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potatomountain · 1 year

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To Love A Monster- CH 2

“New Changes”

mutant reader x human ateez- Slight San focus

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: there will be potential triggers for anxiety and mental illnesses all throughout this story. Not all characters are nice at first. In this chapter that is San

AN: not all chapters are going to be long, a reminder a lot of the times i don't edit my works

This is a work of fiction, in particular Fan fiction, and in no way is this a representation or an accurate depiction of ATEEZ or any other idols/people used for this work.

Any feedback is always appreciated and adored! Comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist <3

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Typhon’s had limited places to work just as they had limited places to live. There was government funding for homes and families that took care of Typhon’s, and despite being able bodied and less susceptible to disease and sickness, Typhon’s were still considered too dangerous to work with the general population. The only places we could work were Typhon based companies: companies that worked with Typhon products or had an affiliation with Typhons.

Nine times out of ten, these jobs were simply to be test dummies.

I was no different really. I was just a test dummy for my father- that was what I was born for.

Granted my father’s research had helped Typhon’s and overall made my life a bit easier… but it also meant that he had all the control in my life. I had more freedom than most Typhon’s, some would even say I was spoiled. He paid for all my expenses, even gave me a highly generous monthly allowance to spend on things I liked. He allowed me to live in my own apartment since I turned of legal adult age, and buy anything I wanted as long as I lived by his simple rules.

I just had to adhere to his tests and experiments, tell him every detail about every emotion or feeling or inhuman thing my body did. And once a week he would get to poke and prod to his heart’s content. It was, admittedly, a boring life.

No friends, or outside hobbies for obvious reasons so the last week of my freedom over my apartment was spent enjoying it. I kept the heat up high, the blinds shut, and enjoyed my once spare room as I sorted through all the random things I had bought myself over the years. Only the day before my new roommate's arrival did I clean up and create the space for him.

The day of, I woke to the sound of knocking on my bedroom door. Scurrying out of my nest of blankets, it was my father’s calm tone that stopped me from lunging at the door in my half-asleep state.

“Ty, I’m here with San and breakfast. Come eat.” Still a bit disoriented, I nodded only to be glad he hadn't seen my foolishness.

"B-be right out!" Pushing aside my little bit of embarrassment I moved around the room unfurling whatever clothes smelled clean enough before I joined them in the living area.

Aside from the two bedrooms and the one bathroom, the rest of the apartment was an open concept, a kitchen island with a built-in breakfast bar the only thing that separated it from the rest of the large space. I had cleaned it up and taken all Typhon related products to my room, the only issue was the stack of things I had moved out of my spare room was now around one corner of my little dining table; as if it ever got used.

Today my father seemed to want to make use of it, having set up a spot for me at one of the two seats that didn't have random boxes piled on them. Blinking the remaining sleep from my mind, I watched him walk over to the spare room without a word. Judging by the other boxes and furniture near my front door, the two men had everything dropped off just inside while I was asleep, and now they were moving all of San's belongings into the room.

Stomach growling I decided food was priority before I would react to the invasion of my home that was now coming to fruition. The plate did not hide the fact that the food was simply several orders of bacon and sausage patties from some fast food place, but I didn't care. As long as it was meat.

Stuffing my face I listened to my father and my new roommate shuffle around the spare room, moving boxes and other furniture. San would mutter under his breath as if I couldn't hear him loud and clear, my father replying normally. Only five minutes passed before my father made his speedy getaway. "I have to get to work San, so if you need help, ask Ty. She can be useful. Text or call if you need anything."

"My own apartment would be nice." Again under his breath, and I was half tempted to scoff. Not like I wanted him here either. He didn't like Typhon's, yet now he was here in my safe space, making it no longer safe. Perhaps my room will have to do but… I knew I couldn't just hide away for the rest of the year- my father wanted us to get along; I have to oblige.

I didn't react, but my father did sigh. "We talked about this. We all agreed it would be beneficial for all of us right now if you stay here until the wedding. Then we'll get you any apartment you want."

Silence, some shuffling, the next moment I was locking eyes with my father as he approached me. "I know this isn't easy on you either but I'll bring you some new products to make up for it. Like a new space heater for your room and some cute clothes." He looked down at the old stained sweatshirt I wore that was stretched out past its limits. "Alright?"

Despite the bit of a pout I wore, he ruffled my hair and headed for the door without waiting for the answer. Why should he? There was only one answer he would accept and that was my obedience.

Used to this cycle, these expectations, I turned my attention back to the meat before me and finished off the last of the bacon. Once finished I cleaned up.

I was washing the plate when San left his room, making his way quickly towards the pile of boxes still by the door and grabbing one of the larger ones. My eyes followed his every movement, frozen like a deer in headlights. He was taller than I, broader, and I think he would classify as handsome by human standards.

He even looked a bit familiar, as if I saw his face regularly and not just once before.

Either way- I had a mission to do. "Would you like me to help?" He stopped just inside his room, shoulders tense. After a moment I stepped around the island, head tilted to the side curiously. "San? Would you like-"

"No! And don't talk to me." Without looking back he sneered the words out. I could feel the venom in each syllable, rooting me to my spot. He glanced back to fix me with a sharp glare. "You stay out of my room, and I'll stay out of yours. Let's not talk, or greet each other or pretend like we actually want to be in the same apartment as each other. Deal?"

Frowning, I shook my head. "I can't do that. We have to get along."

Groaning, he set his box down just inside the room and turned on his heel to face me fully. "And why the fuck do we have to get along? Because your prick of a dad wants us to?"

Wincing at his words, I nodded, ignoring the insult he hurled about my father. "Your mom too. They both want us to get along. We're going to be related through marriage after all."

Rolling his eyes he shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you always do what your dear dad says? Like some stupid pet? How pathetic can you be?"

I stumbled back a step, eyes wide as his words felt like physical blows to my chest. I could feel emotion well up in my throat and burn the back of my eyes, no doubt bringing out my more inhuman qualities further. His face shifted in reaction to my own, his gaze falling to the floor for just a moment. "Just-"

Not wanting to hear even more insults I rushed to my room and slammed the door shut, locking it just as my breathing became more erratic. Nestling into my pile of blankets, I buried myself deep and cried.

He was right- how pathetic could I be?

- - -

That one interaction was the only one we had, despite how often we ran into each other because of our living situation. Within two days he had everything settled in his room, and I had organized the rest of my junk so it was less of an eyesore, but we didn't even acknowledge each other's presence even when in the same space.

It was a heavy weight on my shoulders and I could hardly stand it even after just two days. The third day I was far too excited to leave the apartment and head to my father's lab, the familiar faces of the other researchers a breath of fresh air.

My father's absence also helped me relax a bit more: I wouldn't be able to handle it if he was the one to ask about things between San and I.

But Doctor Park? That was a different story. Doctor Park was my father's colleague the longest, and had known me since I was an infant. He was kinder than my father when it came to tests, and I fully believed he saw me as more than just a research subject or pet like my father did.

He treated me with care.

Even now as he checked all my vitals, he was being gentle. "You seem really excited to be here today, is there a special reason?" He looked up from the stethoscope to meet my gaze, a brow lifted curiously.

"I uh- was happy to leave my apartment." Sheepishly I fiddled with the hospital gown I wore for each visit, eyes on the blue tips of my fingers. Avoiding eye contact gave away my distress to Doctor Park, but he could probably tell without my habits.

Frowning, he lifted my chin to force my attention back to him. "Your heart rate picked up… are things not going well with your new roommate?"

I shook my head, keeping eye contact since that was what he wanted. I wasn't surprised he knew the situation, I was their main research dummy, any changes in my environment were to be reported and this was a big change. "He doesn't like Typhons. He doesn't want me to talk to him or acknowledge him and he doesn't either. I don't… I don't like being home now. It's scary."

It was easier to be more open with Doctor Park, understanding flashing across his features. "Ah, I see. So you are anxious all the time?"

I nodded.

"That's not good for you little one, your nerves are far too sensitive to be on high alert all the time. What was your father thinking- tsk tsk." Huffing, he motioned for me to turn around and expose my back to him. "Has he seen you fully unmasked?"

"No- I keep it at bay. I'm sure he would freak out if he saw it." I could already picture his horrified expression, it was enough to have my chest tighten. "Father would be disappointed if I scare him."

I felt his hands open the back clasp and then run down the spine of my back. It tingled and reacted to the light touch, shifting underneath my skin in a way I understood was not human. One of the other researchers compared the movement to a snake slithering under the skin. In a sense… they weren't wrong.

"Don't worry about your father’s expectations. We do this research to understand and make things easier for both Typhons and humans alike. Your honest reactions are what we need, as well as his honest reactions. If it's difficult for you to be around San for now- then don't. We can't force results , little one." His hands continued their examination as I shut my eyes, hanging onto his every word and touch.

My back was particularly the most sensitive, in particular the spine, and Doctor Park was always the most gentle with it. He was just as gentle with his advice and I knew he was right. But… "I have to be around him… I have nowhere else to go but here. And father wouldn't like me hanging around here all the time."

He was silent for a moment, fingers tracing some of the patterns on my skin that seemed to bloom outward from my spine. "You know I have a son right?"

Taken aback by the change of topic I glanced over my shoulder at him, blinking in obvious confusion. "Yes?"

"See, I had broached the subject to your father that you should attempt to build relationships with other humans, but I had done so with my son in mind. I didn't think your father would jump several steps ahead and move in Miss Choi's son with you. As much as I respect your father he can be a bit too ambiguous sometimes, and it doesn't always work out the way he wants." He pulled away and clasped the gown back in place before stepping towards the computer.

Hit with a lot of new informationI took a moment to contemplate it all, landing on one question. "Why your son?"

"He's a good kid, and he's like me; he wants to connect Typhons and humans on a more kinder level. There are few Typhons that are accepted into society past their initial family or other Typhons, but it's not as rare as we think. With our reputation, if we studied the connections and interactions between humans and Typhons outside of familial bonds I think we can make some big changes, and I know my son would gladly help with that." He turned to me after typing away on the keyboard. "I helped him open up a Typhon shelter a few years back and it's gotten some good feedback. A lot of our newer patients are from there, and we work with the shelter to ensure they are getting all they need."

Eyes wide as saucers I couldn't believe I had never heard about the shelter before. Surely that would be a better idea than having someone who was afraid of Typhons live with one?

As if sensing my confusion, he rushed on. "Your father doesn't like my son, not entirely."

"Why not?"

"Because they butt heads over how to treat Typhons, yet both understand that the other is necessary to give Typhons a future alongside humans." He left it at that, smiling as he helped me down from the examination table. "Unmask fully and we'll move onto the next part. Do well enough and I'll give you the address to the shelter."

"I can go there? But its a shelter-"

He nodded. "It's also one of the few safe spaces for Typhons in the city, a lounge of sorts for Typhons to socialize. It'll take time for San to warm up to you but constantly being anxious isn't going to help either of you. We need to keep your stress low. Besides, perhaps you'll get some advice from the other humans there or make social progress and connections all on your own."

I nodded, walking with the Doctor as the final shifts of my body clicked into place, no longer hiding any of my Typhon qualities. "Do you think… I could make a friend?"

The smile he gave me was warmer than the heated air that hit me as we entered the next room, the observation room. "I'm positive. And one friend is all you need."

A friend.

The thought stayed with me as I completed the usual tasks and exercises I went through every week to ensure my body was still working and to look for new changes. The familiarity of it eased some of the anxiety and weight in my chest, but not as much as the idea Doctor Park had put into my head.

After another hour I left the lab with a smile on my face and an address saved in my phone. A friend would be nice, but really as long as I could find a temporary safe space that was all I needed.

At least until San warmed up to my presence or he left, home was not safe. I really hoped this shelter would be.

#ateez wooyoung #ateez #Ateez hongjoong #ateez yeosang #ateez ot8 #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez mutant au #mutant reader #to love a monster #tlam related #tlam

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melting-sugar-cubes · 1 year

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Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Thanks....

I don’t mind at tall~! And while I’m not sure I could give a full pick from everything I’ve consumed, I can at least go with some that stick out as extra memorable lol

{Disclaimer: these are in particular order, aside from the order I’ve managed to remember them in-- also full warning that this list is probably gonna be a mess, but here we go lol}

1}: Minato Mito -Therapy Game/Therapy Game Restart

Hoo boy, where do I even start here? I suppose some of the reasons I love Minato so much are the fact that I can relate to him, personality wise... Of course, liking how he looks is a nice bonus too-- but I think one of the biggest reasons is that despite being a troubled person thanks to his past, he’s till willing to work on himself and try to become a better partner/man, even if during that journey he’s still struggling with himself in a fair few different ways.

2}: Howl Pendragon -Howl’s Moving Castle

Look-- all i can offer for my piece here is that this movie is among my top tier bits of comfort media, and i’ll make no excuses that part of said enjoyment is a crush on a flamboyant, charming, and sparkly wizard--

3}: Cheshire Cat -Are You Alice?

Okay, so-- i’ve had a soft spot for Alice in Wonderland themed media for ages now, and this manga was no exception-- plus, the darker/more mysterious twists it’s built on made for something really new at the time i picked it up. And while I adore a majority of the cast, I can’t help singling out this troublemaking cat as a high favorite lol-- seeing as his personality is super appealing to me, and watching his dynamics with other characters was always interesting and fun... although, in addition to this-- the fact that i enjoyed him enough to rp him for a good few years likely goes a long way in me loving him as well. As there’s always something special about making your own memories with a character in that sorta way--

4}: Shui -Lamento ~Beyond the Void~

Despite being a minor character in the story, I like Shui for the fact that he was overall such a caring character, and someone who tried his damnest to fight for he believed was the right thing to do. From befriending (and let’s be honest, probably also falling in love with) Leaks, whom their whole populous viewed as an outcast, to trying to plan a way that he could prove the others wrong about their views on him. And later on, doing all he could to help his son in trying to fix the mistakes he and Leaks ended up setting in motion.

5}: Saint Germain -Code: Realize

I can’t think of the words to put together why I love this man as a character so much... But, I can at least vouch for loving him based on the fact that his route was my favorite to play through. Added fun fact: his route is one of the few that’ve managed to actually make me cry a bit lol

6}: Shiraishi Kageyuki -Collar x Malice

Shiraishi I love because he’s a character I find fascinating, from learning about the deeper layer to him via backstory, to watching him grow as an actual person... Compared to someone who once viewed himself as little more than a doll, a being without his own emotions or true existence.

7}: Ukyo -Amnesia: Memories

Ukyo again gains his spot based on his route(s) being among my favorites in the game lol-- but again, also because i enjoy his complexities, and maybe because i slightly have a thing for fictional men who’re just a bit unhinged XD

8}: Cinderella -Dictatorial Grimoire

Coming from a series that i picked up more or less on a whim, after it was recommended to me at the bookstore one day-- Cinderella is a character i loved at first because of the impression he and the story as a whole gave me, but past that first impression, he grew on me over the course of things as i learned his layers. And somewhat, got to watch him grow-- However, i can’t deny also loving him thanks to the fact that he (like Ches) is an older rp muse of mine. So the memories from those adventures play a big hand in things too lol

9}: Angel Dust -Hazbin Hotel

Aside from loving Angel for the levels of chaos that is his personality, I also enjoy the glimpses of a deeper look we get at him... I guess to sum it up simply, I enjoy Angel because while I vibe with him a surface level, he’s also another case where seeing the bits of deeper layers to his character is fascinating to me.

10}: Blitzo -Helluva Boss

Honestly, I haven’t got much to say about Blitzo-- aside from the fact that like Angel Dust, I love him for the absolute chaotic energy lol

{Honorable Mentions: Giving these a separate section, so I can avoid doing repeats from the same source in the above list-- and below a cut so this post isn’t super long}

Impey Barbicane, Victor Frankenstein, & Cardia Beckford -Code: Realize

For Impey and Fran, my love is 100% born from a mix of their routes being tied and secondary favorites from the game, and simply from a love of their personalities-- meanwhile Cardia’s is mainly the latter, but also because i loved the experience of watching her grow throughout the game (plus, she also earns a sweet spot with me for being one of the few good VN heroines i’ve seen)

Asato -Lamento ~Beyond the Void~

Although his route wasn’t among my favorites in the game... mainly for one reason-- overall, i like Asato because i find him super sweet-- and because i feel like he had a lot of untapped potential that could be put to use.

