#once again i love how visceral the descriptions are

[lorelune]

dreamer's envy

|| dan heng x reader || E/18+ || first time, comfort, lore || wc: 13.4k  || ao3 ||

Dan Heng is haunted by the memories of a man he no longer is. You are all to willing to help him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: ahhh!!! beloved dh... df... yx... this fic is a bit of a love letter to reader insert character studies and ship fic. making my two faves kiss on the mouth fr. thank you so much to @yinyuedijun for beta reading along the way!! hope you enjoy 💗

CW: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and afab anatomy, previous dan feng/yingxing, descriptions of gore, descriptions of intimacy issues, author-created lore (plot crafted prior to penacony release), interpretations of HCQ lore, multiple characters experiencing post-trauma

NOTE: this piece is written in two points of view. one is from dan heng’s perspective, where the “you” he is referring to, is you, as in the reader. the other perspective is second-person pov where the narrator ('you') is dan feng. in these portions, 'you' have a cock and the assorted anatomy. these portions are written in italicized text.

Your hands shake. Your thighs tremble. Yingxing lays between them, your cock nestled in his mouth. It’s not sizable enough to hit the back of his throat, but Yingxing, ever the sensitive man, still has tears pricking the corners of his eyes. You stifle a moan into your hand, hastily slapped over your mouth.

Yingxing will not have it.

A strong, calloused hand grabs your wrist and yanks it. He pins your hand by your side, intertwining your fingers. He pulls off your cock with spit-slick lips and smiles. 

“Beloved,” Yingxing speaks in a purr, soft and gentle and comforting against your ears. “You know I love to hear all of those sounds of yours. You’re not getting shy on me, are you?”

There’s a hint of mischief to his voice. You huff and kick at his back.

“Hurry up,” you snap at him. There's a bite to it; you mean there to be. Yingxing only looks amused by your tone— the only one on the entire Luofu who could possibly look joyful, when met with your distinct ire.

“Can’t I take my time?” Yingxing asks, licking from your balls, to base, to the head of your cock. You’re— wet. Leaking pre down your shaft. “May I undo you, my flower?”

“You’re an awful man. I will have you imprisoned.”

“You’d never.”

“You’re right, I’d do worse.” You have so many ideas brewing behind your eyes— ways to punish this wretched man for toying with you. Treating you so kindly and with such humor and wit. There is no one else like him— no one else in your many, lonely years who has lanced you in the way that Yingxing has. How treacherous of him, to steal your heart. 

“You’ll have to tell me all about the ways you’ll punish me,” Yingxing hums, pushing the tip of your cock against his lips. It’s obscene. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. “After you cum down my throat, though.”

Yingxing, that bastard of a man, takes you into his mouth against, bobbing his head, sucking and running the flat of his tongue over the bottom of your cock. It’s too much, all at once—

And how prettily you moan when you become undone (again) under this wonderful, awful man—

✶    ✶    ✶    ✶    ✶   ✶

Dan Heng wakes up with such a start, he nearly vomits. He does dry heave, snatching the conveniently placed trash can nearby and dropping his head inside to sputter. Spit dribbles off his lips and falls in globs to the bottom of the basket.

He sets it aside and rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes.

Again.

Again, again, again— he has these dreams all too often. Of a life that is not his, of a lover that couldn’t possibly, ever be his. They’re visceral, vivid— as though Dan Heng is experiencing them in real time, and they’re not some awful figment that clings from a past life.

They plague him, simply. He hates every moment of them.

The pleasure of them feels poisonous. That man is not him. Yingxing— is not his. The body that writhes and gasps is not his own. He’s an onlooker, a distant stranger looking in on something intimate and dead. It’s torture, really, but Dan Heng is an expert is quiet endurance, so he copes. 

He stands, still wearing day clothes, and drags himself from his sleeping bag on the floor. His companions on the Astral Express all stated their initial concern with his choice of lodging and lack of a bed, but they’ve since calmed. Everyone on the Express has their quirks. It’s like how March sleep walks, Stelle occasionally glows from her chest, and you only sleep once every few weeks and never in your own room. Dan Heng enjoys his spot in the Archives due to the various motors and machinery that lay under the floor. It’s warm, far toastier than any other room, or bed for that matter. 

(He is not Dan Feng. However, Dan Heng cannot deny that his more draconic instincts are somewhat intact.)

Dan Heng throws on his slouchiest sweater, threadbare and worn, and wanders to the parlor car. An hour or so of pacing usually cures him of any antsiness, and he can nurse a cup of tea while he walks too.

This night, however, you sit in the parlor car as well. Dan Heng slows as he sees you.

You’re— an enigma to him really. Everyone on the express is a bit of a misfit, but you are a newer addition to the bunch, and he and the rest of the crew are still grappling with your oddities. 

Dan Heng has, since the moment he first met you, accepted he would never fully understand you. He made peace with it, moved on and has kept his distance except when necessary. It is better this way.

You’re staring, side-long, out of one of the wide windows of the car. Your chin is perched on your palm and your perpetually blood-shot eyes are half-lidded. Dark circles are punched beneath them. You look like shit. You always look like shit, and you have assured the crew that this is normal, despite March’s initial fretting. 

When you notice him staring, a kind smile curls on your lips and you wave, good-natured.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine.” It’s not the first time you two have met like this. The Parlor Car is empty, except the two of you and the dimly glowing whale fixture that hangs from the ceiling. It feels familiar, much more comfortable than the... unwelcome familiarity of his own dreams. “I’m just fetching a cup of tea.”

“Ah, a night cap?” You hum, and crack your neck. “Sounds needed. That last dream of yours was wild.” 

Dan Heng frowns, “I’ve asked you before to quit that, please. It’s invasive.”

“I would if I could,” You shrug. “But, I can’t. Besides, your dreams are loud, Dan Heng. I’d be unable to ignore them even if I was at the back of the train.” 

“Can you at least not mention them?”

“I mean, I can not. But... they clearly upset you, don’t they?” You tilt your head, eyes soft. “Would you like to talk about them at all? I don’t mind listening.”

“They aren’t your concern.”

“I’m aware of that, but that doesn’t stop me from caring. I know they’re distressing.”

“You’re prying.”

“I’m asking, Dan Heng.” You sound a little desperate. Standing, you pass by him, in the direction of the passenger car. “You can say ‘no, my fellow Nameless, I would like you to never speak of me and my upsetting sex dreams,’ and I won’t ever mention them again. I don’t mean to be a thorn in your side, but the past is easier to bear in the present if you can lean on folks.”

Dan Heng is silent, stewing and stirring under his skin. 

By the time he has a reply formulated, you have left the parlor car. The only sign that you’d ever been there to begin with is a patterned knit blanket left where you were sitting. 

Dan Heng snatches it up before he can convince himself not to and returns to his room to add it to his ground-bound nest.

...

Welt had found you outside of a space station, idling around a refueling station. You’d been wearing a dirty utility jumpsuit with the emblem of some IPC-owned subsidiary screen-printed on the pocket. Your eyes had been glassy and far away. When Welt asked if you were alright, you had smiled and told him, “Actually, I’ve never been worse.”

The Express loves strays. It’s ultimately what he, Stelle, and March are. Welt to some extent as well, especially considering his several layers of mystery. Himeko has the disposition of a kind leader and the heart of a mother, and for all of Pom Pom’s fretting, they are always interested in a new face aboard the Astral Express, for however long they choose to be there.

It’s sensical that you were given a shower, a hot meal, and a room before you even fully understood what you were signing up for with the Express.

Dan Heng was, notably, wary of you. It was the way you looked at him after the first night you slept on the Express (one where he had predictably been plagued with images of a body that wasn’t really his being fucked and loved in a way Dan Heng couldn’t conceptualize his actual self receiving). There was clear concern etched in your expression, however you never voiced it. Not at first.

It was only after a few weeks that March pointed out you hadn’t slept since your arrival that you revealed your hand.

A bloodline blessed by the Aeon of Dreams, Sacha. 

Dan Heng had heard of the Aeon, distantly. A seldom-traveled path, one for those with imagination run wild and a penchant for long naps. There were whispers that the Aeon was asleep, constantly. Otherwise, dead. Regardless, you bore the Godbeing’s blessing in some way.

You revealed this during a routine coffee break, just before Welt, March and Stelle descending to a little sandy moon. Perched on a chair, legs curled over your chest, you’d laughed when March pointed out your lack of good sleeping practices.

“I don’t need to, so I tend not to. It’s a difficult habit to break.” 

You had explained to Dan Heng and Himeko that you and your kin, a race descended from a small planet from a dead solar system, all bear this blessing. No need for sleep and—

“I perceive the dreams of others.”

Dan Heng had questioned, immediately— “Perceive?”

“That’s the best way to put it.” You meet his eye and you look slack in your shoulders. Unbearably calm and tired. “What you dream, I experience along with you. The more I focus in, the more vivid it is.”

(Dan Heng is horrified and doesn’t speak to you for a week.)

After some significant, quiet panic, Dan Heng had politely asked you to not perceive his dreams if you could help it. 

You’d told him you’d do your best.

And Dan Heng— appreciates the effort. Even if it's clear it's not working. You are so often up when he rises for his customary tea and jaunt, and tend to prod him a little. At least stop him to chat for a moment or tea. You’ll sneak in a cheeky comment or two, usually, but they’re so quick Dan Heng can’t do much more than blush and stumble over his next sentence.

You look highly amused and soft, those nights.

You never ridicule him, which he appreciates. More often you look pleasantly neutral, as if trying to emulate the aura of a familiar house plant near a skittish black cat.

(Dan Heng knows he is the skittish black cat.)

It’s— too much really. Dan Heng would rather bear it alone, take his cup of tea and do his laps, but he also can’t find it in him to tell you off too harshly. You tend to favor the parlor car, anyway. You get lost in the stars and galaxies they traverse easily. It would feel cruel to ask you to sequester yourself to your room simply so Dan Heng can brood more effectively.

Dan Heng does not know what to do about his own haunting (arousing) dreams, nor does he know what to do with you and your unfazed smiles.

...

You straddle Yingxing’s lap, thighs tense as you roll your hips. Your lover’s length grinds inside of you, stroking something small and hot and so good you could get drunk on it. You chase the sensation, selfish. Your hands are braced behind you, on Yingxing’s thighs as he is sprawled below. 

His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a knotted mess. A hastily ripped piece of fabric binds Yingxing’s wrist together and secure to the stained wood of the bed frame.  You were kind enough to carefully pull out his favored hairpin (a gift, one you commissioned him to make... for himself. Without his knowledge. Yingxing was moderately huffy about it until you tucked it into his hair yourself.) and set it aside. 

Yingxing is not a weak man, but you are a Dragon, and therefore keeping him restrained and tethered is not difficult. Usually, you allow Yingxing the privilege of carving out your insides at his leisure and pace. There’s a sweet torture to it you have found yourself having grown fond of. 

There is no other soul, mortal or otherwise, short-lived or long-lived, that you would allow to exert such control over you. Yingxing is an exception for you in so many ways. How dear this (foolish) craftsman has become to you.

“B-Beloved,” Yingxing’s voice is tight, strained. There’s sweat beading on his temples. “Might I persuade you into moving?”

You hum. Your tail wraps around his leg, from ankle to thigh and squeezes. The feathered tail flicks at Yingxing’s tense muscle and he jolts under you. A glittering laugh leaks from the corner of your mouth.

“Persuade me then.”

“Y-You’re not making this easy, are you?”

“I told you I wouldn’t. And you still agreed.”

“I thought the great Yinyue Jun would grant me some mercy at least. Excuse my wishful thinking. I thought that my dearest husband would forgo being a brat for at least a single night—”

You scoff.

You roll your hips, slow and deliberate. Yingxing’s words are cut off, killed in his throat as his eyes roll back into his skull. Keeping your core tight, you bury his cock in your hole to the hilt. You’re flush together, panting. It’s a tight squeeze, it always is. But the slight burn is familiar and welcome as you throw your head back and moan.

The sound is sin. If any of the Preceptors knew what this man did to you, he’d be drowned in Scalegorge within the day. 

Yingxing curses in a tongue you don’t know— it’s his mother’s language, he once told you. He tries to buck up into your heat, but you hold him down and steady. Clicking your tongue and racking your nails down his chest. Thin welts rise in your wake. Yingxing lets loose a choked gasp as you slide down on his cock. The stretch is so, so good. You crave this ache. You fantasize about it when you surely shouldn’t. It haunts your—

Dreams?

✶    ✶    ✶    ✶    ✶   ✶

Dan Heng wakes up so hard it physically hurts. He gasps, muffling a half-there sound into his pillow. It’s shameful. He feels out of his mind as he flips onto his stomach and ruts into his nest of blankets. The friction is dry, scratchy, and barely enough. However— the phantom sensations of a dead lover crawl over him. Nostalgic and tragic and nauseating.

He comes with a sob that he prays no one hears. He stains the front of his boxers as he grinds his oversensitive cock against the wet fabric. It’s too much. He’s too sensitive. It hurts, but Dan Heng doesn’t know what else to do.

He feels ashamed as he sits up and runs a hand over his face. 

It’s usually not this bad. Usually he can will away any arousal with logic. Reminding himself that the pleasant touch and face he remembers is long gone and was never his to have to begin with. Only on a few occasions has he woken up disoriented enough to forget himself to actually get off.

He needs to shower.

Dan Heng blearily leaves his room with his towel slung over his arm. The showers are on the other side of the passenger car. Dan Heng turns the spray on the highest heat, cooking himself as much as he can bear. There’s a latent energy in him that always swirls, begging him to push and pull the water around him, harness it for even a moment—

Before Dan Heng can entertain such things, he exits the spray, flushed bright red with his towel around his waist. 

As he exits the shower, he finds you. 

