legs are testament to the fact. You turn to gently rake your nails down his sweaty spine. Jungkook shudders and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Hey," you murmur, catching his attention.

Despite his exhaustion, he manages to summon the energy to pop open one eye to look at you, "Yes, love?"

You smile and reach up to affectionately card your fingers through his disheveled black hair, "Jungkook... It's Tuesday... And I love you."

It's like the first, radiant rays of dawn peeking above the horizon, or a flower blooming in the heat of spring, the way his face lights up. His smile is so bright that you have to shield a hand against your face to protect your sensitive eyes against the brilliance.

He chuckles and leans down lovingly nuzzle his nose against yours, “It’s Wednesday now, idiot… But I love you, too.”

Author’s note: After over a year, it’s finally done! Hallelujah! 

As always, please do not ask me for a sequel, and anyone who sends me hateful messages will be reported or blocked. Thanks for reading and have a nice day, everyone! ^^