Shizuma Ikushima & Itsuki Mito -Therapy Game/Therapy Game Restart & Secret xxx

Honestly, while i generally love all the cast from Meguru Hinohara’s works, including one i haven’t listed here-- it’s hard not to have that added soft spot for those closest to my top favorite from this little series lol

March Hare, Alice(?), & Jack/The Knave of Hearts -Are You Alice?

All I have to say is that I love way too many characters out of this manga's cast LOL-- But these three earn a special mention because, yet again, I adore their personalities... And for Alice(?), because I just find him interesting in general-- Jack meanwhile, earns added love thanks to the fact that I've written him as a muse in the past

Ikki -Amnesia: Memories

With Ikki's route being my second favorite from the game, it felt like a crime not to give him a spot somewhere in this list--

Snow White & Otogi Grim -Dictatorial Grimoire

Both Snow and Grim earn a spot here because aside from loving the cast of this manga in general, these two still win extra points for the fact that I adore their personalities lol

For the next few characters, I can't really think of anything to say about them, but-- I'd still like to list them anyway--

Sophie Hatter -Howl’s Moving Castle

Okazaki Kei -Collar x Malice

Isshiki Yasuhiro -Collar x Malice

Alastor -Hazbin Hotel

Stolas -Helluva Boss

#admin post #answered asks #i'm sorry this took me so long to answer aaaa--#it sadly ended up buried in my drafts-- and i just now found it in me to finish up and post a reply ; w ;

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squidwithamelon · 1 year

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Lil intel of Noah’s psyche

They built up and up until up was incomprehensible.

Noah is bored, he’ll always be bored. Even without the constant changes and thought or mind caused by the hivemind, he’d still be bored. It’s in his nature to always want more, to see more, to grasp at more. He’s a selfish person at heart.

And as of now, it feels like the end of a Tv show for him, a Tv show which has had its ‘happy’ finales (Having a loving husband and raising three wonderful kids), yet it doesn’t feel like that. He doesn’t feel happy, he feels stuck. He exists in a world that’s already over, finished, done. (His view towards life as a Tv show goes back to his Tv star days and how he gripped onto that fictional life as a coping mechanism.)

What else is there to do? He was supposed to be happy and settle down, but that’s boring. Everything is boring.

Now of course before I move on, there is a side note, Noah is an identity, he isn’t real. He was never real, he’s just the most common form of the hivemind, something for it to grip onto, an idea to hold itself together. Without Noah, the hive mind would have split apart years ago.

It can only do so much.

The hivemind had issues at times, differing ideas, opinions, sometimes so bad Noah threatened to not exist, yet, there was always something to distract it, to pull it away from its own internal problems and focus on external opportunities. (And this was never an issue until after the war, in which the cracks in his psyche began to form. In which the common identity holding it together started to fall.)

That didn’t exist anymore.

So as it could be figured, if there was an argument or disagreement within the hivemind, there’d be nothing to distract from it. (The distractions only could put off the inevitable for so long, which interestingly plays into the theme of slow decay).

Noah didn’t split apart (besides a few incidents, but it never lasted long), because it seems even as a dead corpse rotting at the joints, it still held sway and a sense of stability in the now chaotic interior.

It’s doing what it’s always done since the hivemind’s birth, Noah. Gripping onto any sense of identity it had left. As implied earlier, a mockery of what once was though, though with moments of clarity (A broken clock is still right two times a day after all.) (And thus explaining the different [voices] he emits.)

Ironically, despite being composed of billions, the sense of isolation was great, not social isolation, an isolation of the self, detached from one’s own identity, and with that eventually came an isolation from reality itself.

And that’s not even getting into the identity of Noah himself (Besides the beginning portion). But it was important to discuss the idea of Noah and to separate him from the hivemind as both are the same yet different. Noah is the combination of the idea and execution, yet he is not the being. The culmination of many parts none defined, stationed or stable. The citizens of a country and the country itself are different yet one in the same, no?

Even as a fully realized idea, Noah was hardly able to grasp the concept of emotion. He can mimic it, exploit it, but he could never really feel it (It could be an explanation as to why he went into psychology to begin with, to try and see if he could feel what they felt). Not to say he can’t feel emotions, just not human ones. How he acts, unsurprisingly, directly correlates to his history as there was no context or past when Noah was made. The disrespect towards most life, his loud, boisterous, it all came from something, whether war, stardom, lost. The biggest influences on how Noah acts would be the war and his time in prime time. Even before the catalyst, war in itself has lessened the value of human experience for him; he lived in a time full of wars, conflict, ethnic tension and it made him come to the conclusion that humans were boring. (And this can also explain his lack of care towards the physical or mental wellbeing of many he knows.) The same conflicts, the same wars, fought over and over, like a repeating record. (Some may point to this as the beginning with Noah’s obsession with new). And the Tv years? They were a combination of everything up to that point, the psychology of the early 1900s, the coping from the war, new love from old lost. It was everything that Noah had been, and ironically that’s the last time he was truly himself.

The persona he made for the cameras blended into the idea of Noah himself, became a part of him. Yet not the hivemind.

It was something uniquely Noah. An idea made within an idea. And it explains why the hivemind had/is having issues keeping it up; a scientist can’t build a rocket where a team can. The scientist can try, but it’d never be as well defined or as efficient as a team.

Emotions are hard to explore, connections are harder. Whether it be like, love, enjoy, hate, none of that applies to him. How he truly feels about someone is something only he can fully understand, alas he does do the favor of translating it the best he can, resulting in such like, love, enjoy, hate. Nowadays that’s even less defined as even his own emotions could change like a flicker of a light, it’s a rotting structure supported only by the strong foundation.

While the hivemind fights and bickers from within, Noah (or the corpse he left behind) has a change of pace, a change or take-away of reality. Billions of voices talking, screaming all with different ideas, plans, approaches, speaking of things an average human would go mad hearing. It was never an issue until now, why now? That’s already been explained.

Reality has always been a fragile concept for Noah and the hivemind, his world was broken at the seams and yet everyone pretended it was fine. And it was, it is fine. But it further warped his perception of boredom, of normality, seeing a man at night, under your bed feasting on dust roaches? Seen it. Epic fights to the death? Fast forward. Bowling? Now that seems fun. Getting your nails done? Sure!

He’s been overdosed by the lack of reality that reality even the most boring parts are interesting. It doesn’t fully quell his boredom, but it does help. What doesn’t help is that leaking of unreality into reality he’s been experiencing, visions of things that should not be but are. One of those times, while in another universe he saw a house, his house, but it wasn’t his home. It wasn’t his home. It wasn’t real yet he could open the door, step instead. It wasn’t his house yet it had the same layout and items.

It was not, but it was.

Shakespeare never considered to be and not to be can both coexist.

This discovery furthered the descent. Maybe they weren’t just visions, maybe his unreality was truly leaking into reality.

[The feminine, more emotional voice]

[The robotic, more analytical voice]

[The man, more harsh voice]

Yet they represent more, sometimes emotions, sometimes separate parts of the hivemind. Their appearance and lack thereof are a good indicator of his mental state.

#My oc #Writing #lore #roleplay #He's going insane lmao #Oc #Original character

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anadrenalineslut · 1 year

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one thing i really do like about this new era of taylor's music is that she's definitely gotten more experimental with her themes and storytelling.

like we know taylor's famous for writing those emotional relationship songs about falling in love, being in love or breaking up but like

folklore, nevermore and midnights really emphasized her experimenting with her formula. these albums have stories and arcs and themes.

like i don't think she'll ever really move away from her roots but i like that she's branching out from them. that she's using them as a place to grow from.

i like that she doesn't seem to be stuck in those feelings about past relationships, and that she's using them to tell new stories.

thank you for sending me this ask, anon because I totally agree with everything you just said. I think Taylor realized her storywriting potential during the pandemic and changed career goals a little bit to expand outward from just making music. I think in the past, she's definitely shown interest in doing more than just singing but she's quite a terrible actress. she's not built to act and I think she kind of realized that maybe she could direct or write films instead? that in turn has led her to practice her story-writing skills in her music by making the records just very sonically and thematically tied together.

i remember listening to midnights and thinking that every song sounds very distinctly "dream pop" which idk if its a real thing/genre but thats what the record sounds like. every single track pulls from the same source inspiration, almost like she sat down with a central plot or theme for the album (concepts) and decided to write music centering that one theme or idea. for folklore, it was about the idea of what could've been and for evermore, it was about the reality of moving on from losing that potential future and midnights is about telling a story of the 13 midnights that make up who she is as a person.

i think before the pandemic, every single album had a sense of chaotic energy to it. there was always a point or a run that didnt quite make sense whereas with the last 3 girlies, literally every single song makes sense. you know why she put that song in that position, you can see the link between track 2-5 or 5-8 or 1-4 or whatever. like, there is a lot more potential for her fans to dissect these last 3 albums than there was in the previous ones because the songs themselves are constructed in such a way to keep your attention betwen those songs + their connectedness to one another.

i think folklore was a test for her fandom, to see how they would receive fictional arcs and themes in her music and the response really greenlit her change of focus in her career. I think this is great for her because it allows her to control what the narrative around her life is about. like, of course we do make connections to her past relationships with the new music but theres definitely been a shift on all sides of the fandom where the focus is more on the literary genuis of her music than her personal life.

we talk more about what the lyrics mean in terms of what taylor is trying to communicate with us about life or the lessons she's learned than any other time in this fandom's history and we are definitely not perfect but I do think we are definitely in a transitional period of her career right now where she is slowly changing the norms and traditions of her fandom to focus more on literary themes than anything else.

i just want one of her future albums to be a political album where she talks about other people's stories, because I think she's shown us she's not only ready but willing to take on the task of being more politically aware and fighting for other people's stories to be heard. i would love to see her switch to more of a global perspective in her music because I do think midnights is kind of a perfect closer to the era of her life about herself and her relationships.

like, i dont see her making another album about her personal life in the future now that she's found her person and shes happy with him and thriving in life. like, there isnt trauma there to unpack and i think sh pretty much said everything she had to say with midnights about the last 2 decades of her career/life. i think ts11 could be the start of concept albums and thematic works for taylor and im so fucking excited to see where she is gunna take us.

#like i truly think she's sick and tired of singing about herself #i think she obviously wants to stay in music though so this is the next logical conclusion #taylor swift #ask and you shall receive #anon love

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doomedandstoned · 2 years

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Cassius King Gives Voice to the Night in ‘Dread The Dawn’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Listening to CASSIUS KING, you get why metal remains such a powerful and moving medium of expression. What began as a solo project of ex-Hades/Non Fiction riffian Dan Lorenzo (guitar), soon attracted a formidable frontman in Jason McMaster (vox), formerly of Watchtower/Dangerous Toys. The powerful heartbeat is supplied by Jimmy Schulman (bass) and Ron Lipnicki (drums) who, besides spending time together with Dan Lorenzo in Hades, are also tagged to grissly Jersey doom outfit Vessel of Light.

It's honestly a joy to listen to new material from Cassius King, and not just because they're so nicely recorded. At the core, 'Dread The Dawn' (2022) is filled with exuberance and inventiveness. You can tell these guys approached their second LP with the kind of confidence that comes from decades of artistic achievement and collaboration.

Songs will often greet you with a lot of groove ("Pariah to Messiah") and sometimes go for sheer metal god glory ("Back From The Dead"). The title track is about as dreary as you can ask for, but in a very cool way (think Trouble and Solitude Aeternus). Then there's the melting vocal harmonies that end "Bad Man Down." Cassius King's approach to doom is thoughtful, convincingly bluesy, and down-to-earth.

There are creative choices I appreciate in the songcraft, as well. For instance, instead of a flashy guitar solo to up the ante on "Abandon Paradise," we're given the tuned-down and swampy treatment. I adore this grungy, doomy, bluesy "anti-breakdown" from Flotsam and Jetsam guitarist Michael Gilbert, who guests here. "As I Begin to Turn" also stands out with its twisted atonality that crawls like thorns over the relentless central riff.

Some of you may be wondering, what's with the name "Cassius King"? Most bands in the scene have a story behind their name, and sometimes incorporate themes from history, philosophy, religion, and science, so of course I gave this some thought. "Cassius" means "hollow," so does their name actually mean "Hollow King"? In my mind, I conjured images of an ancient Roman usurper to Caesar's throne.

Turns out, the answer was right in front of me the whole time: Cash is King. "I moved out of my house when I was 21," Dan Lorenzo told me this morning when I finally broke down and asked. "I was extremely poor for 10 years and my grandmother's wealthy husband used to always say to me: Cash is King."

All told, Dread The Dawn is an exhilarating listen. Cassius King unleashes these 11 tracks on Friday, October 21st (digital pre-order here) and the record gets a CD release from MDD Records in Europe and Nomad Eel Records has it on both compact disc and cassette. This is the Doomed & Stoned world premiere.

Give ear...

Dread The Dawn by CASSIUS KING

'Dread The Dawn' track-by-track with vocalist Jason McMaster

ABANDON PARADISE

In the lyrics, I tried hard to bring into view the idea of being forced to leave everything behind, to stop living the life dreamed and built from hard work. It can be as bad as you think or even just a bit of having to do without something vital to a happy life. Definitely open to some interpretation.

BACK FROM THE DEAD

Of course, not literal, or flesh and bone, but a ghost of (or a whisper of) what was with someone or a group of people you spent time with. Imagine the times that something you were told by a loved one, a friend, or family member, where they were extremely emotional. Maybe a phrase , a word, a whispered secret, or a threat. Then that person is gone, dead, exiled, moved away. But every time you hear that phrase or see something related, you think of and hear them say it again and again. They almost appear, like a haunting. I relate to this one a lot.

BAD MAN DOWN

This lyric is a hydra of sorts. A few meanings shine through at different times. I was going for a story line where it seems some of us root for the villain. “You can’t kill evil” kind of a thing. Humans do crazy things to other humans. There is guilt and then there are those who do not feel, or deal with any emotion or empathy, so they continue the journey or path, to just go without brakes. The reaper is a character that lives in theater, comedy, tragedy depictions. Always there. When the girl you want always runs away with the sinner, the bad kid down the street. Beaver Cleaver always loses and settles for less, or so they think.

DOOMSDAY HAND

Important to know, is this idea was sent to me by Jimmy. His ideas are coming from a super dark place. His inspiration for writing is different from mine...maybe? I interpreted this in a couple of ways. one as a hand of cards, of course, but also a somewhat vision of the hand of Lucifer guiding man through life. Each turn there are decisions to be made. Make good choices and you will live a happy spirited life. Play your hand badly, take too many chances, and life turns out a bit twisted. Played out based on past choices.

The verse that I talk of the deck Dan Lorenzo here, my wife was reading me a story from a magazine about elephants and she was reading and the words Dread The Dawn were in the article. I had just finished writing the music to the song and I told Jimmy that I love that line.

DREAD THE DAWN

This, along with “Doomsday Hand” , were ideas sent to be by Jimmy. Super dark. descriptions of pictures of fear of the dawn and sunlight. Sleeping late became a new meaning to me after this. This is vampirical, but is not about just that. This can be taken by many different forms. To become friendly with the dark, and live with it like a lover, is incredibly powerful. If you or I are called by the name of “Dread” and you are in bed with “Dusk” or the turn of night or dark. You are a powerful witch or soothsayer or magician of dark and light. This is a sort of love affair with these mixed as a cold drink. It might not taste very good, but you are stuck in this by your own choices.

GENESIS

Imagine Darwin-ism before an early man spoke a word. Maybe the sounds of trees falling is all and if.. any living thing of flesh was to rise from the sludge. I speculate the craft of gasses and other single cell animals fusing together like a Frankenstein’s monster, or worse, and crawling from mud, to rise up and become hungry and hunt and kill just to become hungry again and repeat. the beginning of just surviving, and what for.

PARIAH TO MESSIAH

I was watching a history program, or documentary about a protest of some kind, and actually was completely derailed from the true content and name of the show, etc.. when i heard this title over the TV speakers. I had gathered what the fodder was all about, and was interested in the angry moments of what was protesting from two sides.