You’re perched one of the plush couches, tucked into a nook in the passenger car. Your signature blanket is not with you. You look— like shit. Dark circles stamped but your eyes look alight.

Dan Heng freezes as you notice him.

“... You alright?” You ask him.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure, bud?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

”You’re patronizing me.”

You stumble, “I don’t— I don’t mean to. That was just—”

“Please do not—”

“A lot.”

Your cheeks are flushed as you rub at them. Your gaze flits up to his then averts to the floor. You look... shy. It’s an expression he’s never seen you wear before, even when you were pulled onto the express filthy and in a heavily patched jumpsuit. 

Something in Dan Heng’s chest squeezes. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels entirely too exposed. He’s not fully dry, and he can feel droplets of water dripping from his hair down to his shoulders. His throat bobs as he gulps you watch the movement with rapt attention. 

He coughs.

“I asked you to refrain from viewing my dreams.”

“That one was loud.” You frown. “Incredibly loud. Like banging pots and pans, fireworks and explosives kind of loud. I couldn’t have ignored it, even though I very much want to. I’d love to give you your privacy, Dan Heng, but sadly the intricacies of your mind happen to make your dreams essentially unignorable.”

“Must you comment on them?”

“... I heard you crying after.” Your expression looks uncharacteristically torn up. Your lackadaisical smile and humor are nowhere to be found. “I was worried.”

“I can assure you, I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do, regardless. The whole Express does.”

“I appreciate it. Though, it’s unnecessary.”

“Of course. Sure. Because you’re the paramount example of ‘not needing care’.”

“I’m self-sufficient.” This time, he frowns.

“You are.” You stand up and walk toward him. “‘Sufficient’ implies adequacy, not prosperity.”

“What are you implying?”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, “That you, Dan Heng, seem like you could use some help. I won’t pry at your past, I’m aware it’s not my place to do so— however routinely having uncomfortably vivid sex dreams about a man who you clearly have complex feelings about, probably isn’t good for you. There’s an inevitable amount of strain. One that I think that you’re ignoring.”

“What help do you think I need?” His voice remains level, but your proximity has him wriggling under his skin.

“... I— could be a decent listener. I have all the time in the world. I’m always around at night.” You struggle to meet his gaze, but after a moment, your usual, easy smile erupts on your face. “Or, would you prefer more... direct assistance? I could help with that too.”

“Speak plainly.”

“Was the last time you had sex with the man in your dreams?”

Dan Heng’s throat closes up. The cloudhymn that are under his skin thrum and encircle him, for just a moment. Your eyes widen at the colors and hum of it and jump back. You almost stumble. The surge of power and energy shakes the passenger car. The whale-shaped light fixtures dance above you. 

Dan Heng swallows.

“And if it was?”

You look at him, really look at him, and your eyes soften. Your center looks wide and vulnerable despite the churn in the air, “Then, do you think it could, perhaps, be helpful to add some more recent, pleasurable memories for your dreams to play with?”

Dan Heng flushes so quickly, he feels faint.

The instinctual cloudhymns around him die in an instant. He retreats, a firm grip remaining on the towel around his waist to keep it in place. He mumbles out a hasty ‘goodnight’. 

He is unsure if you hear him.

... 

In the days that follow, neither Dan Heng nor yourself, bring up your proposition. 

The next morning, you look expectedly exhausted, but do not prod or pry at him any further. You sit at the long table for breakfast and munch on a piece of bread and some jam while Himeko goes over your next destination. 

The few times you look at him, your smile is lazy and easy, however you turn away quickly. 

You continue to skillfully avoid him. 

Dan Heng— feels a bit bad about it. Maybe a lot. If he enters common spaces like the parlor car or dining car, you quickly leave after a peripheral greeting. You must be doing so as to not tip off the rest of the crew that there’s some amount of… tension between the two of you. Under different circumstances, Dan Heng would have appreciated the purposeful discretion, however something about it irks him. 

The Express’s next destination is a repurposed space station at the edge of a solar system. A false sun, powered by a Stellaron— something to that effect. Stelle’s bodily composition is of some intrigue to the scientists looking to craft a replacement, while other factions wish to harness the Stellaron more directly than a not-so-distant source of light and heat. 

Himeko’s engineering expertise is being requested, along with Welt’s understanding of Imaginary energy. March wants to go due to the complex system of bioluminescent algae that teems in the space station’s plentiful aquaponics infrastructure. (“It looks so pretty! I need photos!”)

There are very few reasons for Dan Heng to accompany them; the party’s already full. There are even fewer reasons for you to join, who, despite all of your assurances, looks particularly haggard and worse for wear. Both March and Himeko mother hen you into staying aboard the Express to keep Pom Pom company.

Dan Heng should make an excuse to leave as well. Something in his gut tells him it would be best to keep his distance from you.

(It would be easier that way.)

However, Dan Heng finds himself waving goodbye to his companions as they dock at the small port. Pom Pom has requested at least a single treat from their excursion while they wave exuberantly from his side. 

You stand on Pom Pom’s right, lazily waving as well. Your shoulders are slumped.

As Pom Pom aways to dust the fixtures in the parlor car, Dan Heng faces you and speaks without thinking.

”You should rest.”

You blink owlishly at him. “… That’s not necessary.” 

”You don’t look well.”

”You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

”I am being serious.”

”So am I.” You roll your eyes and shrug. 

You attempt to walk away from him, but Dan Heng finds himself reaching out to grab your arm. His hand wraps around your forearm securely, firmly. 

You still, wide-eyed.

”You can sleep, can’t you?”

”… I mean, yes?” You frown, glancing at his hand then back to his face. 

“Would it help?”

”Help what?” 

Dan Heng deadpans. “You’re exhausted.”

”… Dearest Dan Heng, I am always in this state. I apologize if my withered countenance has caused you grief. I am fine.”

You attempt to wrench your arm from his grip, but he doesn’t let you go. Your frown deepens. 

“Being intentionally daft isn’t wise.”

You stare at him, “I’m not being ‘intentionally daft.’”

”I beg to differ.”

You mutter something in a tongue that Dan Heng doesn’t recognize. “What’s your deal? I apologize for getting into your business previously. I have been trying to give you ample space and shut out your dreams to the best of my ability. Is that not enough?”

”No.” No, no, no— that’s not really. It. Dan Heng isn’t sure what it is, but at this moment, his mood has little to do with your knowledge of his horrible, awful, persistent wet dreams, but something else. “I’m not upset at you for that.”

You stare and your hands ball into fists, “So, you’re really pestering me over my well-being?”

”Yes?”

”Aeons, Dan Heng.” You say his name in a croon and it makes him shudder. He wants to scream. “It really isn’t a big deal.”

”Is it straining you to not… perceive my dreams?”

Your expression goes blank. “I mean. Yes. But, it’s not a big deal—“

“You look awful.”

”You can’t have both.” You are clearly frustrated. Dan Heng’s grip is unrelenting. “I can’t— I can’t attempt to block out your silly sex dreams without a not-insignificant amount of effort. I’m either going to be very keyed into that pretty silver-haired man who you clearly wish was in your bed, or I’m going to look a bit more worse for wear. The latter, Dan Heng, does not bother me. Fretting over me isn’t going to make me less worn down.”

”And you just… don’t care that you’re tired?”

“I’m always tired.” You smile then, the same lazy, curling quirk of your lips that you so often wear, ever since the Express dragged you aboard from that rest stop. Dull-eyed and wearing a filthy utility jumpsuit. “I don’t want to cause you all any additional grief. I wish you wouldn’t worry about me.”

Dan Heng doesn’t know what to say.

“... That isn’t your choice.” The words feel paltry, half-there.

You pull your arm from his grip, thumbing at the spot where he held you. Your soft day clothes have rumbled under his grip, “That’s hilarious, coming from you, Dan Heng.”

“This is different.”

“How so?” 

“Because—” Dan Heng clicks his tongue. Something— something simmers just under his chest. Something bigger than himself, salty like the sea and heavy like green stone that writhes as you stare him down. “Because my dreams are my business. The man— men— in my dreams are my ills to carry. They should not affect my present. You shouldn’t be affected by them.”

“Well, crazy, but I am—” You go nose-to-nose with him and huff. Dan Heng backs into a railing behind him, back curving. “Because I don’t like seeing you in pain—”

Something kicks Dan Heng’s shin and he hisses. You jump away from him with a stumble, looking down at a glowering Pom Pom. Their tail twitches.

“No fighting in my parlor car!” Pom Pom huffs. “Does Pom Pom need to get Miss Himeko’s ‘get along’ shirt?”

“That’s not necessary,” Dan Heng rushes to say.

You’re already walking away, out of the parlor car with a shake of your head and one last wistful look.

...

You tear your heart from your chest.

It is expectedly painful, even if you braced for it. Even if in your deepest meditations, you simulated the pain of such a loss with cloudhymn to prepare for this moment, on the off chance you would need to lose your heart from between your ribs and give it to your beloved. So few of Long’s scions retain the ability to rebirth with multiple hearts— only a handful of high elders, really. You can imagine what they will say about you, think about this act you’re committing.

Sin. And a painful one.

The blade in your hand clatters to the ground as you hold your heart in your own palm. It’s large— a dragon’s heart. It will not fit in the chest of a mortal. 

(But, you will make it fit.)

Yingxing is— is— he’s dead. He’s a corpse on the ground below you. One of his arms is missing, while the other is twisted at a most unnatural angle. His star silver hair is a tangled knot in the dirt, Yingxing’s favored hairpin shattered somewhere in the foreground. The color is no longer pure. It’s a dirty scarlet. A mix of your beloved’s blood and Shuhu’s. 

Yingxing’s eyes are half open and dull. Purple turned bruised-petal lilac. His lip is split and blood trickles from the corner of his lips,

This is not to say anything about his middle which is—

Not really there.

It makes inserting the heart easier. You think so anyway. Your hands shake (they never have before, not like this) and you cry (you have not cried like this before) as you shove the heart into Yingxing’s necrotic chest. You have to further break his ribs to shove your heart into him. Cloudhymn spins around you— a storm, a gale for you. It dulls the screams from your younger companion begging you to stop. A beast roars in the distance, above it all. The sound makes the air tremble and split. Your ears would bleed, were you a weaker species. 

(A necessary sacrifice— she— she was already dead. Past saving. You only have two hearts. One which is yours and one which is now—)

Yingxing’s.

Your beloved flinches. Lurches as unnatural growth burgeons from him. He wails on the ground as magics spin within him. You are doing the most unholy thing to him. But, you must, right? You cannot lose him. You cannot lose Yingxing. You have given everything, always, as every self, to your role and its meaning— can you not have this one thing? May your beloved not stay by your side, however unfair and painful the circumstances?

Unblemished, ghostly pale tissue regrows from Yingxing’s body at an alarming pace. It rejoins his upper and lower halves together as he screams. 

Yingxing’s hands wrap around your neck and you’re shoved into the dirt. You are not expecting the force and the impact, even less so. The air knock out of you and the cloudhymns shudder. The magics are thinner for a moment, you could see your other companions if you chose to. You could see how many Xianzhou cloud knights have fallen to the beast you created.

You ignore them.

You ignore them all to look up at your beloved. Eyes now a wild red, teeth glimmering white and stained with blood. His hair has darkened, silver turned dark, like it had been dipped in thick, viscous oil. Yingxing bares his teeth and screams at you. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO!”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, DAN FENG!”

—!

✶    ✶    ✶    ✶    ✶   ✶

Dan Heng awakens to a silent Astral Express. The trainship is still docked and it’s running on ancillary power in the meantime. 

It’s entirely too quiet. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

He scrambles to grab at his own chest— there’s no gaping hole. There’s no— there’s no blood on his hands (not real, material blood anyway . Various parties would beg to differ as to if he has any actual blood on his hands. But, the past is the past, isn’t it? These dreams are the afterimages of the life of a deadman. That’s all they can be. The man that chases him across the universe bears a different name and a younger face. The man who will always make time for him on a Godship, so very far away, may use his name ‘Dan Heng’, but is that who he truly sees when he looks at Dan Heng?)

Dan Heng dry heaves into his hands.

He barely manages to crawl to the little bathroom attached to his room to puke his brains out. He hasn’t had much of an appetite over the past few days, and most of what comes up is water, pile, and half-digested rice porridge.

By the time he withdraws and flushes, wiping his hand over his mouth, he feels winded. Disgusting. Sweaty and entirely too wet. 

Shower.

Dan Heng methodically grabs his few supplies and walks across the silent Astral Express to the showers. He could take a bath— maybe it would help. March keeps minty bath products out and available that are so strong that they tend to pull any of the Express’s passengers out of a funk if used. There’s a little basket of them in the tiled common area of the baths. There’s a hand-written note in March’s perfect scrawl that says “Please take one❤️!) 

Dan Heng snatches a few before picking his favored, individual shower. There’s a little atrium before entering the shower itself, where he sheds his drenched bedclothes and hangs them, along with his towel. He turns on the shower and idles for a moment, listening to the dull roar of it.

Water splashes onto him in droplets. There’s a (dormant. Dormant. He swears it’s dormant) instinct to ball the errant water up and toy with it with cloudhymn. The pearl that idles in the center of Cloud Piercer has many different ways to harness its power beyond a weapon of steel that—

(Isn’t his, is it?)

Dan Heng wants to vomit again. He steps into the spray before the nausea overtakes him.

The spray is cold— he usually takes cold showers, regardless of if it’s after a particularly intimate dream. He prefers cold water. He enjoys cold baths, but they’re a luxury he enjoys only once in a while, and usually for the better part of a day. He’ll stay submerged for what would be a worrisome amount of time (if he didn’t bear the spare parts of imbibitor lunae) and, despite his assurances, worries the rest of the crew. As sedentary and reclusive as Dan Heng can be, camping out in the baths for the better part of a day causes a stir amongst the express.