The derailment ended in me fading away from it with pen and paper to start writing this lyric. This shows both sets of eyes. The protest starts and ends for both. There is a winner, and a loser, but by this wording in the song, you cannot tell who either are. Who is ruling? Who shouted the loudest? Who had the bigger guns? It didn’t matter. The insurrection happened, people were hurt and killed. Nobody won anything. No rules were changed.

HOW THE WEST WAS WON

Ok, my facts are not checked and I am prepared to be called out by history buffs. The slaughter of Native Americans (or any other continent of early indigenous humans) by the new order, the visiting looters, who think they “found it first.” This is the basics of this lyric. Based on fact or fictional early American lore. Genocide. White man getting in good with some, trading or exploiting by the introduction of gunpowder (“boom stick”) and whiskey (“fire water”). I gather some history books (not all) would tell the truth.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Cassius King #New Jersey #heavy metal #doom metal #stoner metal #Nomad Eel Records #MDD Records #HeavyBest22 #D&S Reviews #Doomed and Stoned

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read.

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

#writing advice #longform writing

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stylistiquements · 3 years

Text

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing

Masterlist | Next

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

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rosequartzloves · 3 years

Text

kjære Fjor Jutul x Reader Fan Fiction

Fjor Jutul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,163

Contains: lots of fluff! <3 some kissing, brief mentions of self image issues

You stare at the dark oak ceiling of your bedroom of the small cabin in Edda that you shared with your only but bestest friend. You never needed that much company in your life, you and Mania had been friends since you were young, shy teenagers who hated pretty much everyone and everything. She had always understood you and you had always understood her. Surprisingly, you shared most of the same interests. Yet there was one certain difference between you two. You have always been a hopeless romantic with high expectations of a relationship like the ones you read about in books - but Mania was the kind of girl who went for men old enough to be her father - literally - as she was currently spending her spare time sleeping with Edda’s biggest business man. You, however, found his son more endearing really. Fjor Jutul was in some of your classes and let’s just say you had taken a liking to him. “Y/n!” Mania’s voice hit you like a slap in the face back into cold, harsh reality. You slowly haul yourself out of bed and slip on some fuzzy socks before heading downstairs. ‘Hi my love! I brought back some pomegranate for y-” she stopped as her eyebrows raised and her eyes instantly turned sympathetic. She noticed your sad expression as soon as she looked at you. You had both always had that trick with each other, you could never hide your emotions from each other. “Whats wrong, my darling?!” Her voice was thick with worry. You close your eyes for a few seconds before exhaling heavily. “I-I just… I feel so ugly, Mania…” you confess as she interrupts you, “but you’re so beautiful! You spend too much time in your room these days. It’s getting to your head. Why don’t you head out on the mountains with Boo? Edda is beautiful at this time of year!” You pause, perhaps Mania had a point. “Maybe… let’s have some coffee first.” You reply softly.

Boo’s hooves left marks in the snow. He was your favourite horse. You had always had a strong connection with him and sometimes it felt like he could honestly sense your emotions. The cold nipped at your nose and cheeks, giving you a blushed look to your face. You smiled to yourself as you caressed Boo’s silky fur. You looked around at the scenery. The snow, the dark green trees, the beautiful mountains. It was incredibly infatuating. It burdened you that the Jutuls were killing such a beautiful place, you had moved here to escape the industrialism and thick polluted air of your home city, just to find that the place you had finally felt like was a good home to you was being ruined by an entitled business man. It was more bitter than sweet to think about Edda now, and you felt ashamed of yourself as you liked Fjor Jutul, the ringleader of this mess’ son. No matter how much denial you were in, or how much you lied to yourself, you could not deny the feelings you had for him, and recently they were getting harder and harder to ignore. “Y/n?” you could recognise that voice anywhere. Speak. Of. The. Damn. Devil. You roll your eyes before you turn your head. “Fjor?” you say, your confusion apparent by your tone of voice and the expression on your face. He did his classic smirk as he looked down for a brief second before pacing towards you and Boo. “Horses in these mountains?” his smirk slowly spread into a smile, “aren’t you worried it will get hurt?” you stuttered as you were confused as to why all of a sudden Fjor Jutul wants to start a conversation with you in the middle of the mountains. “He.” you correct him “Not it. And I am perfectly capable of looking after Boo, although I appreciate your concern” you reply monotonously, although your refusal to look him in the eye was perhaps giving away your slight flusteredness. Luckily, the cold mountain air had already blushed your face, otherwise that may have given it away too. Fjor simply laughed, almost mockingly, “Boo? Of all names that you could give to such an elegant horse you choose Boo? Are you some sort of disney princess, y/n?” He teases. “Since when are you anybody to judge what I name my Boo? And he is elegant isn’t he?” you smile at Boo and caress him gently again, still refraining from making any eye contact with Fjor. “Anyway… can I help you with something?” Fjor stared at you while thinking for a few moments before shrugging. “I don’t know… can I not try to get to know you without having to answer a series of questions?” he asks in a sarcastic questioning tone. You roll your eyes before finally locking eyes with his. “I don’t know, Fjor. How come you have never gotten to know me before now? I’ve been living here for nearly two years.” You reply, slightly bitter, the built up tension from feeling down all day was slowly coming out a little as you climb down from Boo. He walks towards you, inching closer to your face now. “I don’t know” he almost whispers deeply, “I guess I’m an idiot for that, huh?” he stares deeply into your eyes, for a second it feels like he can see your soul and you turn your head away, uncomfortable with the amount of closeness between the two of you. It felt like your heart was going to go into overdrive and your face was burning, despite the low temperatures of Edda. “Don’t look away from me, y/n. You’re too beautiful for that.” He says, not so mockingly anymore as he brings his hand up to your face and gently turns your head to face him again, before bringing you into a slow, passionate kiss. He keeps one hand on your face, gently stroking your cheek while kissing you and pulls you closer to him with his other hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. You shakily wrap your arms around him and sink into the moment. You feel your stomach practically burst with butterflies, and all your worries and doubts seemed to be sucked out of you. He toys with a strand of your hair, still kissing you. You pull away quickly, “w-wait!” you exclaim. “What’s wrong, kjære?” He says softly, his arms still wrapped around you. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready to-” you express in worry. “Silly girl, what do you think I am? A monster? I’m not like Oscar or the others, no need to worry, kjærlighet.” you smile in relief, sinking into his arms as he pulls you into a hug. “Now, lets go take Boo home” he laughs after saying Boo, “and get some coffee, hm?” He smiles at you and you nod happily as he kisses your forehead.

authors note: this is my first real fan fic so it’s probably bad and i’m sorry in advance >.< hope u enjoyed reading this nontheless! <33

#ragnarok netflix #fjor #fjor jutul #fjor jutul x reader #fjor jutul fanfiction #fluff #fjor jutul fluff #herman tømmeraas

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bigdreamsandwildthings · 2 years

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Review: Book Lovers (Emily Henry)

Rating: ★★★★★/5

“Maybe love shouldn’t be built on a foundation of compromises, but maybe it can’t exist without them either. Not the kind that forces two people into shapes they don’t fit in, but the kind that loosens their grips, always leaves room to grow. Compromises that say, there will be a you-shaped space in my heart, and if your shape changes, I will adapt. No matter where we go, our love will stretch out to hold us, and that makes me feel like…like everything will be okay.” Cue the sobs. This is a book I think I read at the exact right moment, and it has skyrocketed to one of my favourite romances ever. Nora Stephens is tired of being the villain. She's tired of getting dumped because her exes have found someone else, tired of never being enough as the city girl, the Peloton-rider, the driven, organized agent. She gets shit done, and she has enough in her life without those men and their excuses. When her sister Libby, who she will do anything for, asks her to go away on vacation for a month to the town where one of her favourite books is set, Nora is hesitant to leave New York - but of course, she does. She could never prepare for what's waiting for her in Sunshine Falls; not a traditional happy ending, but perhaps exactly the journey she needs. I'm a huge fan of romances that take tropes and turn them on their heads. Knowing going into this that the main character was the typical bitchy city girl, the antithesis of the sweet, laidback country girls that the dudes in romances always end up with, I was primed to love her. Give me allllllll the driven career ladies, and don't make them change for a man. I live for that kind of shit. This one was just so goddamn charming. Right from page one, I felt like I was wrapped in a warm hug while reading. The various nods to being a bookworm absolutely helped - there is something to be said for being seen in fiction, and that's what this does for those of us that live our lives in books more than anywhere else - but it was also the combination of the small town, the nostalgia for the past, the characters themselves. All of it was this perfect storm of emotion for me. First of all, as I said already, I loved Nora. I loved her so fucking much. She's driven and in love with her work, and she's a caretaker, there for her family no matter what they need. Even if it's at the cost of her own happiness, because making them happy also makes her happy - or so she rationalizes. And Charlie is an absolute perfect match for her in every way; their chemistry is off the charts immediately, and they had me laughing out loud multiple times with their banter. The trip to Sunshine Falls, and the ultimate reason behind it, were both so heartwarming yet heartbreaking. This hit close to home for me with the family aspect and had me bawling at the end of it all. Nora deserves all the happiness in the world, and her journey to realizing that moved me.

#booklr #book photography #book picture #book review #book lovers #emily henry #na fiction #new adult #bookworm #bibliophile #book aesthetic #book community #bookshelf #book lover #book nerd #my photos #my reviews #mine

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retrievablememories · 3 years

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matched | ten (m)

title: matched pairing: alien!ten x black!reader genre: sci-fi, angst, fluff, romance, smut summary: the quest for love leads you to a new dating app with a slight twist—and straight into the inbox of someone who’s light-years out of your usual dating pool. word count: 9.7k warnings: familial conflict, strained parental relationship, mentions of cheating, prejudice/discrimination based on species, body modifications/alien biology, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), dom!ten, photography during sex, cumshot, squirting, some spanking a/n: as always, i lose all impulse control whenever i get a ten request so i have finished this sooner than i expected

i decided to lean more into the romance plotline than stress too much over the realism of the science-fiction elements with this fic, so there are some inaccuracies/impossibilities...but that’s fiction for you 🙃

AM 2074 (After Migration)

You are lonely.

Your last breakup did not end well, to say the least, and you haven’t dated for a while since then. It seemed like a smart move—a safe one—to shun all romantic relationships until you felt ready again. At the beginning, you were glad to be alone for a while, to regroup and rediscover yourself worrying about another person’s opinions on everything you did. To not have to deal with someone else’s drama.

The toll of not having companionship is gradually getting to you, though. Even if your last relationship was a mess more often than it wasn’t, you still long for those good moments, like going on night dates on the weekends and sharing pillowtalk into long hours of the early morning. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed those things until all the emotions of it crashed down on you at once.

Your friend Malika claims to have a solution for your loneliness. Now, sitting at this outdoor cafe, you’re simultaneously eager and hesitant to hear what she has to propose, knowing her track record for silly plots.

With twinkling eyes, she looks at you and says, “You should try a dating app.” She clasps her hands together and puts them on the table like she’s made a grand announcement. You absorb her words for a few moments, looking out at the street across from you and watching cars—some hovering above the asphalt, some driven autonomously, and many still with human drivers—pass by.

You eventually sigh, your shoulders slumping. “That’s the big solution you called me out here for? People have been using dating apps for decades, that’s nothing new.”

“Exactly! The fact that they’re still popular even in 2074 is proof that they work, Y/N. You can put yourself out there and talk to dozens of guys without even meeting them in person. If one connection doesn’t work out, you don’t have anything to lose, and you don’t have to see the guy ever again.”

“Maybe I’ll lose my sweet time and patience during the process, though.”

Malika shakes her head and types something into her hologram pad, then holds it up for you to see. The hologram displays a dating app called matched—it reminds you of what Tinder was supposedly like before it became eclipsed by more advanced platforms, though that happened years before you were even born. “This one is kinda new, but it’s gotten popular fast and has good success rates. I’ve tried it before and met some nice guys. Give it at least one chance before you hate on it.”

“Ugh, I don’t know...there are always so many weirdos hanging out on those apps. What if I meet someone who keeps a collection of severed alien tentacles in an icebox in their house? Like that one guy who showed up on the news?”

“...Really?” Malika rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Stop getting in your own way and just take a risk for once.”

You shake your head at her optimism. “I’ll do it because I know you won’t leave me alone about it, but don’t expect me to find some great love story on this app.”

Once you download the app and start making an account, it becomes pretty obvious that this isn’t just a regular dating platform.

Choosing your gender and age preferences is normal enough, and you pass through those screens quickly until you get to one that gives you two new options.

➤ Species Preference ❐ Human ❐ Extraterrestrial

Whoa. Aliens? An alien-friendly dating app?

You weren’t overly familiar with the mechanics of dating apps, and you certainly didn’t consider that ones allowing aliens might’ve existed until now. It had been 15 years since the first contact with aliens was established, and a little less than a decade had passed since aliens began migrating to Earth and taking up permanent residence—and vice versa.

Humans had little problem with accepting aliens’ technological adaptations and claiming them as their own, though they were far less welcoming of the aliens themselves. That resulted in strained interactions between the two species, with aliens trying their best to assimilate and humans questioning their every motive. As far as personal relationships went, interspecies mingling between humans and extraterrestrials was still fairly uncommon—something that only people who were considered to be on the fringes of society participated in. There were “normal citizens of society” who built relationships with aliens, but many of them also kept it solely as a kink or fetish to be done only in the dark.

You decide to check both options. It feels a little scary, like diving headfirst into the unknown, but you are open to it either way. You’ve interacted with aliens before, both as kind acquaintances and near strangers, and they’ve always been relatively normal in the grand scheme of things—beings trying to survive and make a life for themselves like anyone else. Certainly not plotting how to take over Earth as many people have speculated. If they really wanted to, they possess the technology to have done that ten times over already.

You take a while trying to come up with a clever bio and spend an even longer time mulling over which pictures of yourself to choose, but you eventually complete your profile.

The first few matches you make are not very successful.

Whether it’s human guys feeding you terrible pickup lines or alien guys who can’t make it past the language barrier—or who ask you to move back with them to their home planet after two days of talking—you don’t see any potential love interests during your first two weeks of using the app.

You’re not sure what kind of skills Malika used to make multiple good matches, but maybe you need to interrogate her so you can sharpen your own. So you decide to do exactly that.

“Don’t give up on it just yet. Just be yourself—which also means not being afraid to cuss someone out if they come at you crazy. Some of these dudes lowkey like the mean girl shit, though, which is kinda weird.” Malika speaks from the shimmering translucent mirage of your hologram pad as you walk through the park one afternoon. She couldn’t make it out to meet you today, but you managed to snatch a moment to talk to her even if it couldn’t be face-to-face. “You probably shouldn’t expect to find a boyfriend in the first few days—”

“Girl, I don't think anyone was expecting that. Duh.”

“I’m saying, just give it time!”

“Okay, but listen. You didn’t tell me it’s also for aliens. Have you dated one before? You never told me!” You lower your voice then, not wanting anyone nearby to eavesdrop on your conversation and hear that part. You feel kinda bad for even thinking that way, but it’s hard to shake the stigma associated with interacting with aliens.

“Yes, and it was the best sex I ever had, but maybe I’ll tell you about that later.”

“Sis. Don’t withhold tea from me!”

“Someday when you’re not literally standing in the middle of the park, okay?” Malika shakes her head, smiling.

“Don’t forget about it, either.”

“I won’t. And you know what to do if you find a guy. I want to be the first to know!”

“Sure, sure. I wouldn’t hold my breath on it, though.”

You decide to spend some more time on the app after that conversation instead of just deleting it like you’d planned to initially. And one day, you get another new match that catches your eye out of the many others.

“Ten? Like the number…?” Besides the interesting name, you immediately see that he’s an extraterrestrial. From the Sommu race, as it says in his bio.

You click on his profile.

You’re a little surprised by how pretty he is, which isn’t to say the other aliens you matched with were all hideous. But he doesn’t have tentacles coming out of his face or two sets of eyes, either. The most noticeable thing about his alienness is his blue skin.

“Likes...dancing, art, music, okay so we have an artist type here...dislikes...fruit. Huh. That’s...interesting.”