They’re a treat, a bothersome one.

Now, he washes himself thoroughly. It’s a mechanical and rhythmic thing. It soothes him. His breath comes steadier.

Dan Heng hasn’t had a dream that unpleasant in quite some time. He has always had the more gruesome— of tragedies beyond this knowledge. But, they’re rarer. He is haunted more frequently by memories of pleasure and that almost makes the shadow of Dan Feng more cloying. The gruesome are just that— gruesome. He has put together pieces of Dan Feng’s sin, though he refuses to touch the Archive’s documents ported from the Luofu on the subject. 

Ignorance is bliss and Dan Heng feels knowledgeable enough. The breach between his own memories and Dan Feng’s is less solid than it once was. Dan Heng will more than likely find out with time.

It despairs him for a moment as he turns off the water and towels off. He feels— more lucid. Better. 

He’s surprised that you haven’t sought him out.

There’s— no way you didn’t perceive that dream. Dan Heng can’t be entirely sure what you mean when you call a dream ‘loud’, but he knows the very real pain he felt during it could constitute as such. He listens closely as he dresses in new bedclothes. The Express is still quiet aside from machine hum.

Dan Heng could check on you. He thinks about it. Your room is just past Stelle’s and considering you weren’t in the parlor car, you’re probably there.

You shouldn’t have seen that. But, it’s not like Dan Heng can help it, right? 

The tangle of feelings within Dan Heng writhes as he exits the showers. It grows even more unruly as he notes a change in the parlor car.

Resting on one of the plush seats is a hastily folded blanket, a still-steaming cup of tea, and a small, folded note.

Dan Heng approaches and reads.

DH

i’ve noticed you like my blankets. take this one. it’s one of my favorites.

have some tea and rest if you can.

— [name] ╰(*°▽°*)

The penmanship is shaky, and clearly quickly written. None of the paper’s folds match up with each other. There’s a spill of tea on the coffee table that looks half-wiped away. 

Something heavy settles in Dan Heng’s gut. He gathers the blanket, the tea, and your note and heads back to the archives with a pit in his chest.

Like he’s still missing a heart.

...

Things come to a head a few days later. The rest of the Astral Express crew is still sorting things on the space station, and you and Dan Heng only have so much space to dodge each other.

And, truthfully? Dan Heng stopped avoiding you the day before yesterday. Now, he is actively (read: passively but passionately) trying to seek you out. This involves listening keenly for when you leave your room, but lately, those trips are few and far between. And always occurring while Dan Heng is asleep. Pom Pom confirms this, looking increasingly uneasy at the clear tension between the two of you.

Dan Heng— doesn’t know what to do. He is good at running from his problems. He put Cloud Piercer through— Blade’s chest any number of times and hopped to the next planet more times than he cared to think about. He ran from the shackling prison, the Luofu, and its General without looking back even in a cursory way. Dan Heng finds sentimentality to be a new feeling, a new fixture within his person and does not know how to handle it. He does not want to run away from you— he wants to run toward you.

The blankets of yours (three in total) are in his nest. He paces the passenger car each night hoping you’ll reveal yourself. He hovers outside of your door, hand poised to knock, but he never does.

He does not know what he’d say. 

Dan Heng does not have confidence in his words in that way. He can speak well— it’s an overhang from Dan Feng, and he is grateful for it, but on more than one occasion, March has (rather explosively) shouted at him for being so... blank-faced in the heat of an emotional conflict. The two of them occasionally do butt heads, usually when March is attempting to run headfirst into a situation without proper forethought, and those encounters have ended with March tearfully screaming at Dan Heng to just be “honest with his face!” 

His lack of expression is also an overhang for Dan Feng. 

No matter how well-crafted his sentences and well-spoken his words, Dan Heng cannot connect them to how he feels... effectively. It’s disjointed. Like armor made with incorrectly sized plates that cannot possibly be pieced together. Clothing created with a misdrawn pattern, never able to be sewn in a wearable way. 

If he were to face you, he is certain he will not be able to voice how he feels.

He can at least— do something. Give you something, since you seem so hellbent on leaving him special tea blends you’ve stashed away and BLANKETS. 

(Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?)

Dan Heng stops trying to run from you. He resolves to do something or say something because it's better than the widening rift that’s currently being run through the Astral Express, between the two of you. 

Dan Heng gets his opportunity in the late evening. He’d— feigned sleep. Intentionally. A deep state of meditation for long enough that you might think he was enjoying a dreamless night of sleep, however, he’d only be idle, waiting for sounds of any of your activity in the direction of the parlor and meal car. 

Dan Heng hears your door slide open down the hall as he sits upright, cross-legged in his nest of many blankets and pillows. Your steps are quiet, the lightest pad against the flooring outside. He strains to hear you.

He does notice, however, how you move even slower as you walk past his door. So clearly intentionally trying to keep quiet for his sake.

Dan Heng waits a few minutes until he’s certain you’re either in the Parlor Car or Meal Car before uncrossing his legs and bounding from his room. He means— to be more put together about this. But, he’s nervous he’ll miss his chance, and you’ll retreat, and be gone for longer—

Dan Heng finds you in the meal car, poking over cold dinner leftovers with a sullen expression. Your brows are heavy, eyes dull. You look— awful. You always look awful, he’s sure you’ll assure him, but now you look bad. You look ill. Unwell. The oversized shirt hanging from your shoulders billows in an uncomfortable way. It has too many undone buttons, leaving a deep v, exposing too much of your chest.

You look up at him, eyes widening.

“I thought you were asleep.” You say softly, putting down the tongs you had been using. You didn’t bother picking up any food, your little bowl is entirely empty. 

Dan Heng opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He snaps it shut a moment later.

Your eyes soften and you sag. You look like you could melt into the Express’s floor at any moment. Your eyes radiate... pity. 

“Did I wake you? I try to be quiet.” You laugh, looking sidelong, out one of the many windows. “Sorry about the fuss. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Dan Heng is frozen.

You idle, only for a moment, holding your breath, before shaking your head minutely. It— it makes his palms sweat. You try to shuffle past him. Dan Heng is blocking your only exit, and you attempt to side-step him as he gapes at you, unmoving. Unsure.

Dan Heng grabs you by the forearm as you pass.

He holds you there. Steady. His grip is firm and unyielding. Maybe too tight, based on your sharp intake of breath as you wobble in place. Dan Heng steadies you with his other hand. Without— thinking, his palm lands on your ribcage and you jump with the contact.

You stare at him, wide-eyed. 

And you face each other.

“You’re avoiding me.” Dan Heng speaks first. His words feel sure, but there’s a sticky feeling in his chest.

“... Perhaps.” You smile easily, despite how worn you look. “It seems like you have a lot on your mind. I didn’t want my presence and what it entails to burden you, dearest Dan Heng. I apologize if that wasn’t clear.”

“What do you mean by your ‘presence and what entails’?” 

You look like you’ve been punched. Dan Heng feels ill. 

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Please be straightforward. 

“Kind Dan Heng, I am—” 

“Please, explain yourself.” Dan Heng feels— frustration bubble up into the back of his throat. It’s acidic. He looks from the grip he has on your arm to your face, lingering on the chapped lines of your lips before meeting your eyes. “Why do you think you would burden me?”

You look at him sadly, “I thought we’ve been over this.”

“We haven’t, to my knowledge.”  Dan Heng frowns. You look like you’ve been slapped.

“I apologize.” You shouldn’t be. “Dan Heng, don’t I know too much?”

He locks his jaw. 

You continue. “You’re an incredibly private person. I don’t want to know about a past you’re clearly not comfortable sharing. I cannot help what I am able to perceive, however I can create some distance between the two of us, so as not to suffocate you with the fact that I know about your dirty laundry without your expressed consent.”

Dan Heng’s mouth is dry. 

You’re an unbearably earnest individual. As mysterious as you make yourself, you don’t tend to lie. You’re blunt in a way that’s disarming, heart flayed open as if rended with a short, sharp blade, on display for anyone who would like to view and poke at it. 

“I apologize for communicating that more effectively,” You add more softly. You place your hand over his, the one bracing your arm. You squeeze. “It must be hard to bear those things, and you’ve made it clear you wish to do so alone. I want to respect that and you, Dan Heng. My door is always open, but I thought it might be easier for you to not... be reminded so easily, by my presence.”

Your eyes are wet as you look away from him, to the floor. You take the smallest, most guarded intake of breath. It looks like you’re trying not to cry.  

Dan Heng feels something cold and large in his chest. Big enough to swallow him whole. 

He says your name, even and unwavering, with the weight of the sea behind it. You glance up at him, straining to give him your same lazy, forced smile—

And he kisses it off your lips.

It’s not an action Dan Heng thinks about. You’re almost close enough to feel each other’s breath regardless. One moment, he is staring at you with his own frown, and the next his lips are on yours, tilting his head to search for the best angle. The force of the action has you stumbling back into the wall behind you. The hand he kept on your ribs moves to your waist, bracing you.

It takes a moment for you to react. A startled little (whimper, a whimper) sound gets muffled by his lips as he cradles your jaw. Deepening the gesture. You react and— return it. Moving your lips against his, leaning into his grip. 

Only to freeze, and shove at his shoulders a moment later, “W-Wait.”

Dan Heng pulls back, panting.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell him. There’s an urgency in your voice like you’re scared. You nervously run your hands up and down his arms. Dan Heng doesn’t even think you’re aware you’re doing so. “I— I offered sex to you seriously, but— don’t just take my affection because you want to close the distance. There’s other ways to be intimate, you know?”

“I’m aware,” says Dan Heng. Your lips are just barely kiss bruised. He wants to make it worse. It’s an easier expression of the gulf in his chest that writhes with your closeness. “However, I want to fuck you.”

The dullness of your eyes is stolen as they widen. Heat rises in your cheeks. You’re stunned speechless.

...

Dan Heng wants to eat you.

As in, he wants to have you in his mouth, under his teeth and tongue, and get you in his gut so you never go away again. It’s— a draconic instinct. Something carnal and old that could swallow him alive. It is another overhang from Dan Feng. Such bloody impulses aren’t... uncommon for Dan Heng. However, he has learned to temper them with training, combat, and more recently, some expression of cloudhymn.

Never sex, however. Because your initial guess was correct. Dan Heng has not ever had sex, and the last time Dan Feng had had sex, he is fairly certain was a teary, bloody affair with a half-dead, bloodied Yingxing. 

This encounter, however, is very different.

There is no swirling Scalegorge and broken, coral-lined streets. There is no sand grating against his knees over Yingxing's almost-corpse. There is no tempest of his own making, cracking the sky in two, and tearing the world asunder.

Rather, there is his nest of blankets and pillows, and your soft body below him. He straddles your waist, protecting the curve of your thighs with his own. The lights of the Archive’s room are dim, the machine hum below is lulling background noise and comforting. And you— you’re warm— not cold or bloodied. Your eyes are soft, but keen in a different way from the man in the echoes of memory. There’s no sharpness to you, not in your words or your presence.

You’re gentle as you cup Dan Heng’s jaw and drag him closer to kiss him.

“You’re thinking pretty hard.” You murmur against his lips. “Are you sure you want this?”

The question makes him— angry. He still doesn’t know how to voice it, so instead he pressed you down into the floor. A bodily expression.

Your hands tangle in his hair and stroke at the lower curve of his skull. It’s gentle, rhythmic and lulling. It’s nothing like—

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing tears at your scalp, hands wound into your long hair. His cock is buried in your throat, bullied there at your request. He’s seated so deep that your nose is buried in the bristly, silver hairs at the base of him. His scent is intoxicant, musky and unclean. Instinct tells you it’s impure, but you have learned that’s conditioning.

You want to swallow him whole.

You swallow around his cock as Yingxing grinds into your throat. You gag, you always do, but Yingxing ignores you in favor of fucking your face with more vigor. The sounds that drag from you are obscene. Ugly things, guttural sounds. Tears drip down your cheeks, spit down your chin—

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You kiss him softly, pliant beneath him and snake a hand lower, easily. It’s practiced. Like you’ve done this a hundred times. The rhythm of intimacy seems easy. You palm over his increasingly hard cock and smile against his lips.

“Does it feel good?” you ask, voice soft and curling. 

Before Dan Heng can reply, you’re licking up his jaw, to his ear. You nip and suck and Dan Heng can’t help the way his eyes roll back in his head. He groans, rolling his hips against your hand. The friction is dry, but it’s something. Something new and different and not an arousing nightmare. But an arousing reality.

He moans at the contact. The sound startles him.

You seem pleased as you hum against his ear and kiss down from his most sensitive spot, lower, licking over skin with practiced motions. You nip at his collarbones, laughing under your breath when Dan Heng twitches with the pressure of it.

Dan Heng feels— thoroughly disarmed. The feeling grows more intense as you coax him to flip your positions in the next moment.

His back hits the mound of pillows softly. You cradle the back of his head as he moves and massage his scalp.

It’s— the care of it that feels different. There was clearly care between Dan Feng and Yingxing. Too much, in Dan Heng’s opinion— (they shared the kind of care that tore history asunder, love so brilliant and cloying that it could only bring sticky destruction). The kind you give him is different. There’s a warmth in your gaze which is foreign. Yingxing held passion and a brightly burning heat that would surely burn itself out too young. Branding heat.

Yours is tender, the warmth of a hearth you stacked and lit yourself. You beckon him closer with a smile on your lips and hands tangled in his hair. You tug on it, with the barest edge of pain. Dan Heng likes it. 

Your knee slots between his thighs, something to grind onto. He can’t help the way he yearns for more contact, and seeks the friction. His pants are too tight, but he doesn’t want to remove them yet.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing tears off your clothes. Your finest robes— the ceremonial ones, silks with intricate embroidery and beaded with perfectly cut crystals— are in tatters by your bedside within moments. Yingxing’s want is unyielding. The lips that move against your own are so much, and so good. You crave it. Yingxing licks into your mouth and you moan loud enough for your entire home to hear. Never mind your attendants and preceptors. 

Let them talk. Let them gossip. You have never cared for legacy regardless.

Yingxing rips away your undergarments. Gossamer things, thin and mostly see-through. You’re already hard, leaking, aching for touch. Yingxing spits on his palm and strokes you. He doesn’t stop as you squirm. You’re not used to touch, especially not like this. No matter how often Yingxing takes you like this, your body cannot fully acclimate quickly. 

It takes a moment.

Yingxing uses this to his advantage. He holds you like he has something to prove as he swipes away pre from the head of your cock and licks it off his thumb. He looks smug, smitten, vibrant, and enthralled.

“How many times can I make you come tonight?” Yingxing purrs, voice rough and silken all at once. You feel your cock twitch in his hand. He smirks. “What if I break you?”

“I’d throw you through a window.” You snap at him.

“You wouldn’t.” Yingxing rubs down to the base of your cock and plays with your most tender parts. You try to kick him and he catches your ankle. Yingxing, the bastard he is, presses a kiss to your ankle. Reverent. “You like it when I break you.”

“You’re terrible.”

“And I’m yours. And I’d like to make Yinyue-Jun cry tonight.” 

It’s— humiliating the way he speaks to you sometimes. He adores you. He loves you. And for that reason, he knows he can get away with goading you on and shoving you around as he does. He knows intimately what it all does to you. The way your cheeks flush and your cock leaks down its shaft are enough of an indicator. No one sees you bare. Just— him.

Just him.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Dan Heng starts to remove your clothes. 

You seem surprised when he does. You try to take over the task yourself, but Dan Heng bats your hands away.

He wants to do this.

Dan Heng is methodical with each button and overly careful. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, noting how it hastens as he works on the last few buttons. The garment is pushed off your shoulders and discarded into his nest.

Seeing you bare is— vulnerable. Surely. You attempt to smile but— Dan Heng sees the cracks in it. As lax as you try to be, this is something different for you as well. Another mystery woven into you that Dan Heng wants to pick apart.

He rubs at your hips, up your ribs and to your chest. You gasp with his touch, leaning back to brace yourself on his thighs. It exposes you more, and— gives him more room to indulge. He cups your breast and steels his resolve when you whine.

Dan Heng has never done this. He wasn’t sure he ever would. It feels foreign and odd to touch you this way, but Dan Heng likes it. The heat that rises in your cheeks when he pinches your nipples. The soft puffs of breath and the sweat of arousal that’s growing on your temple. You roll your hips down onto his clothed cock, seeking the same contact he does. 

There’s a tumble to it then. The task of disrobing continues, and you end up entirely nude on top of him, while Dan Heng is still fully clothed.

“... Is this more comfortable for you?” You ask. You aren’t... shy about your body. But there’s an unfamiliar squirm in your upper half that Dan Heng reads as discomfort.

You’re exposed. He is not.

“Somewhat.” Dan Heng lays his hand flat over his navel. He imagines what his cock would feel like inside you and he nearly blacks out.

“Why?”

Dan Heng thinks for a moment—

(It’s because Dan Feng liked power. He loved the games where he could have all of the power and control in his hands, and those where it was torn from him as well. He reveled in both. This— want is an afterburn. One that is not Dan Heng’s. Just like every other thought of intimacy and sex that Dan Heng has ever felt—)

“Dan Heng,” You breathe his name and pet his cheeks. You’re closer now, chest to chest. “Can you tell me why? It’s okay if you can’t.”

“It’s too complicated.”

“... Could you try to tell me, still? We have time.”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You can. After.”

Dan Heng frowns at you. He wants to tell you that— he wants it now. And that patience is something he has in spades but you are testing the limits of. Your poking and prodding, he wants to toss it aside in favor of the literal you in his lap.

He wets his lips as you look at him expectantly. You stroke over his cheek, soothing him as if he were an angry kitten.

“I like that—” Dan Heng starts, and his words die in his throat. What he wants to say—

(“I like that I can see all of you, while not revealing any of myself.”)

You seem like less of a mystery like this, bare and sweaty over top of him. There’s less of you that you can obscure. You’re not hiding from him, dodging him, or flaying him open with honesty while so much of you remains tucked away. You cannot hide your own arousal. Your cheeks are hot with it, your pupils dark and dilated, and your lips are licked and wet. 

“Hm?” You hum, a devious smirk stretching over your lips. You grind down onto his cock, with enough pressure that it almost hurts. His eyes roll back into his head. “Can’t you tell me, Dan Heng? Why do you like hiding the way you do?”

Dan Heng stills, opening his eyes to blink at your incredulously.

“... Why do ‘I’ hide?” Dan Heng asks. His tone is rude. He internally slaps his own wrists then forgives himself, because in the next moment, you have your palm over his cock, gripping the length of him through the fabric of his pants. You flick your thumb over where the head is concealed and look smitten with the way his hips jolt.

“I am not a fool.” You toy with the button on his trousers. “Dan Heng, the Nameless, who hides and hides and hides. And feels so infinitely bad when a single card in his hand is revealed. The shame you carry, doesn’t it burden you?”

Dan Heng’s mouth is dry, “I—”

“You can hide like this. I won’t stop you,” You hum, still smiling, still lax in the shoulders. You run a hand up his navel, over his shirt, careful to retain his frail modesty. “Perhaps a bit bashful, yes. But, you’re hiding. How can you crave intimacy when you’re seeking it from behind a veil? Dearest Dan Heng, I will indulge you, because you are dear to me, but will it be fulfilling—?”

You prattle on.

Dan Heng is... seething. Quietly and carefully. Because, you are not wrong. There’s truth to your accusations. You speak no lies, yet the way you’re... delivering the truth is frail and in fragments. Your own eyes look hazy. Your touch grows shaky. Your voice is too soft around the edges for the sharpness of your words. 

Dan Heng—

He knows that look.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You have never had sex before. 

You’ve read about it, because your Preceptors made sure you did when you were young. This was in the case that you were raped, that you would know what the experience was, so it could be reported in an appropriate and timely manner. 

Your exposure to sex beyond that was minimal. Though Vidyadhara copulated, it was not for the sake of procreation. It was based in pleasure, supposedly. You had learned that the humans and foxians of the Xianzhou had sex for the sake of pleasure and power which... you cannot understand. You don’t endeavor to understand it, as you have all of the power that you need. 

(You are naive for this, you will learn in time.)

The first time Yingxing implores you to have sex, you know the rote motions. You assume— that since he is a human, this is what he wants from you. You let Yingxing push you down on your own mattress, and you lay there. Yingxing speaks as he disrobes himself, then tends to you.

Each layer of clothing he removes from your body feels like you’re being cut with a knife.

You haven’t let any attendants dress you since you learned to adeptly use Cloudhymn to assist yourself instead. You frequently wear three, sometimes four, layers of silken clothing, even when you are around your own home. 

No one sees Yinyue-Jun bare.

And yet, Yingxing peels back each garment without much reverie. He undoes metal and mother-of-pearl clasps with a dexterous flick of his fingers and a dashing, sharp-toothed smile over his lips. 

You look down at his own chest when he pushes away the final layer. Your skin is milky, untouched cream. You’re too skinny, the muscle you have is wiry without enough fat. You watch your own chest rise and fall— so quickly. Too quickly. 

When you look up at Yingxing, whatever smile he had worn is gone. He wears concern so transparently over his brow as he cups your cheek. His lips move, and you do not hear him. Your own lips still move, an instinctual reply even if you do not register your own words. You can predict what you’re saying.

(“I am fine.)

(“There is no need to worry about me.”)

(“You are foolish for worrying about me.”)

Yingxing softens after you speak, and thumbs over your lips. The pads of his fingers are rough. You can feel the heat callouses, born of friction and incidental burns. It’s so much different from your own flesh, constantly-healing, pure and so rarely bruised.

Yingxing deftly falls to your side, and scoops you in his arms. He smells like iron and smoke. You’re stiff at his side. 

He speaks directly in your ear, nosing the shell of it, “As much as I would love to bed Yinyue-Jun, I can recognize when I need to be a gentleman about it.”

“... Pardon?” You swallow. Your voice is foggy in your own ears.

Yingxing’s hand settles on his hip. He pulls back just enough to look at you, nose to nose, violet eyes soft in the amber sway of candles in the room. 

“Yinyue-Jun is very brave, for a virgin.” This time, Yingxing smiles like a menace. You punch his back and he seems unperturbed. “Let’s take our time. You have plenty of it, and I have enough to show you how to enjoy this well.”

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Dan Heng understands, then. 

In a smooth motion, he raises his palm to fit over your mouth. You stop speaking beneath it, and you snatch his wrist up in your own grip.

“If I am hiding, then so are you,” Dan Heng says. There is no waver to his voice anymore. “And you are terrified.”

You freeze above him.

It’s enough of an opening for Dan Heng to knit his legs with your own, and drag you down into his nest. He wraps his arms around you, chest-to-chest (covering you, hiding you himself, keeping you safe and sating that fanged, draconic howl in his chest that will never fully quiet). You remain stiff in his arms, eyes wide and you’re not smiling. 

Your gaze flickers up to his and holds it, unrelentingly.

“I don’t mind doing things scared.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Will you enjoy it if you’re scared?”

“... Maybe less, but it’ll feel nice.” You shrug, nosing at his jaw. “I like you, Dan Heng. I wouldn’t have offered sex if I didn’t want to have it.”

Dan Heng locks his jaw. He noses down your jaw, down your neck, to the juncture where your shoulder meets it. The flesh is tender. You have your free arm draped carefully over your chest, covering your most exposed, vulnerable portions as he tries to do the same to you. Your breath is soft, bated as he hovers.

“I don’t want to have sex with you if it will only feel ‘nice’,” Dan Heng says into the hollow of your throat. 

“How demanding.”

The bar is on the fucking ground. “I do not think so.”

Dan Heng slides a hand lower, between your thighs. You’re only wearing shorts, soft amiri-cotton that sparkles in the lowlight of the archive’s room. It’s a thin garment. It takes nothing for Dan Heng to cup a hand over your sex. With dexterity and focus, he presses his middle finger closer. The seam of your cunt is wet, even through the fabric.

“Are you scared or nervous?” He asks.

“Hm, what about you?”

“Do not dodge my question.” He squeezes over your cunt and you clutch at his shoulders with a gasp. “Just answer it.” 

You consider his question, and open your mouth like you’re going to attempt to parry him, then close it again. Your lips are smooth, petal-soft as he thumbs over them, urging them to stay closed until you have an answer. 

Dan Heng struggles with eye contact, but forces himself to stare you down. 

“Both?” You ask behind his finger. There’s a hint of mirth behind your words.

Dan Heng frowns, “How can it... be enjoyable for you?”

“... That’s a good question.” You look far-off for a moment, not there in his nest. “Not quite sure, but I’m sure I can.”

There’s an implicit ‘I have before’ that you do not say. However, with the way your head falls limply to the side in his grip, Dan Heng immediately knows he hit one of your rare soft spots. He— he immediately regrets it. He’s in uncharted territory that he strong-armed his way into. And he— he doesn’t know the way out. He’s a sexless virgin who masturbates once every three months and his most emotionally (and sexually) charged relationship is with the living ghost of a man insistent on killing him.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing does not remember much of his youth.

Dan Feng knows this intimately. 

The short-lived have expiring memories that seem to muddle the old over time. Dan Feng cannot understand, as his memory is pristine and clear from the time he emerged from the ancient sea in a jade-colored egg.

Yingxing remembers the Zhuming, vaguely, and then remembers arriving on the Luofu. He vaguely remembers his first meeting with Baiheng, and sleeping on a little cot in her tiny apartment while he worked his way up in the Artisanship Commission. Lucidly, these are his earliest memories.

Outside of lucidity, Dan Feng knows Yingxing remembers more.

Occasionally, something will make Yingxing remember his unpleasant, smallest youth. The loud boom of the Luofu’s biggest fireworks. A snarling dog. Splintering wood. The scent of burnt hair.

It makes Yingxing stiffen, tense, and draw up in himself.

Dan Feng has done his own research early on. In his adolescence, Yingxing was nothing more than a scrappy refugee with nothing to his name.

Yingxing’s home planet, a lush-planet... abundant in jungle lands and river systems, was plundered by abundance. Borisins. Most of its population was wiped out. Yingxing escaped due to good fortune, luck, and no doubt sacrifices he couldn’t remember.

He understands Yingxing’s passion and revulsion much better after he learns these things. 

It all enrages Dan Feng.

Yingxing’s fragmented memory, which continues to weather with time, can only give him the basest impulses when faced with something that makes him remember that frightening time. Even if he cannot remember in the mind, then he does in the body.

Dan Feng does not tell Yingxing that he knows. Yingxing is too proud a man— he’ll take offense and cause trouble. Dan Feng thinks it is better that he himself hold the knowledge, and soothe him how he can. Dan Feng can stew within himself, hone Cloud Piercer, and cut those who slighted his beloved. 

It is something beyond duty. 

An expression of care, one that tastes briny and bloody on Dan Feng’s fangs.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

“Can I help?” Dan Heng asks.

You blink at him. He strokes down your cheek. You hum and press your lips into his palm.

“Can you?”

“I— I will,” Dan Heng stammers. “How can I make this less... scary, for you?”

Can he?

Your gaze penetrates him. It’s something sharp, seeking. Looking for his weak spots for a moment. You’re searching for danger in him.

You soften and cozy up closer, a moment later.

“Just... take your time, and I’ll take mine.” You kiss him, and speak against his lips. “It’s easier if we both can ease into it.” 