The pictures of him on his profile are all deliberately artistic, as in they aren’t just some half-baked selfies he took with a hologram pad. You grow increasingly curious. It’s safe to say he’s either super into himself or just appreciates the art of good photography, and you figure there’s only one way to find out. You decide to take the first step and message him.

➤ Nice pictures :)

You don’t know when or if you’ll get a message back, since he’s not online when you send it, so you try not to get your hopes up too much. Maybe you should’ve tried to come up with something more cool and funny—nice pictures?—but you try to remember Malika’s advice and roll your eyes to yourself. There’s no point in getting stressed over a dude you don’t even know yet.

You eventually get a reply back from Ten.

➤ thank you 🙏 are you into photography too? you have talent for taking beautiful photos

You giggle quietly to yourself; another line, but it’s definitely one of the tamer ones you’ve received. Why not see where this one goes?

The first conversation you have consists mostly of the regular getting-to-know-you talk, such as your personal interests and favorite things. You get him to talk more about his photography hobby, which he’s eager to tell you all about—as well as his penchant for art.

To your optimism, you and Ten quickly get comfortable with each other. You soon forget about all the other potential matches you have, but those don't matter much to you anymore. So far, you’ve connected the most successfully with Ten, which means you’re more than glad to stop spending your time reading boring messages from guys who’ve only pretended to have things in common with you.

Things go so well, in fact, that he asks you to meet in person not long after you begin talking to each other.

For your first meetup, you decide to meet at a park nearby—the same one you’d been walking through the day you were talking to Malika about that very dating app. You and Ten have talked through the hologram pad on multiple occasions, so you’re more reassured that you’re not starting from scratch with some faceless being. Still, the thrill of seeing each other in person for the first time is undeniable.

“Y/N?” You turn your head at the sound of your name, and you see Ten walking towards you.

“Ten!” You give him a smile, waving at him. You feel a little more nervous than you usually would on a date, though you can’t tell if it’s the good kind of nervousness. You mostly chalk it up to not having been out with anyone in a while.

Ten’s just as pretty up close as he was in the photos and on camera, if not even more attractive; he’s breathtaking in the light of the sun. His hair is styled nicely, meticulously-place strands curling over his forehead, and his clothes perfectly outline his slim body. He looks pleased to see you, his lips curving into a coy smile.

“You could’ve given me a warning,” he says as he outstretches his arms to you. You hug him, but not without a questioning glance on your face. He is warm and smells good, like juniper, which almost makes you forget about your question.

“Warned you about what?”

“How you’re even more beautiful in person.” He says this at your ear before pulling away, and it makes the back of your neck bloom with heat.

“Oh, you’re laying it on thick.” You giggle nervously, shifting on your feet.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes, let’s go!”

You leave the park to go to an aquarium nearby, which is the biggest one in the city. You find out quickly that Ten is easily fascinated by the wide range of creatures there. Despite living on Earth for a few years now, he hasn’t seen a lot of them until now.

You walk through the blue-lit hallways together, surrounded by water everywhere you turn. You observe the different animals up close and from far away, reading information about them from the signs beside their tanks.

“What the hell is that?” Ten says through laughter, looking at the squished-up mouth of a stingray as it floats in front of the glass, baring its pale underside to you both.

“It’s a stingray!”

He scrunches his nose up. “It’s ugly. But kinda cute, too…”

You both end up staying at the aquarium longer than you expected, with Ten wanting to see practically every animal they had on display; plus, you got to see some you weren’t familiar with before either.

After visiting the aquarium, you go downtown—which is otherwise known as food truck central, where you can get pretty much anything you’re craving. This area is always quite busy this time of evening, especially on the weekends. Food in hand, you and Ten end up walking through a few of the quieter back streets where there’s not as many people—streets where the closely-packed buildings give way to the grassy yards and paved roads of nearby neighborhoods.

“Should we talk about our families now, or is it too soon?” you say jokingly. “You know, that seems to be the only thing we haven’t mentioned after talking about everything else under the sun.” You’re not entirely sure why you bring this up while knowing your own relationship with your parents isn’t great, but you are curious to hear about Ten’s family.

“I don’t really know mine,” he replies.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You feel a little bad about it, thinking there was definitely a reason why he never mentioned the topic.

Ten looks confused for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it’s not like that. Sommu never form close bonds with their parents or siblings.”

You give him a curious look. “Why not?”

“Well, we aren’t born or raised the human way,” he explains. “Our parents have a bunch of us at once, raise us for the first couple of years, and then go off to reproduce again and continue the population.”

You’re startled at that. “Just for a few years? How do you survive?”

“We age faster...both physically and mentally. We become independent around 4 or 5 years old, and we can live without our parents.”

“That’s...definitely very different.” You try to wrap your mind around that information, though it’s difficult. Even with your not-so-healthy relationship with your parents, you couldn’t imagine having no family whatsoever at such a young age. You also can’t even begin to comprehend what it’d look like to be taking care of yourself at only 5 years old, fast aging or not. “But, you said a bunch at once...how is that possible?”

“We are formed inside things like eggs. It’s not like your form of childbirth. See?” And you become flustered when he lifts his shirt up to show his lack of a belly button, right there in the middle of the street.

“Uh, wow.”

“The human concepts of ‘family’ and ‘relationships’ are...very new to me.” He seems a little embarrassed to admit this. “That’s why I, um, joined a dating app, for more experience...I was told I need to learn to be more…” He searches for the word. “Im...pertinent?”

“...Empathetic?”

“Yeah, that.”

“So, did that come from a previous partner, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ve had two relationships since I’ve been here.” He seems wistful now, maybe a little sad. “They didn’t work out well. Maybe we were too different.” Before the mood can shift too far into negativity, Ten turns to you with a soft smile. “But maybe that’s not the kind of thing you want to hear while we’re on a date.”

You shake your head and smile. “I don’t mind, it’s interesting to know about.” More than interesting. You want to ask him a hundred more things about what his life was like when he first got to Earth. “Anyway, you can never have too many new starts in life. Let’s enjoy this one.”

At the end of your date, Ten walks with you back to your place. It’s almost midnight at this point, with you both walking all the way back from downtown. You’d drawn more than a few skeptical stares over the course of the day, but you both did your best to ignore those and just focus on each other.

“I’m really glad we got to go out today, it was fun,” you say, hugging your arms to yourself to shield against the cool spring breeze.

“I think I haven’t had that much fun in a while,” he agrees. Ten smiles wide then, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his teeth, and you have to do a double take.

“What—”

“Oh, that. Sometimes I forget everyone doesn’t have this...” And when he sticks his tongue out, you see clearly now that it’s split halfway down the middle. Sort of like how a snake’s would be. “D’you like it?” His expression is wicked when he asks this, and a strange heat sweeps through your body.

“Wow.” You cringe at your lackluster answer, but that’s the only thing you can muster up at the moment, too busy internally questioning yourself. You’ve seen body modders with split tongues in documentaries and on the internet, but it’s never appealed to you like this before, and you don’t know what to do with that new realization.

“It’s okay, it takes some getting used to.” He gives you a smile that might be called innocent by anyone else, but to your eyes it’s quite obvious he’s proud about making you flustered.

“Getting used to...yeah, I’m sure.” There are about 15 different questions you want to ask him about that, too, but you aren’t going there on the first date.

“So...can I expect to see you again?”

“Of course.” You smile again at the hopeful note in his tone. “Just let me know whenever you want to go out again.”

Before Ten leaves, he places a hand on your shoulder and kisses you on the cheek. It’s a simple and short kiss, but it still makes you blush beneath your brown skin.

You wave goodbye to him from your doorstep as he goes, feeling like you’ve finally done something right for the first time in a long time.

You’d taken a chance with dating an extraterrestrial, someone so different from yourself and your species, and you figured it would be a new experience. Obviously. What you did not bet on, however, was the idea that you’d fall for Ten so fast.

After three months of dating exclusively, you feel like you could say you love him, which is frighteningly quick for you; though you don’t tell him this yet.

You’ve decided to bring him to meet your family. The idea frightens you, because your parents have never been very receptive to the aliens’ migration. But you are still holding out some hope that maybe they’ll realize all their assumptions were wrong, and that you’ve found a nice man who you love and who you’re sure loves you just as much. Whether he’s human or not shouldn’t matter.

You manage to set a date when all your schedules match up so you can bring Ten over to your parent’s house. Ten is nervous—more nervous than he was when you went on your first date—which you find a little surprising. You’ve gotten used to him being the one who you can lean on, who always seems to know the right answer.

“Do you think it will go well?” he asks, his tone implying he’s not confident of the answer.

“I hope so.” You give him a smile that you hope is reassuring and squeeze his hand.

When your parents open the door, there’s visible surprise on their faces. You’d already told them your boyfriend was not human, which drew doubtful responses when you first said it, but they’re acting as if they never knew that information—as if this is the first time they’re seeing an alien, period.

“Um…hi, mom, dad.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ten says, though his own tone is overly formal, like he doesn’t know how he should speak. “I’m Ten.”

Your parents pause for a few moments longer. Finally, the awkward quiet is broken. “We thought you were just messing,” your dad says, though he steps out of the way to let you both come in, if a bit reluctantly.

“I—no.” You’re uncertain how to respond to that, though you don’t feel optimistic about what it entails. Your mother doesn’t say anything at all, just stares at you and Ten like you’re both strangers who’ve just waltzed in uninvited. She goes back in the kitchen to finish dinner once the door is closed, not saying anything to either one of you, and you already feel a cold pit settling in the bottom of your stomach.

Your dad sits in the living room with you and Ten, and another awkward silence ensues as your dad gives a stiff smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He clasps his fingers together and pulls them apart repeatedly, like they’ll give him the answers for what’s going on.

“This is just a fling, right? Of course you won’t be staying with this ma—” Your dad almost says man but then stutters, thinking maybe the term isn’t appropriate since Ten isn’t human. He makes a vague gesture to fill in the space of the missing word.

“It’s not a fling,” you say, feeling like you’ve had cold water poured down your back. You’re sitting straight and still on the couch, and it’s not comfortable, but you’re too tense to move. Ten is almost equally stiff beside you.

“Y/N, we just want you to make good decisions for yourself.” That’s what your dad says out loud, though the look in his eyes finishes the rest of that sentence: And I don’t think this is a good decision.

“I am,” you insist. “I don’t need to be told that over and over again.”

“Me and Y/N are happy together,” Ten explains, and your dad seems a little shocked that he’s decided to speak.

“Do you truly think you’re what she needs?” your dad asks. You’re not sure what makes you more angry; the question itself, or the fact that he keeps his tone non-accusatory and light, as if he’s only asking something like where do you work? Like the answer doesn’t matter because he’s already made up his mind.

“As long as Y/N wants to keep seeing me, there’s no reason to stop our relationship.”

A sound of displeasure comes from your mother in the kitchen, and your skin prickles. Your dad nods to Ten’s answer, but he does so in a way that conveys he just wants this conversation to be over rather than consider anything that was said.

You deeply regret not leaving straight after that failed discussion, but you soon find out just how bad it can get once you all make it to the dinner table. Your mother is chillingly silent for the first half of the dinner, acting like neither you nor Ten exist, while your dad attempts to make awkward small talk about how things are going.

There comes a point where you can no longer handle the cold sweat and the nerves, and you put your utensils down. Not that you had much of an appetite anyway.

“Why won’t you even talk to me?”

Your mother glares. “You can’t guess? What kind of question is that to ask?”

You falter. You don’t know why she always does this to you. Ask ridiculous rhetorical questions that you both already know the answer to. Now you must sit here and explain why you asked like it isn’t already obvious.

“I’m visiting after I haven’t been here in a while. With my boyfriend. I thought...I don’t know. The least you could do—” Your mother shakes her head at the word “boyfriend,” and you already know everything else you said went in one ear and out the other.

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just stay with Christian?” she interrupts. “He had a decent job, came to see us often, and was NOT an alien.”

“But he cheated on me,” you say, a sickness rising in you.

“That’s what men do sometimes, Y/N. You deal with it and move on. You’re supposed to be strong—fix whatever is making him do it.”

You and Ten exchange a tense look, and there is clear confusion whirling in his eyes, but you don’t say anything to each other. “That relationship is over. I’m trying to do something for myself for once, not whatever you think I should do.” Even saying those words makes you internally recoil, unsure of what the reaction will be, but you don’t take them back.

“You may be an adult but we’re still your parents. Frankly, you need to be with a man of your own race and species—not this blue Martian here. How would you even have kids?”

Ten gives a humorless laugh, like he wants to respond but doesn’t want to make the situation worse or offend you. “You know what, I should just leave,” he says abruptly, rising from his seat.

You get up quickly after he does, but your mom slams her hand on the table. “Y/N, you better not walk out of here.”

You feel defeated and exhausted, like you always do when dealing with your parents and their objections to every single thing you do, but you decide not to give in this time. “Stop treating me like I’m still a child, ma.”

“What does being an adult matter when you still act childish? Don’t come back here crying when this doesn’t work out. I’ve already warned you more than enough.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

“So now you think you know better than me, when you couldn’t even keep a man the first time around.”

“This is hopeless,” you sigh, feeling wounded and angry at all these cheap shots.

“Y/N, please just listen to your mother for once…” your dad interjects, but you try your best to ignore their protests as you grab your things and follow Ten to the door. You can still hear your mother’s angry complaints as you close the front door behind you, though you’re surprised—but grateful—that neither of them attempt to follow you outside.

The ride back home is uncomfortable and mostly quiet.

“I’m sorry, Ten,” you say, feeling like you’ve been frozen from the inside out despite it being nearly summer. You’re near tears when you speak. Ten shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’s not your fault…” he replies weakly, though his words aren’t very persuasive to either of you.

He still walks you up to your door when you arrive back at your place, trailing slightly behind you. The night air is distractingly humid, wrapping around the both of you like a physical thing. Neither of you know what to say to each other.

When you get to your front door, you turn to look at him. “I shouldn’t have made you come. I should’ve known...”

“I wanted to come,” he points out. “You didn’t make me do anything.” Ten’s tone isn’t outright harsh, but the words are noticeably sharp. Maybe he realizes it, because his face softens as if he’s said something wrong.

You nod. It’s as if there’s a mountainous gap between you two that you just can’t cross right now. “I get it.” You say this almost mindlessly, because you’re not sure what you’re getting, exactly. Your hand rests on the doorknob. You don’t want to end the night on this awkward and painful note, but neither of you are making any progress with this lack of a real conversation. Maybe now isn’t the right time to try to talk about it.

“I think...I’ll just go home tonight.” You expected he’d say that, but the words still make your heart hurt, even if you don’t want them to. He looks like he might say something else, but he just gives you a small nod before starting off.

“Ten…” You don’t know what you want to ask of him or tell him, if anything, but his name slips from your lips like it’s something you can’t keep inside.

Ten stops for a moment and turns back to you. He steps closer again, leaning forward to give you a soft kiss on the lips. When he pulls back, his eyes hold you in place.

He mumbles, “I’m not mad at you,” before leaving.

More than anything, you want to know how Ten is doing, but you’re too ashamed to contact him for the first couple days after that mess of a night. Maybe he thinks you’re just like your parents and doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. His reassurance at the door wasn’t enough to soothe your worries, and you end up tearing yourself up internally over it—repeatedly recalling the warmth of his lips and wondering if that’s maybe the last time you’ll ever feel it.

Similarly, nothing but radio silence comes from his end. He doesn’t respond even after you finally muster up the nerve to send him a text—a short text, but still a message all the same—and you fear he must really be done with you.

On Ten’s part, he does have one justification for it; he’s preoccupied with dealing with the avalanche of unpleasant memories and emotions that incident resurfaced. Everything about what your parents said and how they looked at him reminds him of his past and ongoing struggles with trying to assimilate on Earth.

Even though he’s often very sure of himself and what he wants, he begins wondering if he’s “enough” for you. Maybe you’ve just been humoring him this whole time, or you’ve decided your parents are right and you’d be better off with another human.

Those thoughts keep him up into the early morning hours, and he soon realizes he doesn’t want to let you go. In fact, he’s not sure what he’d do with himself if you decided to walk out of his life right now, and the idea of it makes him ill. Which makes him feel even more foolish for tuning you out.