Dan Heng nods. He... he wants to fuck you. He will.

...

You pick each other apart. Bit by bit, piece by piece. 

It is a slow affair, one neither of you truly lead. You spur Dan Heng on, and he follows. 

He guides you when he can, when it feels natural and normal. You seem content in those moments, more relaxed and soft-eyed.

You do not wear a full facade all of the time, but Dan Heng now knows that you are careful to keep yourself skillfully hidden. 

Dan Heng finds this out, intimately, while he is between your thighs, tongue against your slit. He laps at you, in the motions you describe. Your hands are buried in his hair, directing him with your grip and the gentle grind of your hips against his face. It is— heavenly. Your thighs around his ears, the scent of you. He left a few pointed bite marks on your thighs, which you had yelped at.

He enjoyed giving them.

You fall apart against his mouth in a way he hasn’t seen before.

It’s— so good to watch. When he looks up at you, you gasp, you whine, and throw your wrist over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re letting out. Each gasp has Dan Heng earnestly trying to wring more out of you. He watches your eyes roll back as you crest. Your thighs clamp around his skull and a broken sound rips from your throat. He guides you through it, then moves to your hole, lapping at your essence until he’s sure he’s drenched in it.

You pull him up for a kiss, and lick into his mouth. Your hands shake as they pet over his cheeks and jaw. Against his lips, you tell him— “you did so well”, “that was so good”, “thank you” —

The praise is almost unbearable Dan Heng has to hide his burning face in your neck to escape the vulnerability of it. 

You pay it no mind, and just laugh at him, smothering your lips into his mused-up hair.

It’s— it’s good. It’s good and soft and nothing like the dreams he’s carried with him for fair too long.

“Did you enjoy that?” You ask him, forcing him to look at you.

“I did.”

“Good.” You’re smitten with the answer and rub at his waist. You’d— clawed off his shirt at one point. Bare to each other. Dan Heng only has on his final layer of underwear that is increasingly tight and wet, with a growing patch of pre on the front.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” You ask. Your hand, gentle, slides down his front, between your bodies to rub over his cock. 

Dan Heng— struggles to find words as you tease the head of it with the tip of a finger. The smile you wear is devilish. 

“Maybe later—” He manages. “I want to— be inside you.”

He wants to be closer.

You look content with that, and pet him some more.

“In due time,” You kiss his cheek. “Will you allow me to be cruel, and make you wait a little longer?”

“It’s not cruel.”

“Okay, mean then.”

“You’re the furthest thing from mean.” Dan Heng frowns. He bites your cheek in retaliation without thinking and you squirm, pinned beneath him. A laugh bubbles from your throat, and Dan Heng can’t help but twin the sound. 

“So kind.”

...

Time stretches out, between languid kissing and the feel of your bare bodies so close, the night and day cycles the Express regulates do not seem of consequence. It’s the most relaxed Dan Heng has been in recent memory. You make it easy to be so.

You have no expectations when you touch him, other than the easy exchange of heat and spit. 

By the time Dan Heng has your legs wrapped around your waist, cock against your hole, he’s light-headed. He wants, so much. The image of you laid out before him, bare and covered in various marks of his, will be with him for years. There’s nothing lazy or unfocused about your gaze now, there’s only desire, so hot and needy that it makes Dan Heng’s throat feel tight.

You flex your hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your clit. You both gasp.

“Please, Dan Heng?” You say smugly as you play with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I—” The words die in his throat.

He strokes up and down the flesh of your stomach. Your muscles are relaxed, soft. You’re no longer playing a role, he thinks. You’re here, wanting, edging toward begging him. The head of his cock is purple from strain and prolonged arousal. 

He presses into you slowly.

You are stretched, and Dan Heng isn’t particularly large, so he does not see any strain cross your features. If anything, there’s relief. If you were relaxed before, you’re boneless now, taking as much of him as he will give you.

Dan Heng fucks you in earnest then, under the glow of the Archive’s many machines and fixtures. You grab at his shoulders and bury your face in his neck. Dan Heng didn’t think he shared Dan Feng’s proclivity for pain, however the way your nails wrack down his back has him throbbing from inside you.

By the time he spills inside you, he’s gasping, sobbing with each thrust because it is so much. Closeness— like this— that’s real and tangible and in his grasp and within his body (only his, no one else’s) feels so vibrant and violent, it cleaves him open. He comes with a broken sound muffled into your throat, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there. You let him, spasming with the pressure and letting out your own half-cry with the pain. Dan Heng fucks you through his orgasm, until he can’t support his weight on his knees, and he falls on top of you.

You let out a little ‘oof’, and then laugh, wrung out and happy. 

Dan Heng cherishes the memory.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You are most tired, but you must continue to move forward.

Despite your aching rear and scratchy eyes, there are duties to attend to. Never mind that your husband is in your bed, knocked out, regardless of whatever regenerative cloudhymns you could give him. Yingxing is mortal, and no matter how much of you he consumes (figuratively), it only slows his aging, never stopping it completely.

Yingxing will die, long before you do. And that is if he dies of old age and not the diseases and maladies of the short-lived. Or some violence that you and the rest of the Quintet will be unable to protect him from.

This will not do.

You enter your study with sweeping, loose robes. You tell your attendants to leave you be. Your ritual obligations are not until the evening. Until then, you will be confine yourself in your study and continue to pour over the scrolls, documents, and books you have been able to find. It has been hard to procure some of them— having Sanctus Medicus texts brought to the home of the High Elder would be treasonous. It has required careful planning to amass the library you have, and you are diligent in keeping it hidden. Even from your lover.

He would not forgive you, were he to know.

You have never been selfish, not once in your life. In any of your lives. You have lived for your people, the Luofu, and a dead Aeon that you remain the after-image of. You have played the part well, smiled when necessary and remained cold enough to rarely stir dangerous interests. You have healed many without complaint.

As you settle into your nest of pillows and blankets, and pick up your newest scroll, you don’t feel that guilty. You will let yourself have this one thing. If nothing else in any of your lifetimes, this one fucking thing will be yours. 

You unfurl the scroll with a yawn. It’s a text, an old one, from the High Elder that followed Yubie. They lived a short life for a high elder, two hundred years. However, they were a prolific scholar. Most of their works have been hidden away with time, as some are downright blasphemous and utilize the Abundance in a way that both the Vidyadhara’s high council and the Luofu’s Charioteers could not tolerate. 

This particular one has not seen the light of day since that High Elder’s time. It is titled:

[The Twin-Hearted Dragon Theory: The Permanence and Abundance’s Coalescing] 

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

“What a weird one.” You say with a yawn. Dan Heng can hear your voice through your chest, where his cheek is pillowed on your bare chest. He— there’s a spot of drool that’s cooling unpleasantly. He blinks awake and rises off you, to rub the stickiness away, blushing furiously.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It was cute. You were sleeping good, for once.” You tell him and muse up his hair. “Besides, you’ve gotten me far messier than that.” 

You both are messy. Dan Heng can feel the stickiness on his softened cock, and he imagines you’re leaking between your legs. He sneaks a hand between your body and gently feels along your thighs to confirm his suspicion.

You gasp when he grazes your core. You— you are dripping. Cold, too. It must be uncomfortable. Dan Heng frowns.

“Don’t worry about that.” You assure him, voice shaking. “We can clean up in a little bit.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“Maybe,” you hum, unsure. “I don’t mind it, regardless.”

Dan Heng raises himself up off of you, and braces his hands on your inner thighs. He’s warmed with the combined heat of the Archives, his nest, and you. You’re chilled under him and— Dan Heng. Can’t have that. He can’t totally trace why, he pulls a blanket up and over your bodies. 

You let him arrange you as he sees fit. He brings you to his chest, and fits your head under his chin. He tangles your legs, indulges in the contact and tries to transfer some of his volcanic heat into you. You look content as he does, nuzzling into his throat. 

Your own eyelids droop.

“Are you going to sleep?” He asks. 

“... Probably not.” You say with a yawn.

“You look tired.”

“I am,” You nod and push closer. “But, I don’t need to, and it’s hard to get myself to sleep. It’s more trouble than it's worth, trying to sleep.”

Dan Heng doesn’t think before speaking. “Has it always been hard?” 

You pause, breathing even and slowly, “Not always.”

“Why did it get harder?”

You choose your words carefully then, despite your evident exhaustion. Your brow droops, and you rub at Dan Heng’s sides. Your thumbs skitter over his ribs.

“How much do you know about the Kin of Sacha, Dan Heng?” You ask. “It provides context. I’d hate to bore you.”

“... Very little. The databanks only has limited information.”

“Oh, you looked for me?” You nip at his jaw, playful, even as Dan Heng prepares a nervous rebuttal. You soothe his distress before it can get anywhere. “I’m kidding— and it makes sense there’s not much about us out there. There aren’t that many of us to begin with.”

“... How many?”

“I’m not sure, truthfully. Probably less than a thousand. Maybe half of that. Unless Sacha has... awoken to bless more. But I doubt that.”

You rarely mention the Aeon who provided you your sleeplessness and dream-seeing. You even more seldom mention anyone you knew prior to your time on the express.

You sign, “Typically, the Kin of Sacha work as mystics or laborers. Some societies we encountered saw the Aeon’s gifts as a psychic boon to be cultivated. Others, like the one I was raised in, saw the Kin as a well of infinite, tireless labor. You learn quickly under those expectations that even if you could sleep, it’s more ideal not to.”

Conditioning, then.

Dan Heng thinks back to when he first saw you at that rest stop. How you’d swayed on your two feet, eyes glassy and far away. How long they took to focus. How the embroidered logo on your breast must’ve belonged to whatever company you’d been under the employ of. Pieces fit together, and Dan Heng feels slightly sick.

“You don’t— need to be like that, now. You should sleep.”

With your hands braced on his chest, you lean back to look at him. Your gaze is soft, unguarded. You look almost plush with it. 

“... I guess I should.”

(I guess I could.)

That’s all it takes, really. You nearly collapse back into the nest, and Dan Heng settled himself to be curled around you. If— If he still deigned to manifest his Vidyadharan tail, perhaps it would be curled around you both. 

But, Dan Heng does not manifest any tail. You do not need to stay awake. You both rest under the filtered, soft light of the Archives, and that is all you must do. 

[everythingmp3]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

after having given into the pull you feel towards each other, both you and Tess are left to deal with all the intense emotions of possibly falling in love: the thrill, the joy, the courage it takes to fully open your hearts up. you spend a few days growing even closer, figuring out how to let go of all fear and embrace the bliss of having each other.

author’s note: (part 2 of this fic!). I’d definitely go read at least the description of part one before reading this one!originally I wasn’t gonna make it multiple parts but some really sweet feedback made me go back and this is basically an exploration of the early stage of falling in love, it delves much deeper into both of their feelings but there’s also some humor and lightness in there, Joel has a few appearances, it’s pretty long so there’s a lot in there. also again I never played the game, this is about Anna’s Tess! enjoy <3

warnings: minors dni. smut (reader receiving, oral), some discussions of heavier personal issues but nothing dark

wordcount: 13.7k

the next morning Tess woke up the same exact way she´d woken up all the mornings before in Jackson: right around 7:30, the sun casting the same shadows onto her floor, laying on the same side of the bed, but she felt completely different. usually she felt nothing that early in the day, but that morning as she came to her senses, the images of what had happened the night before, of you, immediately flooded her mind and left her in a state of blissful half-consciousness, a daydream that made her stay in bed a little longer. 

at the same time Tess also felt a quiet sense of dread, knowing that she would have to be subtle about her feelings for you whenever others were around, and she was self aware enough to know that she was anything but subtle; once she let herself grow attached to someone, it went from indifference to obsession in no time, she was not one for “taking it slow”, she´d never been, but thankfully she had a feeling you weren´t either.

still, it had been a while since anyone had gotten through to her the way you had, since she´d let anyone close at all, so all of a sudden she remembered just how intense she was when she truly cared. part of it was a deep need to protect you, to make sure you felt safe because of her presence, even when she was not in the room with you, her standards for what she should be for those she loved were high, even more so with you than with anyone before and Tess realized very quickly how incapable she was of being casual about what happened, how unthinkable it was to just see where it would go without already feeling devoted to you. 

when she thought back to how you had looked at her the night before, how you´d put your heart in her hands, trusting she´d know what to do with it, it almost made her lose her mind with the desire to go out there and find you and have you in her arms again, to feel your body relax into hers again, to give you the relief you so clearly needed and for some miraculous reason found in her presence. but of course it wasn´t all that noble, deep down there was also a simple visceral aspect to it, the vision of your body under hers was burned into her mind and no amount of self control could conceal the truth: that she wanted to get her hands on you again, desperately.

sitting at the edge of her bed that morning, it all came crashing over her, so after about ten minutes of staring into space she told herself to get a grip, got up, and splashed some cold water on her face before joining Joel for breakfast downstairs. 

as she walked into the kitchen she could see Joel pouring two cups of coffee and she was glad he had his back turned, so she could brace herself for a second before talking. Tess sat down at the table and Joel wordlessly put the cup down before taking his place opposite her, leaning back and taking a sip as he regarded her with a knowing grin, “so... sleep well? any sweet dreams?” his voice lowered for emphasis on those last two words, she shot him a slightly stern look, “absolutely none I´d share with you” he knew she was one for overthinking so he was trying to get her to relax a little, make the mood lighthearted, “right, fair enough. but you do look.. I don´t know you usually look more tired at this hour, you have a certain glow”, she took a sip and watched him gesture at her, her eyes narrowed, “a glow? are you trying to be a poet, Miller?”, he kept looking at her, amused, “no I just mean-”, she finished his thought, “you mean the “this person finally got laid” glow? that one?”, not expecting that he laughed, “hey you said it not me” throwing his hands up theatrically. 

she shook her head, finally cracking a smile too, “yeah I really don´t know what the fuck is happening to me Joel” she admitted, drumming her hands on the table, spaced out for a moment, he leaned forward to talk more seriously then, “well. it´s simple isn´t it”, she knew what he meant, “you like her”, she didn´t look at him but made a “hmm” sound of agreement, fidgeting with her hair. 