Ten’s anxiety over losing you culminates in him standing on your doorstep again after almost a week of emptiness and not knowing how you were thinking or feeling—which has been killing him in its own way.

You’re not quite sure how to feel when you open the door and see him on the other side, but relief shoulders its way to the forefront.

“Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“Can you please—”

You both speak at the same time, your words breaking afterwards.

“You can talk first,” Ten says.

“Come in.” You let him in the door, and the words start spilling before you know how to stop them. “Ten, I-I’m...really sorry. I should’ve known better than to put you in that situation, but I thought…” Your words trail off. You don’t want to let him know just how desperate you still are for your parents’ approval sometimes. Even though it’s a fruitless case. “I just wanted it to go well. I want things to work now, for us. I really, really want things to work for us.”

Ten surprises himself with how quickly he moves to take you in his arms before the last words have even finished settling in his mind. He hugs you tightly. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t want me anymore,” he whispers, like he’s telling you something forbidden.

“That couldn’t happen.” You’re saddened he’d come to that conclusion. “But...it’s not fair for you to leave me in the dark, either. I want to help you...so would you please let me?”

Ten squeezes you a bit tighter, as if you might disappear from his arms. “I’m sorry I ghosted you...it brought back bad memories of how things were when I first got here. When people were more open about treating me like some kind of enemy. I didn’t know how to deal with it.” You tuck your chin into his shoulder and listen to his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of his words. “Y/N, I’m not sure if I’m very good at love, or if I even know enough about it. Maybe the others were right and I’m kidding myself with something I’ll never properly learn. But, I…” His voice cracks. “I-I think I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Entirely overwhelmed, you answer his admission with a long kiss, cupping his face in your hands. His response to your kiss is automatic, the knots of tension unraveling in your embrace.

“I love you, Ten,” you whisper against his lips after you separate. Here and now, it doesn’t feel too soon at all; there couldn’t be a better time to say it. His expression is a lot of things at once. Relief, happiness, contentment...he’s blushing, but it shows up as a darker blue on his already blue skin. When he smiles, it turns his whole face into a picture of joy.

“I want to go away.” Quietly, you tell him this as you rest your head in his lap.

You’re both lying on your couch, the room dim and the sound of rain occupying the silence. A downpour started coming down soon after Ten got to your place. You’ve sat there just like that and listened to the rain on the windows for the past couple hours, not wanting to do anything else or separate from each other. You knew he wouldn’t want to go home, and you didn’t even have to ask him to stay.

Ten’s been petting your hair the whole time. The motion of his fingers in your kinky strands makes you sleepy, but now the movements pause at your words.

“Go where?” he asks.

“Away from all this. My parents hate me, and they won’t let me have any peace as long as I’m with you. I just want to go away for a while.” Despite you overflowing with love after finally getting your feelings out in the open, the thought of your parents’ disapproval has lingered steadily in the recesses of your mind. You close your eyes against the tears that begin to well up. Ten’s quiet for a few more moments, and then begins stroking your head again.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A few tears fall despite you trying to keep them in, and your eyelids flutter when you feel Ten’s fingers on your face, wiping them away. “Then we’ll go away.”

Ten’s homeland is a planet where the sun—or rather, a star called Proxima Centauri that’s much like the sun—is always out, no matter what time of day it is. There are days where it rains or gets cloudy, but night never falls and the star never dips any lower in the sky, always staying pinned in that same spot like a tack on a corkboard. That everlasting light throws your body clock off, and combined with this weird new form of jet lag associated with space travel, you are a mess for the first week or so after your arrival.

Ten makes a few jokes about fragile human bodies, but for the most part he tends to you as best as he knows how and tells you stories about how he grew up to get your mind off the discomfort. He feeds you these neon green drinks that don’t look like anything on Earth you’ve had before, and although they do make you feel better, you begin to think maybe you should’ve had a wellness plan before running off-planet.

You aren’t the only human who’s ever visited or even lived there, though, which gives you reassurance about adjusting to everything. By now, there’s a small population of human beings living here due to the interplanetary exchange initiated by Earth.

Before you left, Ten told you he had a small home in his homeland. You didn’t quite expect to hear this, since he’d been on Earth for a while now and had no family to return to. Though he’d migrated, he still expected to come back to his planet every so often, if only to visit. Now was as good a time as any.

Although many differences exist, the scenery is much like Earth’s; there are ecosystems with plants and animals and other living beings—like the Sommu themselves. Ten’s homeland is not filled with wall-to-wall technology like you’d expect an alien city to be, based on the small examples you’ve seen on Earth. You might compare it to the tropics back on Earth, with the Sommu yielding to nature’s rightful place in their ecosystem instead of clearing out whole forests or continually mining for resources. Ten is amused by your struggle to comprehend the newness and unfamiliarity of it all.

When you feel good enough to explore, he starts taking you to the beach often. It looks mostly like any other beach, but there are large coral forms that grow out of the ocean, reaching up towards the impossibly blue and constantly illuminated sky. Because there is no moon to guide the tides, the water is eerily still, the surface mirror-like—like a huge lake or pond that extends in almost every direction for miles. You’d almost believe it was a mirror if you hadn’t seen a bird-like creature skimming across the surface as it flew by, creating fleeting ripples.

You swim around a little in the still waters after Ten convinces you that you aren’t going to turn into a fish or something equally scary. He has to hold both your hands the entire time to get you to step in, and he doesn’t let go until you’re confident enough to explore the water on your own.

“Just focus on me, okay?” His smile is bright and shining against his blue skin, and he looks you directly in the eyes as he backs into the water, breaking the surreal stillness of it with his movements. “It’s just like the water on Earth.”

“Okay, okay,” you say uncertainly, gripping his hands and stepping in tentatively. The water does feel like any other water you’ve touched throughout your life, which helps you calm down slightly. His hands stay tight around yours as you get waist-deep into the water.

When you’re finally able to let go of him, he claps his hands more enthusiastically than the situation probably calls for. “Yay, you’re a big girl now!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re not funny, Ten.”

On a bright afternoon, Ten lets you into a room of his house you haven’t entered before. You’ve passed by this shining white door several times, but it’s always remained firmly shut until now.

“What’s in here?” you ask as you hold his hand.

“That’s what I’m going to show you.” He laughs and pushes the door open.

You think it’s a darkroom at first, seeing nothing but dim light and the shiny surfaces of what looks like photographs as your eyes adjust. But when he touches his hand to a panel on the wall and the lights come on, you realize it’s not a darkroom. More like a small gallery for all his pictures.

The “pictures” are physical, but they aren’t like the old Polaroids or film photos that have begun fading out of existence on Earth. They’re small crystalline squares that play eternally-moving videos on their glossy surfaces—a bit different from the translucent holograms Earth adopted. You step further into the room to look at them. It’d probably take days to explore them all, there are so many. Different scenes play out as soundless movies, and when you look for long enough, you realize they’re split into different categories. Numerous events within a life.

Many are of the beach, other scenic places around his homeland, oddly-shaped buildings, and plants in colors that there are no names on Earth for. You step closer to one of the walls to look at the collection of images more closely. You actually do “recognize” a select few, linking them together with old memories Ten had shared with you only weeks ago. There’s so much happening in these small snippets of time, so many stories you haven’t yet heard, that you feel like you could look at them forever and not get enough.

“This is...something else.” Your words seem inadequate, but you don’t quite know how to express your sheer wonder.

“I could take some of you,” Ten suggests, from somewhere behind you. “I want to.”

You glance back at him. “Hm, yeah.”

“I’m serious.” Ten comes up behind you to clasp his arms around your waist. He tucks his chin into your shoulder. His lips are close at your neck, and you let them linger there. One of your hands goes to his own hand that’s over your waist, and you run your fingertips over his knuckles as you gaze at the photo wall before you. “I think you’d be the perfect muse.”

“You could do that.” You’re still entranced with it all, and you already know you’ve made up your mind to let him take as many photos of you as he wants.

The next time you go to the beach, Ten takes some photos of you standing near the huge coral forms—or at least as close as you are willing to get—and he laughs at your lingering hesitation.

Still, the crystalline photos he takes of you are the embodiment of perfection. When you look over them later, watching yourself twirl around and strike silly poses in the water, you can almost hear the sound of your laughter twining together and feel the warmth of a star that’s not the sun on your skin.

“What if we stayed here?”

You ask Ten this while you’re lying in his bed, watching a kaleidoscope of shapes on the ceiling. The bedroom window is open to allow the breeze to come in. The ceiling of the bedroom—and every other room in the house—is more like an ever-changing reflection of shapes and colors than an actual ceiling. You might compare it to a mirror, like the surface of the ocean, but you think it’s much more complex than that. Sometimes you can see the distorted outline of yourself in it, like a funhouse mirror. Other times, you see the sky above.

Ten lies beside you with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach, and he turns his head to look at you.

“Stayed?”

“If we just decided not to...go back to Earth.”

He pauses for a few moments. “Is that a good idea? You have a whole life there...and your friends…” Ten doesn’t mention your family, which you are grateful for.

You sigh. Nothing like a quick injection of reality after letting your imagination get ahead of you. “We’d have to go back. I’d have to tell them goodbye. And sort some other things out. Maybe it wouldn’t happen right now. But, after I do everything I need to do on Earth...maybe I could migrate here.”

“That’s a big decision to make...and it should be yours to decide.” Ten pauses again, like he’s weighing his words. “You know I don’t have many connections on Earth…” In other words, leaving Earth and returning home for good might not be as big of a deal for him as it would be for you.

You sit up and look out the window, seeing how the warm wind stirs the trees outside. “I want to.” You say it almost inaudibly, your words nearly carried off by the breeze. You turn back to him only to find him already there, sitting across from you and looking at you closely. Your faces are only inches from each other’s as he searches your eyes. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll do anything you want to.” Ten’s voice is earnest, like he’d follow you to Hell and back if you asked, and you believe him.

Resting your hand on his cheek, you kiss him.

This kiss is a little different from the ones you’ve shared before—more yearning. More desperate. You kiss like there won’t be enough time to do all the things you want to do with each other—to each other. His split tongue bumps against yours, caresses it, and it causes a shiver to go down your spine, like it always does.

You end up lying back on the bed again with Ten’s body crowding yours in, legs tangling together and hips pressing against one another’s. Neither of you have made a move to take the other’s clothes off yet, but then he separates from your lips for a long moment and studies your features, from your eyebrows down to your mouth.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Your mouth drops open slightly.

“I want to see it.” He takes one of your hands and guides it up under your skirt and between your legs, pressing your fingers against your sex through your underwear, and you look at him with wide eyes, taking a deep breath. He lets go of your hand, and you keep yours right where it is. You’re slightly nervous about his black gaze trained on you, unrelenting and prying, but you begin to move your hand anyway.

Over your underwear, you press your finger between your lower lips, sliding between them and over your clit, and a little tremor goes through your body. You find yourself getting wet more quickly than you normally would with Ten watching you as you tease your entrance. You breathe a little heavier but make no sound yet. One of Ten’s hands reaches out for your ankle, though he doesn’t do anything other than keep his fingers there, a light touch that keeps passing back and forth over your ankle bone.

You circle your fingers across your clit more insistently, your legs tensing as the pleasure mounts higher. Ten’s lips part as he watches you, a heavy breath escaping from his chest. The hand on your ankle slides higher up your leg, just below your thigh, like he wants to slide his fingers into the mix and take over, but he doesn’t make a move to do so just yet.

Finally, Ten reaches under your skirt to pull your sticky panties off, sliding them slowly down your legs and leaving them somewhere on the floor. You want him to touch you again, the brush of his hands against your hips not enough, but he doesn’t grant your desire. “Keep going,” he says, leaning back on his hands, and you can see he’s growing hard.

You bring your hand back to its original place between your thighs, sliding through the wetness more easily and shuddering when your fingertips graze over your clit. You slide a finger into yourself then. A small moan slips out, and you close your eyes, but Ten’s fingers pinch your chin—not enough to hurt, but the sudden touch makes you look at him. “Keep your eyes open.” His thumb presses into your lower lip, and he stares at your mouth for a moment like he’s imagining sliding something hard and hot between your lips.

Ten kisses you on the lips again, and this time he trails the kisses down your body until he’s gripping your thighs on either side of his face. You pause in your movements when he reaches the junction of your thighs, and you watch as he grabs your hand and slips your finger out of yourself. He sucks the slick digit into his mouth, and you cannot tear your eyes away from him.

He lets your hand go and pulls you a few inches closer to his face, dragging you across the bed, and you can barely get your bearings back to sit up again when he slips his tongue through your lower lips. You moan, and he responds to that by repeating it again, catching your clit between the split in his tongue, and wiggling both sides.

“Oh Jesus...oh fuck.” Your hands go to Ten’s hair, pulling on it as you push your hips closer to his mouth, your back curving up. He is alluring tucked between your thighs like this, teasing and sucking your clit with his split tongue and prodding his fingers at your hole until he chooses to slide two of them inside.

His free hand keeps you close against his face as he eats you out, that wondrous tongue sliding against the most sensitive part of your body and making you gasp with boundless pleasure. Little droplets of moisture bead at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels, your stomach tensing and releasing as you try your best to keep still.

He has to keep his grip on your body tight when you come, as you try to squirm away from his tongue because of how stimulated you are. He only lets you go after he’s satisfied himself with licking up all the wet that’s spilled from you.

Then he strips your skirt off for you, because he knows you’re not quite in a state to do it for yourself right now. He peels the rest of your clothes off similarly, which doesn’t take much time or effort to do; you’ve dressed lightly for the weather.

Ten looks at you lying beneath him on the bed, his gaze stuck somewhere between awe and lust.

He slips out of his own clothes with a certain practiced ease. Yes, he’s really blue everywhere. He looks mostly human-like everywhere, too, except for the lack of a belly button.

Ten kisses you deeply as he slips into you, and you clutch at his sides. He tries to keep his pace slow at first, maybe for your sake or to just savor how it feels, but he gives into the feeling of you squeezing around him and starts thrusting into you faster. There is already sweat sliding down to his jaw, though you think it might be because of the heat, too.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” comes out of you in a voice you hardly recognize as your own.

His pelvis sliding against your clit from the proximity of your bodies makes you curl your fingers into the strands of his hair, wanting to touch every part of him you can. His lips go to the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder, leaving little wet kisses behind as he wraps an arm around your waist and simply fucks into you, his shaft dragging against your walls.

He eventually separates himself from your neck, though it comes with some effort, to gaze at your face again. However, he finds that your eyes have drifted shut.

“Do you wanna come?” Ten asks, softly, gently, like you might break apart if he speaks too loud.

You’re a little winded from how he’s thrusting into you and can’t yet see the motive behind this question—because of course you do—but you answer with a shaky “I-I want to.”

“Then don’t look away from me.” His voice becomes harsher on these words.

“I…” Your lips move without any real words behind them as he thrusts into you harder, sinking all the way into you before pulling out to the tip. You want do what he’s just told you, but you find it difficult with the way he’s intent on burying himself into you, his eyes piercing into your own. “Mmm, I-I…”

You don’t know if you can, but the way he’s kindling your rising heat with each thrust makes you want to try very, very hard. Ten keep his hands on the sides of your face so you cannot look anywhere but at him.

The pleasure bears down on you more with each second, and you try to keep your breathing steady as another climax approaches.

“You’re almost there, come on baby,” he coaxes you, sloppily kissing the corner of your mouth before slipping his tongue in again. The way you gasp against his lips and tighten around him signals him to your orgasm, and he sits back to watch it play across your face, smirking at how you moan his name desperately.

Ten’s continued thrusts make you shiver from the flood of sensations overcoming your body, and you whimper at his movements until he pulls out and comes on your abdomen.

Ten gives you time to recover after you come down from your second orgasm, though he makes sure to lay a few more enamored kisses on your weakened body. He gets off the bed and exits the room after that. You don’t bother to ask where he’s going, because you know he’ll be back anyway.