Joel was almost endeared by seeing his jaded friend so uncharacteristically out of it, nothing made her nervous back in the QZ, ever, not gunfire, not a group of men that are were a few heads taller than her, not even while getting beaten up did she ever seem afraid, he could count on one hand the amount of times he´d seen her lose her cool, so watching her hard facade crumble because of a girl, it made him discover a side of her he hadn´t seen in all the years they´d known each other, and it was moving to him in a way, that of all things love would be the thing to force her to her knees, to render her defenseless. 

“I think I should keep it to myself right? I mean we should be discreet about it?” he considered it, “I mean. I will say I have seen much stranger couples around town, truly some odd fuckin´pairs that make you two look boring as hell, but I won´t lie, it would probably take a little time for people to.. you know get it. what you two have”. she understood, that was what she´d thought, “yeah I think it might be smart to keep it private. even though I´d fucking hate for her to feel like I´m ashamed or something, that´s the last thing I am. I mean fuck, if anything I´d wanna brag”, he crossed his arms, shifting his posture, “can´t blame you, I think you could get some really priceless reactions out of the younger guys who tried their luck with her, when they realize that their biggest competition was some strange out of town woman”. Tess laughed then, feeling some tension leave her body, enjoying that age old feeling of not having to censor herself at all around him, “yeah. that would be pretty fucking entertaining.”. he downed the rest of his coffee and said one last thing on the issue, “whatever you decide in the end, just know, if anyone ever does give you two trouble, I´ll take care of it, alright? they won´t do it twice.” since they´d been in Jackson, Joel had turned into a more gentle, polite version of himself to blend in, that morning was the first time his old self came back to the surface, the first genuine threat of violence Tess had heard from him since they´d arrived, and it felt good, to know that he was still always on her side, always ready to jump to her defense, even when she was being reckless and getting into something that he easily could have judged her for. 

“so, we´re starting on the attic today right?” Tess said as she got up and put away the cups, “yes, I think it needs a paint job, the windows are a little fucked, and some floorboards are loose, but other than that it should be pretty nice in no time”, since they´d arrived in Jackson a few weeks earlier they´d been planning on how to fix up their house, both of them eager to prove that they were capable of proper physical labor. “but it´s still early, there´s not rush, if you wanna.. you know get some air, walk around before being stuck up there” it was probably a good idea for her to clear her head, so she got her jacket and stepped out. 

it was a foggy morning, she couldn´t even see all the way down the street as she slowly made her way towards the center of town. of course she knew there was a chance of running into you but she still felt a rush of adrenaline when she reached the outside of the dining hall and saw you sitting there on a bench by yourself, you didn´t see her as she came closer, so for a moment she just stood there, looking at you, reminding herself that the urge to embrace or kiss you would have to wait til later, telling herself to keep her instincts in check before briefly resting her hand on your shoulder to make you turn around. the moment you looked at her and smiled, Tess remembered just how little it took for you make her feel warm, even in the icy morning air, and you saw it, how glad she was to see you, for a moment it felt like an extended dream, like something you´d imagined, but it was real, her touch brief but the impact lingering on after.

“hey!” you said, your tone different than if anyone else had stood there, excitement in there that was not typical for you, shifting the way you were sitting to make space for her, “come, please, sit” she nodded, “so, how are you?” she asked, sitting down next to you, “better than ever actually, for some reason” you said, an ironic inflection, seeing the satisfied look on her face as she answered, “yeah, me too”, the town was still waking up and hardly anyone was around, so you allowed yourself to reach for her hand, her grip on you strong and reassuring, the warmth of her palm reminding you of where else on your body it had rested the night before a slight flush on your face as you practically beamed at each other in silence, a shared moment of knowing exactly what the other person was thinking, no words were needed to know that it included things like i wish i could kiss you right now, i thought about you before falling asleep and after waking up, i am a little nervous, i have no idea when i last felt like this, if i ever did, it was all there in the air between you, locking eyes was enough to communicate it. 

once the moment passed you let go of her hand and leaned back, speaking first, “so, tell me, what are your plans today?”, while moving your leg so it would touch hers, two people sitting like that was not suspicious, it made you creative, the limitation of physical affection you could allow yourself in public, and admittedly part of it was hot, she grinned, feeling what you were doing “well, our house needs a little fixing up still, so I think we´ll be busy with that. and you?”, she kept her hands to herself but she was dying to reach out and caress your cheek, the way you were looking at her was killing her, all soft and open.“well” you gestured behind you “I´ll be in the kitchen all day. I´m on cooking duty”, “really? wow, didn´t figure you for a chef” she hadn´t pictured that as one of your jobs, “should I be offended by you sounding so surprised that I can cook?”, she laughed, “oh come on, you know what I mean, it´s hard to imagine the very limited resources in the QZ inspiring someone to learn how to cook”, she was right of course, after the outbreak the philosophy surrounding food was mostly be thankful for what you have, parents hardly bothered teaching kids elaborate culinary skills anymore, meals were a matter of survival, nothing more. “yeah I know, but I had my reasons to try my hand” she looked at you in a way that said “keep going”, “well, after my parents died and I started living with my friend her family I felt kind of self conscious about being there at times, so I guess becoming the family chef made me feel like I was useful” you smiled then, remembering something about that time, but she was hung up on the word useful, a little struck by a teenager thinking they could be considered useless by those taking care of them, it made her suspect your life with your parents hadn´t been all that easy either, it stung a bit, but she didn´t let it show. 

“so you´re telling me you were what, 15, 16, using your free time to cook for your household? you really are some kind of angel huh. I was a fucking nightmare at that age”, remembering how people had considered you tough and intimidating was becoming increasingly absurd to her, but you shook your head, “oh don´t be too quick with that assessment, I also got in trouble quite a bit” that intrigued Tess, she leaned closer, her voice lower, that tone that always went straight to your core, “oh really? how so?”, you stared at her, enjoying the genuine interest, “school was tough, I often got detention, always ended up fighting with teachers. I guess I had an authority problem” you mused, leaned your head on your arm then, looking up at her, making it even harder for her to just sit there and not touch you the way she actually wanted.

that last part was funny to her, that you were clearly not a fan of strict rules or being told what to do, including what you´d told her about Jackson being too regulated for you, but then with her you seemed to want exactly that: being taken care of, being told what to do, and she loved the idea of being an exception, that her kind of power was the kind you wanted to submit to, not push back against, it almost humbled her in a sense.“yeah I can picture that, you being too clever for them and getting on their last nerve” a pause then, “but they never seriously hurt you, did they? because I heard some awful stories about the schools in my QZ” a sudden flicker of something dark in her eyes, it was hot to you, but you reassured her, “I mean nothing crazy no. but if they did, what then? would you go out there and find them?” you joked but she didn´t smile, “maybe” you nudged her, “that´s very sweet of you, really”, but you weren´t just amused, it was an unfamiliar feeling, to have someone be that invested in your safety, even considering things that had happened long ago. she loosened up again, still, her sense of protectiveness extended even to your past self, perhaps because she felt a little guilty, that she´d grown up normally and you had to go through a lot as a kid, but in some way it also made her respect you, that you clearly possessed the strength that was required to grow up into a person as beautiful as you were, during the end of the fucking world. she was convinced you were the better person out of the two of you, there was no doubt about it to her, Tess was prideful at times but you made her feel a sense of humility that she liked. 

Tess could tell from the look in your eyes that you were were waiting for her to say something, anything, there was something pleading about it and for the second time she felt the urge to touch your face, only stopping her hand mid-air, which didn´t pass you by, you stared at her, still waiting for her to speak, she cleared her throat, “I know I put up a good front but just know it´s kind of killing me right now to sit here like we´re just friends”, you cocked your head, “we aren´t friends?” slightly teasing, she narrowed her eyes, “no. that´s not what I would call it”, a subtle grin on her face, you nodded, “if it makes you feel better I have been trying my best not to lean my head against your shoulder for the past few minutes, so...”, “don´t say that, jesus” she whispered, the image too endearing to her to be unaffected by it, you kept looking at her, not expecting the idea of a simple tender gesture like that to get to her, “yeah I should go I think this isn´t gonna end well if I stay any longer”, she sounded serious about it, and it did thrill you a little, for her to imply that you were irresistible to her. “okay. but um-” she looked at you expectantly, “yeah, what is it?” a sweetness to her tone that she never used with other people, “if you happen to take a break later, feel free to stop by in the kitchen, there´s a backdoor” you pointed to the wall at the back of the building “it´s open, I´ll be right down the hall” she nodded, charmed by your clear desire to see her again as soon as possible, which matched hers,  “okay, I´ll see what I can do” briefly touching your hand before getting up, deepening the ache of not being able to hold onto her, looking back down to where you were sitting for a moment, not wanting to leave you yet, watching you bask in the light of her attention, shifting your posture to face her. for second she thought out loud, “god. you´re so pretty..” barely audible but you did hear it, “what was that?” you teased, clearly you had heard it, she shook her head, “okay I am leaving now, you take care sweetheart”.

the next few hours passed quickly, you washed the produce, you sharpened knives, you let some things that would take longer simmer on low heat while chopping others, you were lost in the motions and didn´t register time passing. there was something that you had kept from Tess, which was that the reason you were known around town as someone who worked hard, who was eager to help out with any job at any time, had very little to do with the goodness of your heart.

it was a welcome side effect that people perceived you as diligent and reliable but the reason you took on as much work as you did was simple: it was the only reliable coping skill you had. in other environments your depressive moods and darker states of mind would have driven you to different methods of numbing yourself, but there was no secret drug scene in Jackson, the one available substance was alcohol and you were not one to drink on your own, there was no tv or other mindless entertainment to turn to, not even healthier ways of clearing your head like taking hour long walks, so the one thing you go sucked into was working yourself to a point of exhaustion, to a point where no thoughts could form anymore. the years in Jackson had been marked by various periods of deep despair, loneliness, and hopelessness, so to escape time, to escape your mind, you got into the habit of doing whatever you could to be occupied as much as possible: chopping wood for fireplaces, cleaning out the stables, sweeping the streets, helping people around their homes and in their gardens, cooking, anything, oftentimes doing so much in one day and forgetting food and drinking to a point of almost passing out on your doorstep multiple times at night.

people didn´t notice, you were good at stoically handling the pain, but it had worn you down, and even meeting Tess, being so flooded with joy, it didn´t magically kill the instinct to overextend yourself. usually people worked in shifts in the kitchen but you always told them you liked handling both lunch and dinner and to do it on your own, they bought the lie that it was relaxing to you, and some parts of it were, but you knew you´d have to stop overdoing it or eventually something ugly would happen. still, meeting Tess in the morning had left you in a better state of mind than any of the days before, that morning and early afternoon you were constantly zoned out thinking back to all the things she´d said, all the glances she´d given you, the details filling your body with a constant buzz, a lovestruck expression on your face that nobody was around to witness. 

around 2 pm Tess suggested to Joel that they should take a break and told him she´d be back in half an hour. the noises of the kitchen concealed any noise you could have picked up on as Tess walked down the hall that you´d mentioned earlier, so she saw you before you saw her as she stopped in the door frame for a moment, just watching you chop something faster and more skillfully than she ever could; other people got butterflies when they saw their lover with kids, Tess suddenly felt it as she saw you handling a potential weapon with such ease. 

she knocked to announce herself and you turned and waved her over, “oh thank god, you came!”, the enthusiasm was endearing to her, she slowly walked over to where you were standing, leaning back against a counter next to you, that painfully attractive she always had, “that´s a nice thing to hear walking into a room”, she smiled at you, taking in the sight of your face all flushed from the humid heat of the kitchen, your hair a little messed up, her knuckles straining with the suppressed need to pull you close. your gaze fell to a few streaks of white paint on her jeans that hadn´t been there earlier, you pointed at them, “so, how is that going, hm?” eyeing her, tilting your head, “not too bad, I have a lovely constant background noise of an old man complaining about his knees” she joked dryly, you laughed, “okay I see. well, I wouldn´t complain if I was in his place, getting to watch you do all that” your voice a little sultry then, she liked that you kept flirting with her even though you already clearly had her, “is that so?”, you nodded, “but I wouldn´t be much help I´m afraid, I don´t know shit about renovating”, “oh that´s fine, you could just sit there and look pretty for me”, she said, purposely drawing the words out in a low suggestive tone, watching your expression change, staring into your soul, enjoying the feeling of seeing your expression change. 

you were less timid than her, more willing to take a risk in that moment, so you dropped your knife and stepped over to where she was standing, your hands finding the sides of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine from the unexpected touch, before leaning in and kissing her the way you´d wanted to that morning, feeling her grab your face hard as she leaned into it with quite some force, both of you clearly having missed the other one even though you´d seen each other mere hours before, there was an immediate neediness to the kiss, you were making up for what you couldn´t do before kissing each other over and over, your lips turning a darker shades of red, swelling a little, her fingers in your hair, getting soft sighs out of you that drove her to deepen the kiss, just for a moment, just to hear something a little closer to a moan, she was being reckless and she knew it, but she couldn´t stop herself, and you were too wrapped up in it to deny her, chest to chest with her but still pressing yourself against her harder, until you both needed air and separated, throwing a glance to the door to make sure nobody was there, but you were alone still. 

you stepped back, straightening out your clothes and smiling with your gaze cast to the floor, hers on your side profile as she wiped her mouth, trying to breathe and get her heartbeat to a normal state again,  “I think I should abandon all this, so I can go back to your place with you, right?” she laughed, “absolutely yes.”, wishing it wasn´t just a joke. “oh by the way” you continued, more earnest then, still a little dizzy from the kiss, “I didn´t mention this earlier but if there´s anything you like to eat, tell me, and I´ll do it next time”, she nodded, “okay that´s sweet of you, I´ll think of something, but how about you don´t prepare it for everyone in town, do it for me at home instead” you grinned, realizing that she didn´t like the idea of everyone else being part of your gesture of affection, “you don´t like sharing, do you?” you weren´t talking about the food, her answer wasn´t about that either, she nodded, grinning “yeah, that´s right” her arms crossed, “alright. I´ll save my best meal for you and you alone, how about that?” you said, which was an easy way to win her over: playing into her possessiveness. “perfect. and I´ll find a way to repay you of course”, a suggestiveness to the words,  “I´m sure you will” you said, leaning back, smiling. Tess realized you two should probably plan when to really see each other again, not just in passing, “I suppose you´ll be pretty tired from all this tonight, so how about you get a good night sleep later and then tomorrow you can come over in the evening and we can do.. well whatever we want really. I´ll kick my roommate out” that got a laugh out of you, “alright, yes, sounds good to me”.

part of you wanted to protest, to suggest that you should come over later that night but you knew you would probably be better company once you were energized again. Tess moved to leave and you exchanged quick goodbyes before you turned around to continue your work, but before she could exit the door she looked back at you, and couldn´t go just yet. you stood with your back turned to her, and it was too tempting, so she walked back over, stopping once she stood right behind you.

 you felt her presence intensely but didn´t turn around, waiting to see what she was doing, a second later you felt her arms wrapping around you from behind, just below your waist, to gently pull you back against her front side, and the moment she did that she saw you putting down the knife and rest your palms flat against the counter, for some reason she knew your eyes were closed even though she couldn´t see it. she leaned close enough to your neck to leave a light kiss, your breath heavy by then, “see you tomorrow sweet girl” she whispered, counting on the fact that she´d just given you a glimpse of what to look forward to, which had worked of course, it took everything in you not to turn around and beg her to stay but you forced yourself let the feeling crash over you, to take it without breaking, so you let her hold you for a few more moments, trying desperately to soak the warmth of her hands up, before she let you go and vanished. 

walking back home, the joy Tess felt reminded her of how she often had complicated feelings about joy after the outbreak. for a long time she´d been tormented with nightmares about loved ones she´d lost, nightmares about them calling her unworthy of her survival, calling her selfish for moving on, for not being destroyed by grief, for trying to build something new for herself; she´d often woken up in a cold sweat feeling horrible about herself and ironically enough it often happened after she´d had a particularly good day. the thing was, that as she got older she realized that despite all the pain, she´d been afforded a freedom that she wouldn´t have had in her previous life. at first she felt awful for even thinking about it, but it was the truth, before she´d have grown old as a mother and wife, she´d have had very clear positions as a woman, duties to fulfill whether she felt like it or not, but somehow it had all turned out differently; there she was, after getting over the worst of it all with nobody to answer to, no spouse, no child, not even an employer, she was free to be whatever she wanted to be, and it wasn´t lost on her that that was in its own strange way a lucky position to be in. 

for a long time she´d let it get to her, the fear that she might be a horrible person for rejoicing in a freedom that was connected to a horrible loss, but that day when she walked back after having met you, none of the guilt was there, the joy she felt was light and untainted, it was solid and calm

Tess knew it was your impact in large parts that had taken away that heaviness, the way you looked at her made it much harder to see herself in a bad light, the fact someone like you, who rarely trusted anyone with their weaker side, was so ready to let her in, to accept her care, it made Tess feel like she had a purpose, like the impact she would leave on the world might not just be one of violence. during the years of Joel and her fighting their way through weeks and months lost in a haze of shared pain and rage, she´d given up on the idea of ever feeling like a good person, or even just a decent one, but when she held you, when she felt you leaning in to kiss her, when she sensed your ease around her, knowing how reluctant you usually were to get close to others, she felt like there was a goodness in her that had remained in tact, that you were drawing out of the depths of her because you needed it. 

Tess realized that sometimes self contempt did not matter, if someone saw something worth loving in her, who was she to tell them their perception was off? 

while she was thinking all that, you were having a moment of reflection yourself. once she left the kitchen you just stood there the way you´d stood before, bracing yourself against the counter, breathing a little unevenly, and for a good few minutes you didn´t continue your work because your mind was racing, your body was on fire, and you had to calm down somehow. 

at first you couldn´t identify what it was, but then you realized: your body had no idea how to handle intense joy, intense feelings of love and affection for someone, how to handle desire and ecstatic feelings of want, none of it, because you had never felt it before, it was like a new chemical had entered your system and an alarm was going off. of course you´d had moments of relaxation or contentment before, you´d had good days and you´d laughed and gathered sweet memories at times, but it had been years and years since you´d felt genuine joy, the kind that alters your whole physicality, your whole being. for so long you had lived in a state of constant numbness, you felt like a ghost at times, you were tethered to nothing, no family, no friends, no lover, not even a hometown or material possessions that made you feel grounded, nothing had really mattered to you, you floated from place to place, in Jackson you faded into the background, stopped engaging socially, spent nights on your own, days distracted by work, and then, all of a sudden, a rupture. Tess came and you were stunned into a state of openness, it felt like your body was coming out of hiding, like every part of you was hungry to feel, to feel everything, every little detail of what her presence could evoke in you, but it was not without pain at first, that process of letting yourself be alive again. 

there was a fear in you and as you stood there thinking you knew why: for the first time in your life you had something to lose. 

you´d gotten used to indifference so now that you felt so deeply for Tess, you almost panicked imagining a potential future without her, the worst case scenario played out in your head, her and Joel getting bored and leaving, her being gone one day, because now that you´d gotten a taste of love, you knew going back to living without it would eviscerate you. 

there was no going back and you had to understand that the fear was a positive kind, that part of caring was risking your heart, the risk of immeasurable loss, which was worth it, always, in order to experience immeasurable love. after a while you calmed down, focusing on the spot where Tess´s hand had lingered mere moments before, banishing anxious thoughts and letting your mind flood with the memory of her body behind yours, her scent, her lips, and it worked, your cheeks flushed and you felt your muscles relax again. 

by the time you were done cleaning up at night everyone else had left the building already and it was dark out. your limbs were aching as you walked outside and realized that it was pouring rain. for a moment you just stood there, letting the cool water soothe your exhausted body, not caring about your hair or clothes getting wet. once you walked down the road, it dawned on you that nothing seemed worse to you in that moment than going home to an empty, cold, dark house, nobody waiting for you, nobody to ask you if you´re fine, and you tried to fight the instinct, you did, but you knew where you were headed when you started walking faster. the plan had been to go to Tess the next night, to go there refreshed and in a more appealing state, but you had a visceral need to just see her, to be with her even if it would just be ten minutes, you were broken down in a way, the weeks before you´d overdone it, and the one thing you could think of that might make you feel steadier, less at risk of falling apart, was Tess´s strength, her way of touching you that infused you with calm, with warmth. 

you made your way up to Tess and Joel´s door and tried your best to not feel ashamed as you knocked, ringing the bell seemed a little rude at that hour, hoping and praying it wouldn´t be him who answered the door, and it wasn´t; shortly after you knocked, Tess opened the door, somehow less surprised to see you than you thought, wearing an oversized black sweater that suited her, her light eyes shining brighter with the contrast, and the sight of her alone could have made you cry for some reason, the gentle smile as she leaned against the door frame and said “well hello there”. 

you immediately tried to apologize for your unannounced appearance, uttering something like “sorry I know it´s late and we said tomorrow but -” but before you could finish the sentence she shook her head and waved you in, “don´t apologize, you can come by whenever you feel like it, alright?” she wanted nothing less than for you to feel hesitant around her, you nodded, feeling a little relieved as you walked in.

once you were inside and the light hit you, she saw something that others might not have picked up on because you did conceal it somewhat well, but not well enough for Tess; she could read in the way you were holding your body, the way your eyes looked that there was a fragility to you in that moment and it made her feel violently protective but she kept it in check, not smothering you with it, not yet. 

for a moment you were just standing there, unsure what to do, waiting for her to tell you, but before doing anything else she went in to embrace you, a proper hello, the kind she had denied herself that morning, her arms firm around your back, yours around her waist, your head resting on her shoulder for a moment, breathing in her fresh scent, you could tell that she´d just showered and it felt so good that you almost turned it into a desperate tight hug, the kind where you cling to someone, where it´s blatantly obvious how much you really need their comfort, but you restrained yourself, melting into her for a few seconds, feeling her hands lightly run over the fabric of your jacket, soaking up her the feeling of her being wrapped around you and letting out deep shaky breath, that she noticed, before untangling yourself and smiling at her, a tired smile, but a very genuine one. 

the urge to cry was still there, that thing of affection almost being painful when you´re in in desperate need of it, but you didn´t. she saw it and it worried her but she let it pass, giving you a moment to adjust, taking your hand in hers, “come on, let´s get you comfortable” she led you to the living room, it was just as you remembered, inviting and cozy, the faint light of the fire and a small lamp in the corner of the room, the smell of something like a scented candle, “here drink” Tess ordered as she held up a cup of tea that had been standing on the coffee table long enough to not be hot anymore, “I think you need this more than me”. you gladly accepted, it was herbal with a slight taste of honey and you imagined that she´d already taken a sip, liking the idea of indirectly kissing her by having your lips where hers had been before. 

Tess sat down on the couch and moved closer to you once you sat next to her, her hand on your cheek then which you immediately leaned into. she caressed you for a moment, studying your face from up close, enamored, “you´re exhausted, hm?” a low, sympathetic tone, “yeah.. but this is helping” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, for a moment she let you close your eyes, holding your face in her palm, before her hand moved down to your own, holding it reassuringly as she spoke “wanna tell me what´s going on sweetie?” she asked, patient, giving you time to think of answer while you laced your fingers through hers and rested your head against the couch cushion.

“yeah. it´s just-” your voice was shaky which embarrassed you a little, but she encouraged you, “go on, I´ll understand”, you knew she would, so you went on.“well I already told you about not being too happy here in general since I came here, right?” she nodded “yes”, listening intently, still holding your hand, absentmindedly running her thumb over your skin, leaning in so you wouldn´t have to speak too loudly, making it more intimate, “the past few months it just got worse and worse, before you guys came it got pretty bad. the thing is I can´t cope when I have too much time on my hands, I really can´t be alone with my thoughts for too long, so I often just kept working and working because there are no other distractions around here” you spared her the gnarlier details, “and yeah it just wore me down, and I don´t how to fucking stop that´s the thing, I don´t know what to do Tess, I don´t know how to just live and be present” your ability to mask your pain had gone away, you seemed genuinely shaken up once you got done talking, your gaze was not on her, but she wanted you to look at her, so she lifted your head with her fingers, once you looked at her you could tell her expression had turned even more concerned, “and nobody noticed that something was off? nobody was looking out for you?” you shrugged, a sort of defeated look to you.

“I live alone, and well. not everyone has me figured out the way you have” she shook her head, a flicker of anger in her eyes as it dawned on her just how exhausted you truly must be, after years of being on your own with all of that to deal with, she sounded more stern, more intense as she spoke again, leaning in for emphasis, “okay, you listen to me. I know you´re used to being on your own and having nobody to rely on, and I know it´s not easy to give that up, I do, but I´m here now, and we´ll figure it out together. alright? it will be okay” your look of doubt just made her double down “it will. you´re gonna come to me when you don´t wanna be alone with your thoughts and I´ll find a way to distract you” there it was again, her way of putting things like an order, not even giving you the chance to deny her care, so you nodded as she tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of your face,“how about you tell me what´s been on your mind, hm? that´s a start”.

you weren´t used to sharing any of your inner thoughts with someone, so it took you a moment to gather up the courage to be honest, “well, it used to be all kinds of things, dread about not having anything to do with my life here. but it changed. now it´s just one thing really”, that peaked her interest, “and what´s that?”, you paused a moment, debating whether to be that honest, but you wanted at least one person to finally know you to your core, “are you gonna leave again?”, she didn´t expect that question at all so she looked confused as she responded “leave? what...as in leave town? we just moved here like three weeks ago” there was an amused smile on her face, but she realized that you were being dead serious, your expression almost terrified while waiting for a definitive no, it went straight to her heart,“oh sweetie. come here” she said, pulling you closer by your shoulders to hold you, to soothe you by running her fingers through your hair, the moment she did that you felt tears in your eyes, clinging to her, your fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, “I´m not going anywhere, I promise you that, I´m here for good” she whispered while continuing the gentle touches, she realized then that you had yet to know what it feels like, to be able to trust that things were gonna turn out well, that there wasn´t always some disaster waiting on the horizon. she realized that it was one thing to care for you, it was another to help you grow comfortable with that care, to accept it, to trust that it would last, that you could let go of your old habit of never growing attached to anyone or anything. 

you stayed like that for a moment, not full on crying into her shoulder, but shedding a few tears as you calmed down a little, after a while you separated and you went to wipe your eyes, laughing to yourself a little, it almost made her cry too then, to finally see a brighter expression on your face again, that smile that had won her over the moment you introduced yourself to her. “Jesus I´m sorry. I really don´t wanna be a fucking burden, I´ll get a grip now, I´ve just never felt like this about anyone..” you said while making sure your eyes were dry again, but Tess just shook her head, “you really have some self perception issue we need to work on here, getting to know you like this is not some favor I´m doing, it´s the one thing that has made coming here worth it. I´ll have you know that I was teased mercilessly all day today by Joel for constantly smiling to myself.” 