When Ten comes back, he has his camera with him. The teasing tilt of his lips never leaves his face as he points it towards you. He takes a photo of you lying on his bed nude, with the breeze coming in and rustling the tree leaves and your hair, your skin shining bronze under the light of the eternal star. Then he comes closer, making the bed sink under his weight, and nudges your legs apart. He takes more photos of your lower stomach glistening with sweat and his cum—and photos of him sliding his slender fingers between your thighs and bringing you careening into another bout of euphoria.

The camera is soon forgotten after you come again. Ten climbs fully back onto the bed now and pulls you into his lap. His dick is hard again, and the length of it nudges against your lower lips, making you whimper from how sensitive you still are. He shushes you with a kiss and lifts your hips so he can slide into you, his shaft nudging that soft spot inside you and making you grip onto his arms.

You’re too mushy and dazed to do anything but let him push his hips up into you while you cling to him, your head lolling back. Ten’s mouth goes to the open expanse of your neck, and he wets your skin with his tongue.

The kaleidoscope of shapes above you on the ceiling morphs into one glistening reflection, throwing the blurred shapes of your bodies back to you. It’s like looking through a dense fog. You’re a little caught off guard by it, and you stare up at your nude forms. Ten looks up as well to see the cloudy figure of you cradled in his lap, and he only grins and thrusts up into you harder and smacks your ass in reply.

He grinds into you while he has you sitting full on his dick, and you think he must have set off your internal “reset” button somewhere between landing slaps on your ass and repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your mind is blissfully, amazingly blank. The only clear thing you can distinguish is how he feels in and around you.

When you come this time, it comes with a gush of wetness that makes Ten whisper several smug praises into your ear for being such a good girl and making a mess on him.

As you quickly find out, Ten’s refractory period seems to be nonexistent, while his stamina is overflowing.

Ten knows how to mix the pain with pleasure in a way that enhances both feelings, and you don’t know if you’ve ever experienced anything more perfect. One moment, he’ll say something romantic and fairytale-like to you before shoving your head into the pillow and taking you from behind in the next moment, pulling one of your arms behind you for leverage as he thrusts into you hard. You want him to do whatever he desires to you, and so you let him hammer into you until you think your hips and ass will be bruised by the next morning.

You’ve never knew that sex could be so carnal and so loving at the same time, but this is all of those things, and it makes you feel so full that you could split at the seams. You scream, cry, and moan more times than you can count, so enveloped by pleasure that it seems like the atoms of your body will simply dissolve from the intensity.

When you both finally become too exhausted to continue, it’s still daytime. Of course. But Ten draws the blackout shade forward and seals all the light out, and so you know it must be time to sleep. Time blends together here. Even if it’s not yet the midnight hour, it will be as long as you deem it so.

“Come here,” he says, and rolls you over on the bed so you don’t have to sleep in the wet spot. You grin in sleepy amusement against his neck as he hugs you to his body. “Let’s stay right here.”

You know he’s talking about sleeping for the next few hours, but you can also imagine he’s referring to your new life—one you’ll create together.

302 notes · View notes

haechanhues · 3 years

Text

pairing : sunoo x reader

genre : angst....there’s fluff too

warnings : uhm heartbroken. a lil guilt and all those great feelings.

summary : a friendship was built on this relationship and you want it to be worth it. // if this were fiction, he’d have hanahaki

words : 3.1k words

Sunoo weaves his fingers through his newly blond streaks as he reaches for you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder so his hand hangs off of your body. Without much thought your hand interlocks with his and you smile warmly at him. The cool metal rings he wears on his three middle fingers begin to warm at your touch. With a smirk, he kisses at the crown on top of your head and you rest your head onto his shoulder.

With a coffee cup in one hand and an energy drink in the other, Jay grimaces at the public display of your relationship in front of him, “You guys are gross.”

“Say that when you don’t have that in your hand,” Heeseung remarks as he takes in your slight hesitancy to involve yourself in their teasing. The other five boys laugh as Jay flicks his middle finger up towards Heeseung in response.

You can’t help but watch with a longing smile on your face. People had their talents and for you, making friends definitely wasn’t one of them. Even being able to communicate with your brother, Taehyun, was hard. He had a solid group of friends that were glued to the hip. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Sunoo you don’t think you’d had ever built a bridge to befriend any of the boys that had become such important people in your life.

Jake had been the one to approach you first, much to Heeseung’s chagrin. He had smiled at you with his big brown eyes and rounded features. Your body naturally turning to him and feeling comfortable when he was around. Luckily for you, that sentiment never dried out. He was always someone willing to lend a helping hand and liked to converse with anyone willing to listen (Which really wasn’t hard when you saw how pretty he was).

Jay on the other hand was quite similar. He liked talking to others and to you there was no exception. Jay didn’t really mind if you weren’t listening though. He just had a lot on his mind. He was a talkative person and for most of your conversations, he led them. He was passionate and it was always fun learning about who he was as a person and what fuelled his fire rant of the day.

Jungwon was a boy you never really got to figure out all the way. He always seemed to surprise you at every turn. Whenever you were sad, he’d silently console you without bringing unwanted or unnecessary attention to your fluctuating emotions. He’d give your hand a squeeze or sit beside you so your arms would be touching. He’d be the one to wipe at your tears and pinch at your cheeks. He’d always use touch as a way to show his friendship. In return, you learnt to use touch to demonstrate your love and how thankful you were.

Sunghoon was a shy person in public but loud with his friends. He had been in a couple of your classes and when Sunoo introduced you both he decided you were one of them. He was awkward with you at first, as expected. But as he walked with you to classes everyday and learnt that it was okay to poke fun at you or to tease you, the two of you started to bond. You bonded quickly with how annoying the chairs were and how red pen isn’t the colour you’d choose for if you were a teacher.

Niki, however, took a while to warm up to you as you did with him. It wasn’t easy striking up a conversation with him or discovering common interests like you did with the other boys but you gradually got there. In order to become closer as friends, you opted to instead visit parks, bowling alleys and cinemas to fill up the lack of common interests with adventures and little anecdotes to fondly remember each other by. He became a boy you were so fond of seeing and he thought the same of you.

Heeseung had made small talk with you at first. You kept it minimal in case you were to say something insulting, horrible or unfunny. You stumbled a bit of the time but your voice began to get excited when you started finding common interests and confessed your plans for the future. He engaged with you just as well. But, the open day university trip had truly solidified your friendship. You shared everything you ate and messaged Sunoo about how your friend date was going. It was a great day and definitely one you’d remember for the rest of your life.

Sunoo though, Sunoo was a special one. Before Jake had approached you and before the rest of the boys befriended you, there was Sunoo. In a way, Sunoo had brought colour into your life and showed you the world with linked arms. He made you take photos and encouraged you to write longer day entries in your journal. He liked watching you take the world in with those eyes of yours, drinking in everything around them. Your favourite thing was the way Sunoo taught you. He didn’t judge or make comments about your lack of almost everything. He was always positive and always on everyone’s side.

People started to talk about the two of you. You weren’t friends because friends don’t look at each other like that. People even said it was mutual. Sunoo looked at you in the same way you did him. People were convinced that you liked him and you believed it. You told him whilst holding hands. He smiled and said, ‘I do too.’

Yet, despite it all. If this were fiction, he’d have hanahaki.

Your heart doesn’t thrum at your chest with an incessant need to be with him in a romantic way. Your hands don’t get sweaty and you’re certain what you feel for him isn’t the type of way people are convinced you feel for him. But you want him to be happy. You want this relationship to be worth it. To be worth the risk of jeopardising your friendship with not only Sunoo but the rest of the boys as well. You want to keep Sunoo in your life.

But it hurts.

To have him falling deeper and deeper whilst you remain stagnant and unmoving in your affections.

You scratch at the fabric at your wrist and do your best to look the part. In your acting, you miss the way Heeseung and Jungwon glance at you from the corner of their eyes.

The whole day consists of it all. Guilt holds your hand throughout the day and pulls at your vulnerabilities.

Niki asks if you want to go for pizza. You don’t really feel all that hungry but you agree anyway. The other boys say they will meet you after their other commitments. As Sunoo leaves to meet up with Jaebeom, a friend from another school, he wraps his arms around you in a gentle hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead and a wave goodbye.

It is through long cheesy slices of pizza, fat chugs of chocolate milkshake and Niki going to the bathroom that you find your head in your hands, agonising over what you should do.

You bring out your phone and search for ways to break it off. 3,920,000,000 possible search results showed and yet you weren’t convinced by a single one of them. Not one knew that you were you and Sunoo was Sunoo.

You rack the cogs of your brain to find a solution and come up with nothing. Your heart cracks with every lack of answer.

The rest of the boys filter into the pizza shop and every happy face you see seems to drain you and rid you of distraction.

Heeseung's eyes are lined with worry as he takes in your hunched shoulders and lackluster smile. Despite the way you engage in conversations and ruffle Jungwon’s hair, you’re not really here. You’re stuck in your own head.

You soldier through the afternoon like a true trooper, making sure to giggle and commit yourself to appear normal. At times, Heeseung truly believed you.

But, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that you were less than alright.

You collected your things, hugging each of the boys as tight as you could. You pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Sunoo’s mouth.

“Want me to walk you home?” Sunoo offered.

You smiled a little and nodded in reply. He grinned and held out his arm for you to link your arms with. The sky cracked open and rain trickled down the collar of your shirt. But you continued to walk down the pavement with Sunoo by your side.

As you reached your house, you had an overwhelming need to be inside. You felt like a drenched rat and the fabric of Sunoo’s arm was starting to soak straight through. He brushed back his wet hair in a grimace.

‘Get inside,’ Sunoo jerked his head to your front door, smiling at you so fondly your head breaks a little more.

You sighed, frozen in place. You nibbled at your lip and mauled over whether or not you’d bring up your worries.

You were just so tired of feeling this way.

“What’s wrong?” Sunoo asked with a raised brow. A dormant feeling was in his chest and it scared him to the core.

‘Do you need a towel? Or anything? You’re gonna be cold,” You murmured, squeezing his arms and shoulders. Anchoring yourself.

“Y/N,” His eyes narrowed at your attempt to dodge his questions. The dormant feeling in his gut was gradually increasing as you mulled over your words.

‘Uh-nothing sounds right,” You let out a fake laugh, “I just- I don’t want you to hate me-”

Sunoo winced at the direction that this day was going but he felt almost offended, “I could never hate you. Y/N, I-”

He stopped at the sight of your flinch.

“I just- I’m not,” You growled at your lack of your ability to find the perfect sentence. Though, you could bet that there wasn’t any. You closed your eyes and with a frustrated determination and overwhelming guilt, “I’m not happy, Sunoo.”

It was so quiet.

Sunoo’s heart dropped, “Not happy?”

“I’m happy I get to spend time with you and see you everyday. You make me happy. But it’s just- the relationship doesn’t make me happy,” You rambled to soothe over the chaos of emotions that have escaped you.

He paused and nodded, scratching the top of his eyebrow.

Yet, he didn’t really move or talk. He just stood there.

You wanted him to say something. Anything.

Sunoo opened his mouth in desperation to cover the silence, and yet, nothing came out of his mouth. Nothing. Instead tears were seeping into his eyes and it had gotten slightly hard to breathe.

“Understood, ahh I guess, friends then?” Sunoo smiled the first fake smile you had ever seen him wear around you, “I guess I’ll just get out of your hair. Get inside-it’s cold and raining.”

He looks down, and the rain trickles from his hair and you have the impulse to smooth it over. But you don’t move a single muscle.

You don’t know if you should do that anymore.

He nods at you, wiping at his face once before leaving you at your doorstep. Sunoo zooms past the streetlights you both previously passed, ignoring your shouts of concern.

Before, you had a boyfriend.

Now, you didn’t.

You had caused it.

You watch out in the rain, wondering if you even deserved to walk back into your home to take a warm shower and to comfort yourself by the warm blankets.

You felt empty

Just like that...your relationship was over.

You enter the house and everything feels bland. Everything tastes like the sour aftertaste of possibly ruining the best thing you’ve ever had. Like a plug being yanked from the bath.

Your brother's door is open and his friends are over. They’re all laughing and bickering. You bite your lip as you pass his door, not wanting to bring attention to yourself so you can cry in your room in peace.

‘Hey Y/N!’ Beomgyu spots you.

You turn to him and send him a warm but brittle smile, hoping that your tears have disappeared at the sight of Beomgyu's face.

He pauses at your expression, before smiling in a subtle attempt to comfort you. Taehyun goes to turn around but you leave to avoid your brother’s intuition.

Beomgy’s eyes don’t leave the doorway for a while before pulling Taehyun’s attention towards the TV.

Taehyun finds you in the dead of the night, when the boys have settled into their spots. Beomgyu had pulled him aside earlier, ‘I think you should check on your sister.’

It didn’t take much to convince him. You hadn’t come downstairs since you had come home and the shower didn’t run at all.

Your light isn’t on and your curtains aren’t drawn. Your brother purses his lips at the sight of your fetal position on the bed.

He slides in beside you, pulling the blankets up around your body. He leans into your back and furrows his eyebrows at the small shakes you’re starting to make.

Taehyun directs you to look at him, your eyes are the most miserable he’s ever seen and are welled up with gluggy tears.

What to do?

Your eyes squeeze shut and instead focus on your brother’s breathing and the warmth of his embrace.

‘I might not have friends,’ You whimper into his chest.

He frowns as he attempts to hear you better asking you to repeat.

‘I think I might lose my friends’ You blubber.

‘You’re not going to lose your friends,’ Taehyun scoffs silently, rubbing your back, ‘Sunoo will kick anybody’s ass if they even consider it.’

‘But that’s exactly the reason why.’

As you say it, you feel regret. The pain is like nothing else you’ve ever felt. It sinks down into your left chest area and it sinks from the weight of it.

That regret, worry and heartbreak of it all makes you bedridden for three days. Taehyun had taken the day off school to make sure you were okay and Beomgyu had even made an appearance after school.

After the third day, Taehyun’s conscience caught up with him and he went to fulfill his studies. Everyone else thought you were sick at home with the flu. But in the hallways as Taehyun catches Heeseung’s eye, he realises that not everyone was so convinced.

The bell rings at exactly four in the afternoon. Nobody is at home but you. The regret has clung itself onto the host (you) but the small layering of guilt causes you to slowly make your way down to the front door.

You rub at your eyes and brush back your hair with your fingers to make yourself look at least a little bit presentable.

The bell rings again as you go to pull the door open, greeted by two people at your door.

Heeseung and Jungwon look at you with their big eyes filled with worry. Heeseung sighs in relief before pulling you into a hug.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Heeseung mumbles before kissing the top of your head. You swallow as you twist your grip into his clothes and anchor yourself to him, crying as much as you wanted.

Jungwon lays a supportive hand on the back of your neck, pulling at the strands of loose hair on your clothes that are in dire need of a wash.

‘We’ll always be here for you, you stupid stupid girl,’ Heeseung curses at you whilst still holding you close, ‘You need to tell us these things.’

‘And that stupid boy too,’ Heeseung adds.

‘What do you mean?’ You ask with a furrow in your eyebrows.

‘Taehyun came up to me and gave me the details of your breakup. Everything you should’ve told me or one of the other boys. But mostly me,’ Heeseung says, ‘Not only you, but Sunoo too. The other boys are over at his, looking after him.’

‘Why are you two here?’

‘You’re our friend, Y/N,’ Jungwon reminded you, pulling you in for a little hug as well, ‘And so is Sunoo.’

‘Even after all I’ve done….I’ve lost Sunoo as well,’ You blubber as you grip onto Jungwon’s hand.

‘That’s all shit. You haven’t lost anyone. We’re still your friends,’ Jungwon states, holding eye contact, ‘Sunoo is still in your life. Granted, he may need a few tries but he’s still important to you and you’re still important to him.’

With a bitten raw lip you nodded, getting tired of all the nagging you’ve received in the past few days over your insecurities.

It wasn’t the end of it though.

Because that night Niki had biked to your house, demanding to have a sleepover. He was banished to the couch by your brother and his friends but still, he didn’t seem to overly mind you on a mattress beside him.

Jake and Jay had barrelled in that week during lunch period the next day. They forced you to come out and eat with them. Jay had made sure you showered and washed the clothes you were wearing.

Sunghoon was busy doing his assignments but he had emailed you every hour and Facetimed you. However, that didn’t last very long because then you had started doubting that he was studying much. Even though you had become the nagger, you didn’t mind it too much.

They gave you updates.

Sunghoon had just passed his assignments (C’s get degrees) and had everyone promise that everyone would get pork belly and lamb skewers with him.

Jay attempted to ask out a girl, who unfortunately (Niki didn’t sound so down about it - with the way he was giggling and all) turned him down. He then proceeded to find she romantically preferred the woman kind of human being.

Jake made the mistake of paying for Niki’s bubble tea. Which in turn, Niki found as permission to try every single available flavour of bubble tea at the restaurant.

Sunoo was doing okay. Sunoo wanted to see how you were doing. He wanted to see when he would see you at school.

With that courage, you went to school with a tight grip on your bag. Jungwon was the only one to greet you in the hallway before you made eye contact with Sunoo. You froze in your spot but he had, in turn, rolled his eyes at you.

He stood beside you, looking very handsome. His eyes were still a bit sad but he was trying. You tried right back and smiled weakly at him.

He pursed his lips in a fake attempt at being mad, before offering his arm towards you.

That day we linked arms just as you always did.

But from now on, you were just friends.

A/N : yay! i finished my assignments!!! i wrote this awhile ago but never finished it or anything. it’s been what feels like a long time......

#enhypenwriters #sunoo x reader fic #enhypen sunoo x reader fic #enhypen angst #enhypen sunoo one shot #enhypen x reader #sunoo x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen one shot #enhypen imagine #enhypen scenarios #sunoo imagine #sunoo scenarios #sunoo x reader angst #sunoo angst #enhypen sunoo angst #enhypen sunoo fic angst

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Day 30, Post 1 by @blimeypeople

Hi! This is my first time writing a fiction story in English (I'm not a native english speaker) and it's unbetaed :( If you have time to spot something wrong or if this story doesn't make any sense, just let me know, pretty please?

Thanks for hosting this fest. You're all so awesome!

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Title: Don’t run, please.

Author: blimey,people

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Prompt: Parenthood

Rating: G

Hermione Granger-Weasley really thought her life was perfect, that she had achieved everything she wanted and made her heart happy: she had a husband who loved her, a job she enjoyed, saw her friends and family whenever she could (well Sunday lunches at The Burrow were an unwritten rule but she enjoyed them a lot), but then what was she doing running through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic? Hiding from her husband, that's what she was doing. She turned on the corner of one of the corridors, she was no longer running, but she was walking hurriedly heading in the direction of the main library of the Ministry, so big and wide that not only was it difficult to locate the books you needed, but also the people that were inside. The best hiding place, Hermione thought and quickened her pace when she saw him: Ron, standing in front of the large wooden doors, staring at his shoes in his scarlet Auror team uniform, which was somewhat wrinkled. Probably coming back from training, Hermione barely had time to think when she turned around running to the opposite side. They were quite far apart, so it wouldn’t be that easy for him to reach her but he was faster.

"Hermione!" She heard him scream, but she couldn't stop, she was scared, she was afraid of having a conversation with him. She accelerated her escape as she felt his footsteps getting closer.

"Hermione! Don't run, please! " She had heard that voice a few times. Her memories took her to a particular occasion, when she was also hiding, but from evil forces who wanted to end their lives and the life of their best friend. She couldn’t resist his voice, she had resisted it countless times while he asked her for forgiveness inside the horrendous tent. It hurt her soul, it hurt her not being able to hug him telling him how much she loved him, but her pride won. Only months later, she was able to achieve what her heart and mind most wanted: to reveal her feelings and be reciprocated. Now her heart and mind told her this was far more important, that this could perhaps destroy the relationship that with so much love, time and dedication they had built, this could possibly end one of their most cherished dreams, burst the bubble of joy and emotion that had appeared inside them almost three months ago. This could take away their most precious gift: their future child.

So she stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for him to catch up with her. It didn't take many seconds when she felt his long fingers capture her left wrist leading her towards a deserted office.

I should’ve flooed home, Hermione thought as she walked alongside Ron. He would have found me there in an instant though, I should’ve gone to..., she tried to complete the thought, when she was struck by doubt. Her choices were limited in terms of places where she could just go to think without being seen, without being interrupted, no questions being asked by anyone. Her childhood room in her parents' house might have been a great option, but now recently her parents had semi-retired from their jobs (occasionally they went to the office in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, at times they took turns and one of them stayed home while the other went to work), thus Hermione didn't know for sure when the house was thoroughly empty. Besides if they found her in her old room on a Friday lunch, at the time in which she should still be at the Ministry plus they were aware that, due to her almost obsession with completing every unfinished task at the end of the week, Fridays were her most complicated days at work, it would potentially lead them to ask her thousands of questions and if she chose to answer truthfully, as she had done since she met them again in Australia two months after the war, tired of hiding things from them. This time, though, she was certain they wouldn’t be as understanding as they were back then. Now the situation wasn't just about her, it involved someone more important and vulnerable, someone they hadn't met yet but they already loved.

Her parents, Jean and Hugo, were over the moon since the day they learned about the arrival of their first grandson or granddaughter. The imminent growth of their little family filled them with infinite joy. On countless moments, mainly when Hermione and Ron would give them the news about the birth of a new child in the ever growing Weasley family, the faces of Jean and Hugo gave away what they wanted: they were dying to ask her when she and Ron would finally decide to have one of their own. Therefore they were ecstatic. The decision to adapt a room on the first floor as a playroom for their future grandson or granddaughter came easily. Well, we don’t need a library anymore, do we, Hugo?, said her mom. It took them a week to disappear the shelves loaded with books that were once part of the room. Toys, kids books, little stuffed animals, big stuffed animals, a white cot and the largest most colorful collection of clothes Hermione had ever seen overflowed the rather large space. Apparently, her mother considered it was better to have more variety than later needing a neon green footie embroidered with dinosaurs and not having it on hand. Her father, more serene and restrained, but just as enthusiastic, had bought a beautiful memoir book for the baby, where he himself would be in charge of writing down every detail of his or her first year of life. However, Hermione was sure something was wrong with her for she hadn't been able to share the same level of enthusiasm of her parents or her husband hence she just smiled everytime they mentioned the baby. Therefore, she was certain Jean and Hugo would probably agree with Ron on this issue. So now he was being proven right, they would help him convince her to "do the right thing for the baby." Except she honestly couldn’t discern what was right anymore so the confusion and fear consumed her. She loved her job, enjoyed the responsibilities that came with it, rejoiced in every new challenge she encountered no matter the outcome, she was sure of it. Her newly discovered feelings for the little human being growing inside of her were what confused and scared her at the same time.

Ron guided her to an old and solitary chair within the rather desolated office gently helping her to sit on it. Rather than sitting beside Hermione, he stood in front of her and crouched down. He took one of her hands, placed it on top of her knee, gently stroking it.

“Hermione, the evidence is overwhelming. If they were able to send an object specifically charmed to harm you into your office, it is because they aren’t our most common enemies. It means they are doing their homework figuring out your routines. They’ve been following you for at least a few weeks. They knew that only us usually go there so you would open the package without a second thought,” Ron couldn't control the tone of sadness, anger and despair as he spoke.

Minutes before lunch, Hermione received a small package wrapped in a black paper with little stars, the wrapping of Hermione's new favorite bookstore in Muggle London. She frequently went there alone and sometimes Ron accompanied her. She ran to get it, unwrapping it in an instant. She didn’t even have time to see the title of the literary work, when the book came to life and suspended in the air began to hit her repeatedly, increasingly hard on the chest, arms, legs. Her wand was on the handbag she regularly took to lunch. The book kept hitting her, in one moment heading for her belly. Hermione started to scream, moving as far as she could from the object. In seconds, the auror who was stationed outside her office managed to undo the spell. It wasn’t the first threat, that's why the auror guarded her office. Whoever was behind it, had tried to harm her on previous occasions but they had never been so close to actually hurting her. The spell was very powerful, the package was able to pass the rigorous inspection of the experienced auror. A mother who genuinely loved her child would already be home, protecting him or her by being away from danger, the thought stunned her. She began to run through the corridors of the Ministry even when she heard the auror screaming for her to stop. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially Ron, who a week ago had almost begged her to stay home for a few days while they determined who was threatening her.

“Harry and I are very close to identifying who is doing this, Hermione. We just need you to get away from danger a bit… ” Ron started, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I don't want to quit my job, Ron, not after working so hard for many years. I'm nearly there with the house-elf protection law… "

“I know about all the work you've done, Hermione. I would never ask you to do it, if it weren't for… "

"The baby," Hermione completed looking down, "I understand Ron, but I honestly don't think it's necessary ..."

"Not putting our child at risk is more than necessary, Hermione, it will only be a few months," Ron interrupted quickly.

"Ron, I can't. So many magical creatures trust in me..."

"They will continue to trust in you when you return," said Ron.

"We said having a child wouldn't alter our lives, that I would continue working, you know I don’t want to be a stay at home mum." Hermione felt Ron's hand tighten on top of hers.

"It's not that. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if the situation wasn't like this," argued Ron, "Tough I must say you were the one saying having a child wouldn't alter our lives. I think you were trying to convince yourself. For my part, I believe that many things are going to change, things we won’t be able to control."

"Ron…"

"I reckon you're getting scared ..." Ron continued coming closer and reaching her shoulders to hug her.

"I'm not…" Hermione tried to interrupt and wriggle out of the hug. But he knew her better than anyone. Hermione was sure he had noticed her doubts, insecurities and fears even before her.

"I am scared too, I'm not just talking about the threats, because I can assure you that we are going to find out who is behind everything and he’s going to pay for putting you through this," his voice was harsh and he had struggled not to shout during the last sentence. "I’m positive you're scared for him or her too," his voice had taken a delicate, sweet tone, the tone he used when they fought and he wanted her to understand he was right without making her feel too bad.

"You are doubting yourself, asking that brilliant mind of yours a ton of questions, not finding answers. You’re wondering if you’re going to do a good job or if you will love him or her enough. The fact is, Hermione, the love you will feel towards our child will never be enough, it will be infinite", he raised one of his hands caressing her cheek, “It's not about doing a good or bad job, love. It's about doing the best we can in our own way, making mistakes and learning together, because you do realize we're in this together, right?” Ron delicately squeezed her cheek, Hermione looked up, her beautiful blue eyes pierced through her with the deepest love, he lowered his hand placing it on her still small belly, “He or she deserves the world, I assure you we will give it to him or her when the time comes. What we can do now is protect our little one, we are not going to let anything happen to him or her. Okay, we should definitely find out if it’s a boy or a girl, I'm getting tired of this”, he grinned.

In that instant, Hermione felt within her how the little life Ron and she had created began to move and the most profound love, love she only felt for the man in front of her, completely invaded her. Ron gave no sign of feeling it, but it wasn't necessary. She placed her hand on top of Ron's, looked him straight in the eye, and nodded. He smiled at her, hugging her tightly.

At this precise moment in her life, despite her insecurities about her ability to love and protect her unborn child, the certainty of knowing Ron never made vain promises began to fill her with strength and hope. If he firmly believed everything would be fine, it would be. If he was by her side on this adventure, there was no doubt the next few years would be different, challenging, but wonderfully incredible.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione

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http-worm · 3 years

Text

Love

Bokuto x Reader

Genre: angst with a happy ending

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of insecurity

Synopsis: Love is a fickle thing; blossoming in one moment and withering in the next. Just when you thought your first love with Bokuto would forever wilt, a chance encounter might lead to new beginnings.

I once thought we could take on the world.

Have you ever been in love before? Have you ever felt the euphoria of coming home to a special someone waiting just for you? What about wholly giving yourself up to someone else? To cherish them and hold them above even yourself? Have you ever been in a love so bountiful you never needed more?

I once thought we had a perfect love.

To some, love seemed like a burst of fireworks; colors exploding in a symphony of emotions. Happiness, ecstasy, fulfillment, confidence, a sprinkle of jealously, and a never-ending pool of other feelings. It was different for everyone as well: some may feel possessive, others may care too much or some too little. It can be suffocating as much as liberating.

Where did things go wrong?

To you, my dear, your love was a quiet one while his a crashing wave of energy. You were often described by your peers as a flower while he was referred to as a roaring lion. You kept your head down and stayed quiet, he lifted his head up and laughed as if it was the last laugh he would have. And yet, the pair of you fit together almost like a puzzle.

When did the love end and contempt begin?

You reminded him when it was time to be calm and quiet. He reminded you that it was okay to let loose and grin bright enough to make the sun jealous. All in all, a perfect pair.

I should’ve tried harder.

You enjoyed how hyper he was and how he always made those around him cheer up. You adored his smile when he saw you; how he would run to your side to twirl you in his arms, unable to contain his joy.

I should’ve done more.

He enjoyed how you were content to rest in his embrace for hours on end and ask him to hold you longer. How you would sit on counter-tops, the floor, tables; avoiding sitting normally in a chair for, as you would put it, “it’s far more comfortable like this!”

I should’ve spoken up.

If he wasn’t waiting for you outside of class then you were for him. You waited for his volleyball practice to end, greeting him with the smallest hint of a smile as he took your hand to walk you home.

I should’ve told you.

While he was vocal about his love for you, it was harder for you to find your voice. Instead, you told him when you held on a little tighter during hugs, lingered a little longer in his doorway. Your love was told in leaving scattered items around his home as an excuse to come back later.

Did you know I never stopped loving you?

When you were sick he would rush to your home and care for you, hands moving rapidly as he told you about his day and begged you to get better so you could go out soon. When he was sick you would sit dutifully beside his bed, speaking in a hushed tone and getting whatever he needed.

Despite my actions, my cruel words...

You wore his jersey on game days, standing in front so he could see you clearly. And when you cheered, although not to the extent as your peers, he could hear you above all else. He complimented you when he watched you work your magic on a canvas, colors intermingling to become a picture straight from your thoughts.

I still love you.

But love can change in an instant. And the moment that Bokuto’s endearing habits became annoyances, it was like a punch in the gut.

I’m sorry.

Love and hate tread on a paper thin line so light that not even a bird can perch on it without the threat of falling off in a moments notice. It’s opening yourself to new possibilities that you may come to despise in the future. His loud laughter at random times of the day that you once found endearing? Obnoxious and annoying, the onset of a migraine. His tendencies to hug you a little too tight? A bother that has you pushing him away too soon. It’s not a single-player game either; at least not for you and Bokuto.

We didn’t know what the future held.

At first he shrugged it off when you told him not to worry when you were upset, but now it was frustrating to not know what he did wrong—if he did wrong. Seeing you sitting on the counter was once amusing, bringing the crinkle of a smile to his lips, yet now he can only say “why don’t you sit normally in a chair?” With the smallest frown.

We didn’t think it was this.

Frustration upon frustration pummeled a saccharine relationship built with walls of sugar, leaving holes in your defenses while trust crumbled over time. The same love that once gathered you in her arms is the same entity which stared you down with a hateful gaze, whispering words of loathing while you shivered from the embrace of contempt. Love destroyed what was once thought indestructible, ending a two-year long relationship with a single sentence.

Do you remember our promise?

“We aren’t good for each other anymore.”

We’d stay together no matter the conflict.

You didn’t know what hurt the most: his quiet acceptance as he nodded his head in agreement... or how he acted as if nothing was different the next day, simply replying “we had a mutual breakup!” when asked the status of your relationship. Despite being the catalyst to your breakup, you seemed to be the one hurting the most.

I wonder... do you still think of me?

Love is a poison as much as it is an antidote. It cures loneliness and sorrow but brings about pain and distrust. Like a rose it hides its thorns, pricking you when you grab it and realize too late the pain it inflicts upon you. When your in love, it’s like being in a different reality. Everything is brighter and more cheerful, a rose-colored filter covering the world around you. It makes you sacrifice yourself for another person, to the point where you have nothing left to give. Love is foolish. It causes you to make stupid decisions in its name, telling you it’s for the greater good.

Because I always think of you.

When was the last time you had a proper conversation? Before your breakup? The only times you had spoken after was when greeting each other in the halls. It was laughably pitiful in your eyes. You went back to quietly drawing in the corner, heading straight home after school. He went back to being loud and cheery, putting a smile on everyone’s faces. And when graduation came around, you went your separate ways.

Almost every day, in fact.

As years passed, you found yourself busying yourself with work. Drowning in a chest-high flood of deadlines as you drew day after day for your Webtoon, you forced yourself to keep distracted. It did little to work. After all, your story, while a work of fiction, was influenced by moments in your life. Saccharine you called it; a story about how some things in life are so sickly sweet it causes nausea. It was almost a theme in your life: events much too good to be true coming your way only to wrench out your heart and leave you bleeding on the pavement.

Have you read my story, I wonder?

You see his games on TV now and again. Despite all your efforts, you can never seem to look away for long. You remembered how much you loved him. How much you still love him. Even with his body covered in a layer of sweat did you find him beautiful, and now you wanted to hear that hearty laugh of his up close once again. Even after all this time does your heart yearn for him, cracking as you remember the idiocy of your youth. If only you spoke up more, if only you told him what was wrong. If only. If only.

If you have, maybe you’ll know how I really feel.

You were given the opportunity to see one of his games. Akaashi contacted you, wondering if you’d like to catch up while watching the MSBY and Adlers match. “No, no. I don’t think he’d want to see me, even after this time.”

Although... I desperately want to see you again.

“He still thinks about you.”

And you never did respond back.

Do... do you really?

Fate has a funny way of messing with us. Despite all your efforts to never have to face him again, to never face your insecurities, the universe decided that enough is enough. So now you found yourself face to face with Bokuto, sheltered from the rain in a small cafe, eyes unable to stray from one another. What seemed like hours to you was only seconds in reality before he opened his mouth to speak. “Hey, y/n.” To your surprise, there was no contempt in his voice. No anger nor hatred. In fact, his voice was soft and had an endearing lilt, almost as if you were high schoolers again. It took you far too long to process that he had used your first name, and by the time you did, a rosy flush covered your cheeks.

They always say our first loves never last.

“Koutarou,” his name felt at home on your lips and you could see he felt the same at how his face lit up, “it’s... good to see you again.” Again did you stand there in the silence while staring, your eyes searching for even the smallest hint that maybe, maybe he thought about you as much as you did him.

I don’t quite believe in that statement.

Bokuto had been miserable after your relationship fell off. He masked it with a false optimism, telling everyone that everything was alright to protect you. He knew that if he said something had actually happened people would flock to you and gossip would spread her ugly wings, taking flight from one person to the other. Even though you were no longer together, even though you had argued and fought, he never wanted you to be under a spotlight that you never asked for. Much like how you distracted yourself in art, he did the same with volleyball. While it seemed like he was unaffected to you, he was merely putting on a brave face so you didn’t have to feel guilty.

You were my first love, and we fell out of it.

He asked you if you wanted to wait out the rain with him. You agreed, and he took you to a booth in the cafe where you sat in awkward silence for a moment. He was prepared to take the first steps like he did all those years ago, but you wouldn’t let him. Not again. Because if you wanted to make things right, you’d have to push aside your insecurity and apologize.

But...

“I’m sorry.” It fell from your lips like autumn leaves, taking a moment to settle between the two of you as he processed what you said. Before he could answer your apology, you continued. “I’m sorry for how I left things. I’m sorry for never telling you what was wrong. I... I never knew how to express myself and I took it out on you.” Your eyes began to tear up as you spoke the words you’ve wanted to tell him for years, heart spilling from your mouth. “I was cruel. I was cold. You were my everything and I pushed you away because I was insecure.” It was only a fraction of what you wanted to say but your choked sobs forbade you from speaking more. You broke down further when the man across from you smiled and reached over, taking your hand in his.

If you’re as willing as I am...

“You aren’t the only one who needs to say sorry.” You blinked at him in surprise as Bokuto chuckled, looking rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I was immature. I got hotheaded when you wouldn’t talk to me instead of being patient. I brushed you off when I should’ve payed attention. We were both in the wrong.” His finger ran over your thumb, looking at your intertwined hands with such a gentle fondness that you wondered how you ever let him go in the first place. “Maybe... maybe you’d like to try again?”

Our first love can start again.

Love is something that you don’t need to completely devote yourself to. Your partner will need their own time, and so will you. You will each need your own space, and you will each have your own opinions. Arguments will happen, but you will need to calm your anger and talk it out. Love is not eternal. You will fall out of love. Things you once thought endearing will become annoying, things you once enjoyed will become a bore. There one moment and gone the next, love is a fleeting feeling that people experience in many ways. It is something that will come and go, and it is something that you will have to wait for. The wait is worth it. Love is worth it.

Although I don’t believe it ever truly ended.

For you and Bokuto, love is each other. You lost that love once as immature kids, but now that you’ve found it again, you don’t plan on letting it go. A castle built from sugar becomes reinforced with steel walls of protection. This time, the fortress of your love will not crumble.

I’ve found you again, and I will love you again.

And I will not let you go this time, my love.

#koutaro bokuto #bokuto #Bokuto x reader #koutarou x reader #haikyuu Bokuto #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #worm cinema #theatre 1

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bibliophilebookreviews · 2 years

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August BOTM Wishlist

As we approach another month, anticipation is building and I can't wait to see what BOTM will be offering in just two short weeks. I was glad to see a couple of my July hopefuls actually made it, so fingers crossed for August!

Before I get to my "official" list, let it be known that I'm still hoping for Love on the Brain, as mentioned in my previous hopefuls post. I knew I was pushing it for July, but with an August 23 release date, it has a good chance of being chosen this time. BOTM, don't let me down!

MAIN PICKS

Carrie Soto is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid (Contemporary Fiction, pub date: 8/30/22)

Goodreads Blurb: Carrie Soto is fierce, and her determination to win at any cost has not made her popular. But by the time she retires from tennis, she is the best player the world has ever seen. She has shattered every record and claimed twenty Grand Slam titles. And if you ask Carrie, she is entitled to every one. She sacrificed nearly everything to become the best, with her father, Javier, as her coach. A former champion himself, Javier has trained her since the age of two.

But six years after her retirement, Carrie finds herself sitting in the stands of the 1994 US Open, watching her record be taken from her by a brutal, stunning player named Nicki Chan.

At thirty-seven years old, Carrie makes the monumental decision to come out of retirement and be coached by her father for one last year in an attempt to reclaim her record. Even if the sports media says that they never liked “the Battle-Axe” anyway. Even if her body doesn’t move as fast as it did. And even if it means swallowing her pride to train with a man she once almost opened her heart to: Bowe Huntley. Like her, he has something to prove before he gives up the game forever.

In spite of it all, Carrie Soto is back, for one epic final season. In this riveting and unforgettable novel, Taylor Jenkins Reid tells her most vulnerable, emotional story yet.

My Thoughts: First of all, we stan TJR. And even though Malibu Rising was hit-or-miss with a lot of TJR fans, Carrie Soto is sure to be a hit (see what I did there?) -- the book already has a 4.5 star rating on Goodreads. Personally, I love both tennis and a comeback story so I will be supremely disappointed if this is not chosen.

The Last Housewife by Ashley Winstead (Mystery/Thriller, pub date: 8/16/22)

Goodreads Blurb: While in college in upstate New York, Shay Evans and her best friends met a captivating man who seduced them with a web of lies about the way the world works, bringing them under his thrall. By senior year, Shay and her friend Laurel were the only ones who managed to escape. Now, eight years later, Shay's built a new life in a tony Texas suburb. But when she hears the horrifying news of Laurel's death—delivered, of all ways, by her favorite true-crime podcast crusader—she begins to suspect that the past she thought she buried is still very much alive, and the predators more dangerous than ever.

Recruiting the help of the podcast host, Shay goes back to the place she vowed never to return to in search of answers. As she follows the threads of her friend's life, she's pulled into a dark, seductive world, where wealth and privilege shield brutal philosophies that feel all too familiar. When Shay's obsession with uncovering the truth becomes so consuming she can no longer separate her desire for justice from darker desires newly reawakened, she must confront the depths of her own complicity and conditioning. But in a world built for men to rule it—both inside the cult and outside of it—is justice even possible, and if so, how far will Shay go to get it?

My Thoughts: I'm slowly getting more into thrillers, and even though this one sounds a little vague and open, it makes me interested to see what might unfold in this story. The reviews are off the charts and it sounds really intense and un-put-down-able so hopefully BOTM is getting in on this!

Mother in the Dark by Kayla Maiuri (Literary Fiction, pub date: 8/9/22)

Goodreads Blurb: When Anna's sister calls with an urgent message, Anna doesn't return the call. She knows it's about their mother.

Growing up in working class Boston in an Italian American family, Anna's childhood was sparse but comfortable--filled with homemade pasta sauce and a close-knit neighborhood. Anna and her sisters are devoted to their mother, orbiting her like the sun, trying to keep up with her loving but mercurial nature as she bounces between tenderness and bitterness.

When their father gets a new job outside the city, the family is tossed unceremoniously into a middle-class suburban existence. Anna's mother is suddenly adrift, and the darkness lurking inside her expands until it threatens to explode. Her daughters, trapped with her in the new house, isolated, must do everything they can to keep her from unraveling.

Alternating between childhood and a single weekend in Anna's twenties, in which she receives a shattering call about her mother and threatens to blow up her own precariously constructed new life in New York, Mother in the Dark asks whether we can ever really go back home when the idea of home was so unstable. Whether we can escape that instability or accept that our personalities are built around the defenses we put up. Maiuri is a master at revealing the fragile horrors of domestic family life and how the traumas of the past shape the present and generations of women.

A story about sisterhood, the complications of class, and the chains of inheritance between mothers and daughters, Mother in the Dark delivers an unvarnished portrayal of a young woman consumed by her past and a family teetering on the edge of a knife.

My Thoughts: I'm always fascinated by stories that revolve around family drama and secrets. And I love that this story alternates between Anna's childhood and adult life. Though it sounds like it might be a slow burner, the few ratings and reviews so far seem promising enough that this could be a hidden treasure for BOTM.

The Family Remains by Lisa Jewell (Mystery/Thriller, pub date: 8/9/22)

Goodreads Blurb: Early one morning on the shore of the Thames, DCI Samuel Owusu is called to the scene of a gruesome discovery. When Owusu sends the evidence for examination, he learns the bones are connected to a cold case that left three people dead on the kitchen floor in a Chelsea mansion thirty years ago.

Rachel Rimmer has also received a shock—news that her husband, Michael, has been found dead in the cellar of his house in France. All signs point to an intruder, and the French police need her to come urgently to answer questions about Michael and his past that she very much doesn’t want to answer.

After fleeing London thirty years ago in the wake of a horrific tragedy, Lucy Lamb is finally coming home. While she settles in with her children and is just about to purchase their first-ever house, her brother takes off to find the boy from their shared past whose memory haunts their present.

As they all race to discover answers to these convoluted mysteries, they will come to find that they’re connected in ways they could have never imagined.

In this masterful standalone sequel to her haunting New York Times bestseller, The Family Upstairs, Lisa Jewell proves she is writing at the height of her powers with another jaw-dropping, intricate, and affecting novel about the lengths we will go to protect the ones we love and uncover the truth.

My Thoughts: Having not read The Family Upstairs, I'm glad to know that this can be read as a standalone. However, I'm sure fans of The Family Upstairs would love the "sequel" to match their BOTM copy. However, Lisa Jewell already has 5 BOTM books so it might be a stretch for them to pick this one.

ADD-ON/SPOTLIGHT

Again, add-ons are a little unpredictable, especially with the possibility of more than 5 main picks. But here are some that I would love to see.

The Fixer Upper by Lauren Forsythe (Romance, pub date: 8/2/22)

Goodreads Blurb: In this funny and sharp romantic comedy, a woman with a knack for turning her boyfriends’ lives around starts a professional service to help wrangle men, only to be unexpectedly matched with an old flame.

Ever since she can remember, Aly has been fixing everything around her: her parents’ marriage, her colleagues’ work problems, and her friends’ love lives. After a chance meeting with an ex who has gone from a living in his parents’ basement to a married project manager in three years, she realizes she’s been fixing her boyfriends, too…

So, Aly decides to put her talents to good use and, alongside two work friends, sets up The Fixer Upper, an exclusive, underground service for women who are tired of unpaid emotional labor. Using little tricks and tips, Aly and her friends get the men to do the work themselves – to get out of the job they hate, sign up for that growth seminar, to do more parenting. Before long, a high-profile Instagram star hires them to fix-up her app developer boyfriend. There’s just one catch – he’s also Aly’s childhood best friend and first love. As Aly tackles her biggest “fixer upper” yet, she’ll have to come to terms with their complicated history and figure out how much to change someone she’d always thought was perfect as he is…

My Thoughts: Okay, I'm a sucker for romance, and I love the premise of this book. (I'm also really interested in how Aly gets these men to improve themselves!) But any book that reunites first loves is already a winner in my book. Though this one has just under 4 stars on Goodreads, I am attributing that to this book not really being on people's radar. Fingers crossed that BOTM picks this one up!

How You Grow Wings by Rimma Onoseta (YA, pub date: 8/9/22)

Goodreads Blurb: Sisters Cheta and Zam couldn’t be more different. Cheta, sharp-tongued and stubborn, never shies away from conflict—either at school or at home, where her mother fires abuse at her. Timid Zam escapes most of her mother’s anger, skating under the radar and avoiding her sister whenever possible. In a turn of good fortune, Zam is invited to live with her aunt’s family in the lap of luxury. Jealous, Cheta also leaves home, but finds a harder existence that will drive her to terrible decisions. When the sisters are reunited, Zam alone will recognize just how far Cheta has fallen—and Cheta’s fate will rest in Zam’s hands. Debut author Rimma Onoseta deftly explores classism, colorism, cycles of abuse, how loyalty doesn’t always come attached to love, and the messy truths that sometimes family is not a source of comfort and that morality is all shades of gray.

My Thoughts: Every once in a while, a YA novel really piques my interest. I love that this is another family drama kind of story, and in particular, that these sisters are described as polar opposites and one will come to depend on the other. I am super excited to read this, and the few ratings and reviews make this sound like another hidden gem.

Mika in Real Life by Emiko Jean (Contemporary Fiction, pub date: 8/9/22)

Goodreads Blurb: One phone call changes everything.

At thirty-five, Mika Suzuki’s life is a mess. Her last relationship ended in flames. Her roommate-slash-best friend might be a hoarder. She’s a perpetual disappointment to her traditional Japanese parents. And, most recently, she’s been fired from her latest dead-end job.

Mika is at her lowest point when she receives a phone call from Penny—the daughter she placed for adoption sixteen years ago. Penny is determined to forge a relationship with her birth mother, and in turn, Mika longs to be someone Penny is proud of. Faced with her own inadequacies, Mika embellishes a fact about her life. What starts as a tiny white lie slowly snowballs into a fully-fledged fake life, one where Mika is mature, put-together, successful in love and her career.

The details of Mika’s life might be an illusion, but everything she shares with curious, headstrong Penny is real: her hopes, dreams, flaws, and Japanese heritage. The harder-won heart belongs to Thomas Calvin, Penny’s adoptive widower father. What starts as a rocky, contentious relationship slowly blossoms into a friendship and, over time, something more. But can Mika really have it all—love, her daughter, the life she’s always wanted? Or will Mika’s deceptions ultimately catch up to her? In the end, Mika must face the truth—about herself, her family, and her past—and answer the question, just who is Mika in real life?

In this brilliant new novel by from Emiko Jean, the author of the New York Times bestselling young adult novel Tokyo Ever After, comes a whip-smart, laugh-out-loud funny, and utterly heartwarming novel about motherhood, daughterhood, and love—how we find it, keep it, and how it always returns.

My Thoughts: I love when authors are versatile and write in multiple genres, so though I haven't read the Tokyo series (yet?) I am excited to read this adult novel from Emiko Jean. Not only am I interested to see how Mika builds a relationship with Penny, but I see that there might be a budding romance in the works for Mika as well. This book sounds like a light but heartwarming read and I really hope BOTM chooses it!

Thanks for reading this far! That’s it for this month!

If you have thoughts on these books or other books BOTM might offer I’d love to hear from you!

And if you’ve never tried BOTM and are interested, feel free to use this referral link to join and get your first month for just $5!

❤️

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