your eyes lit up then, you moved over and put your arms around her neck, looking at her from up close, getting a good look at her for the first time that day, her hands moving under your shirt, to your back, “really?” you said, clearly loving that image, your smile turning into a satisfied grin, she was beyond relieved to see the switch in your mood, “hm, you really did a number on me” you kept staring into her eyes, “well, when you left earlier I just stood there for like 15 minutes recovering so..” you confessed, she laughed, “okay so we both just spent the whole day today thinking about each other, huh?”, you leaned down to kiss her then while uttering “guess so”, your hands in her hair, kissing her more heartfelt than earlier, a distinct emotionality to it, not even making out at first but just savoring the feeling of your lips against hers, eventually getting worked up from being pressed against her and breathing heavier, her hands moving up to your face to hold you in place while you kissed but struggled at times to keep it uninterrupted, the intensity leaving you just sighing into each other´s open mouths every now and then, growing hotter from the sounds, the feeling of each others tongues only adding to it once you really abandoned restrained and turned sloppy with it, her briefly, lightly biting your lower lip, drawing a moan out of you as she grabbed your tits through your shirt, remembering that you didn´t mind when she did it a little roughly.

after a while of being all over each other getting lost in the feeling of it, you climbed off of her and Tess realized just how wet your clothes had gotten from the rain earlier, she was so distracted before that it only then struck her, she fussed with your damp shirt, “okay you need to change, this isn´t good, you´ll catch a cold”, but she wasn´t gonna send you home, no way, “wanna come up to my room? I´ll give you something fresh to wear” her voice purposely low and smooth to persuade you, which wasn´t even needed, of course you´d say yes to the promise of seeing her space, getting dressed in something that might have her lingering scent on it, “yes I´d love that” you said,  so she got up and pulled you up with her, gesturing for you to follow her. 

after you made your up the stairs to the first floor, Tess went in ahead of you to turn on a few small lights, telling you to make yourself at home, and the second you saw her bed, which was considerably bigger than yours, it hit you just how tired you were, so you made your way to the end of the bedrame and sat down with your legs dangling off, taking in the details of her room. it was pretty impressive to you: two large wood paneled windows on each wall that faced the garden, a tree so close to them that you could see its outline even in the dark, a long full body mirror in the corner, a door that seemed to open to a walk in closet, beautiful wallpaper with a subtle flower print, you knew she might have chosen a slightly less feminine touch but it was undeniably a great space for her to have to herself, “damn this might be the nicest room I´ve seen in this town” you marveled as she lit a candle on her night stand, “yeah I know, I got pretty fucking lucky here”, Tess was looking at you as she said this, not at her space. 

secretly you were already kind of imagining the room as partially yours, knowing there was a good chance you´d come back again and again, a smile on your face as you she made her way over to where you were sitting, standing in front of you then, sort of towering over you which you liked, “okay, we should get you out of these now”, which you took as a cue to undress but before you could undo even do anything she gently pushed your hand away, “no, let me do that for you”, not wanting you to life another finger after having had an exhausting day, so you gave in, gladly, smiling up at her as her eyes fell to where her hands got busy with opening your shirt, a quick succession of undoing buttons, she wasn´t fumbling at all her hands were steady, and it did turn you on, to have her handle you with such care, you were at a loss almost as she pulled your arms out of the sleeves as if she didn´t want to break you, gently, a stark contrast to her generally not very inviting aura, which vanished into thin air around you.

she wanted nothing more than to wrap you in a feeling of safety, of being held. your tank top was also far from dry, and you saw her hesitate but you almost begged her then, “go on”, wanting the intimacy of being exposed, being seen, she nodded, realizing that it wasn´t just about the clothes anymore, that you were getting something you needed out of it. she moved her hands under your top to pull it over your head, and the moment you were left sitting there topless, your skin painted in a golden hue from the dim light, her eyes changed, you were watching her while she was taking in the sight if of you, her palms resting on your shoulders, warm, so warm, once she looked at you again she moved her hands down your neck, your chest, slowly, “you´re so beautiful”.  for the first time you thought you could hear her voice wavering, a hint of a tremor and the way she was standing between your legs, looking down at you, it made you feel weak in the most satisfying way. for so long you´d worked at seeming unfazed by anything, but in that moment you were glad to surrender, to look up at her in awe, to let her do whatever she wanted to, that moment with her, it felt sacred in a way. her eyes fell to a spot on your chest where she´d left a subtle mark the night before, a faint purple, she traced it for a second before leaning down to kiss the spot, ever so softly. a moment later she got onto her knees, moving between your legs to unzip your jeans and help you out of them too and once you were left in nothing but your underwear, you realized that that was the first time she´d seen you fully exposed, which felt good, her gaze never made you feel uneasy, it always made you want more. 

Tess didn´t get up again but remained on her knees, her hands on either your thighs, feeling your soft skin, caressing you, and you were still at a loss for words, just taking it in, your body heating up from what she was doing,  almost blacking out as she kissed your inner thigh, not just once, but leaving soft kisses all the way down to your knee. you could feel her long hair brushing your skin, tingling a little, her other hand lightly squeezing your other thigh as she seemed to get lost in the feeling of your skin, a kind of adoration that was enough to make you feel like you were imagining it all, it was beyond anything you´d expected from her, the way she was almost worshiping your physique. once she stopped to look up at you, she saw your eyes almost closing in pleasure, “relax for me okay? lay down, let me make you feel good” she said and you took the order, laying down flat on your back while your lower half was still at the edge of the bed, in her grip.

 after Tess kissed your other thigh and felt you relaxing, quietly sighing, clearly wanting more, the progression of sensual to sexual was so seemless that it didn´t even make you nervous when she moved to pull of your underwear, the moment you felt her touch the fabric you assured her with a “it´s okay”, eager to be hers entirely. the feeling of laying there on the soft bed, the rain still making light sounds against the windows, the sensation of her lips trailing down your body, it left you fully present in your body, no thoughts other than god this feels good, it was exhilarating to be nude and to practically feel every part of you warm up and pulse with desire, your face growing hot, your chest rising and falling with heavy deep breaths, the space above your hips burning as she held onto you, it was clear to her that you were turned on to a level that could and should be deepened, so once your underwear was discarded onto the floor she moved further up between your legs, tightening her grip on you a little, pushing your knees apart more to have space, hooking her arms under your thighs to pull you down onto her face.

it was a charged moment for both you and Tess, neither of you had been intimate with anyone in a good while, so you felt every little sensation of that moment intensely, she had no idea if anyone had ever gone down on you at all so she felt a sense of responsibility, to not just be gentle and patient but to also make it heartfelt and passionate enough for you to crave more once she was done, a mix of carefulness and the urge to show you just how good it could feel. she knew she had all the time in the world, so at first she just focused on the skin leading up to where she was going, licking the highest part of your inner thigh, broad strokes with her flat tongue just tasting your skin for a moment, your sounds still faint but she could feel your body reacting, a slight twitch in your leg as she kneaded the skin where her fingers were digging in while moving to your center and running her flat tongue over your cunt in one big stroke, leaving your lips glistening with her spit, a slight gasp from you then, followed by a needy “please Tess..”, urging her to go ahead, so she briefly reached up and spread you open with her fingers, teasing you for a moment by running them up and down between your folds before leaning in and licking up what had leaked out already, a hum of pleasure as the slick texture hit her tongue, a sudden hunger, so she put more force into it and found a rhythm of sucking and licking your soft sensitive flesh that drove not only you insane but herself too, your whole body flushed by that point, your hands gripping the sheets before she reached up to hold them down, to make it even more intimate, feeling your hips moving up to meet her tongue, your fingers trapping hers, squeezing quite hard from the overwhelming feeling, but you were being easy, you didn´t squirm much or try to move away, it was pure bliss for her the way you were sprawled out and open for her, she praised you for a moment as she lifed her head, moving her hand to caress your stomach,  “you´re being so good for me, such a good girl”, it only turned you on more, “my angel” she whispered against your skin as she could hear you whine from the mix of her words and her touches, her own underwear soaked by that point from it all, so much so that she might even finish too.

to really push you towards your impending climax she stopped pushing her tongue into you after having gone at it for a while and moved to suck on your clit, hard, not to a point of pain but hard enough to make you see stars for a second, “jesus fuck..” you moaned as she kept doing it, “Tess fuck I´ll-” you cried, feeling her steady you by grabbing your hips, “it´s okay, breathe, I got you” cooing at you before really harnessing all of her strength to overstiunalte your clit to the point of your walls clenching and your legs shaking, her hands constantly running up and down your body to add to the arousal, she knew that a squeeze and a grab at the right moment would only make you cum harder, you tried to somehow remain in place as you felt the orgasm building in your core and spreading out through your whole body in violent waves, your moaning nad whining almost making her lose her mind with lust as she felt the whole lower half of her face getting soaked in your juices, an intense final shudder told her you were finished but she wasn´t, letting you calm down a little as she gathered up every last drop that she´d gotten out of you, a last sloppy lick over your cunt before easing up and catching her breath, still between your legs, until she had the urge to see your face and climbed up over you, trapping you beneath her, satisfied with the look she found on your face, all flushed and exhausted and content. 

before she could say anything you pulled her down for a kiss, which turned her on even more because she knew you knew she hadn´t wiped her mouth or chin yet, a gesture of intimacy that got her good, you tasting yourself on her lips, not even just a closed mouth kiss but kissing her in a way that made clear how much you´d enjoyed what she´d just done. “do I wanna know how you got that good at eating pussy” you said, which got a laugh out of her, her hand in your hair as she said “oh you know, the hundreds of women I dated before you” you didn´t laugh, wondering for a split second if she might actually mean it “I´m joking, don´t worry, I guess you bring it out of me”, “okay now you´re just sweet talking me” you said, your hands around her neck as she shook her head, “not my style, you should know that by now I think”, both of you smiling at each other as she said this because you did know, but it was still new to you, to be wanted like that, by someone you wanted just as badly. you knew her arms must have gotten tired from hovering over you so you pulled her down onto your chest, “careful there” she said, worrying she was gonna be too heavy, “you can crush me I don´t mind” you said, holding onto her as you could hear her laughing, resting on your chest for a moment. 

neither of you were bold enough yet to ask the other one to spend the night together, so around midnight after laying there together for a good while, she offered to walk you home. as you stood in front of your door and looked at her you didn´t dare to kiss her even though it was dark and nobody was out there except you two, but you did allow yourself what you´d been too shy to do earlier, which was a hug that went beyond the friendly kind, so you stepped closer to her one last time that night and embraced her as tightly as possible, communicating something a simple thank you, wouldn´t have. as you stood there, arms around each other, the faint sound of a few lone birds above you, the smell of snow still lingering int the air, she lightly ran her hand over the back of your head, speaking in a low tone, “you take it easy tomorrow, okay? no work, no nothing, and if anyone really needs you to do something, send them to me, I´ll take care of it.” you smiled against her shoulder, still gripping the fabric of her jacket, “okay, I will”, separating only after a good two minutes of standing there in an embrace, giving each other a last love filled glance before saying goodnight. 

while you were sleeping soundly later that night, Tess and Joel coincidentally got up to get some water from the kitchen at the same time. she´d been awake for hours just laying there unable to stop thinking about you and was already pouring herself a glass as she heard him coming down the stairs, so she got out a second glass and handed it to the disheveled half asleep man who got out a “thank you” but only barely, his voice still impacted by sleep, as she sat down at the table with him, both of them sitting there in silence for a moment. she had a grave expression, staring into space, so Joel asked “hey, you good?”, she looked like she was about to deliver bad news or tell him about a nightmare, but after taking a deep breath and looking up at him, Tess said “I think I´m in love with her.”. 

Joel thought of course this woman would say it like she was saying she just killed someone, all serious and almost embarrassed, he smiled then, a genuine warm smile, not the kind he politely gave strangers, the kind reserved for his best friend, he patted her hand as he spoke “well. that´s a beautiful thing Tess”, he realized that his Texan accent had slipped out heavily with that phrase but he meant it, “but you´re scared, hm?” he knew her, he could read her in an instant, she nodded, “you know m Joel, I wasn´t prepared to feel like this. at all.” he understood, “yeah it´s always scary to care. trust me, I´m an expert in trying not to. but I need you to understand that you deserve this okay? hell, we went through so much awful shit, and you saved my ass so many times, I think it´s time for you to let all that go and give being happy a shot. as weird as it might feel to you at first, you deserve it.”

she was genuinely moved by that, leaning her head on her hands while looking at him, they usually expressed their care in other ways, not via words, so she knew it meant a lot for him to be that earnest, “I´ll try” she whispered, he gave her an encouraging nod before downing the rest of his water, “you know this is fun for me. it´s like I am getting a whole new friend out of this. you´re much better company when you have a pretty girl to fawn over”, he teased, earning himself a sharp look from her, “well I´m glad me losing my fucking mind is entertaining to you” she said, shaking her head, but clearly relieved that Joel knew how to help her ease up.

in Jackson there were generally only really two viable options when deciding what to do with your time at night: staying in, or going out to see who was hanging around at the bar, so the next day Tess and Joel found themselves leaving the house around 8pm to go have a drink, simultaneously cursing the cold air as they stepped outside, muttering things like “jesus fuck it´s cold”. 

naively Joel started talking to Tess about his day, some gossip he´d overheard, his plans for their garden, but Tess´s very short and unenthusiastic answers of “oh cool” or “I see” or “yeah”, made him suspect that she was not listening at all, that her mind was of course somewhere else completely, so to test if she was even remotely paying attention he said: “you know I was thinking about burning our house down. just letting the whole thing go up in flames” and Tess gave a mild nod and an “uh-huh” in response, her expression unchanged, which made him speak louder then and push her in the side, “Jesus Christ Tess, just go on and get her to come with us, this is unbearable” he shook his head in disbelief over his lovestruck friend as he said this, watching her snap out of her state of daydreaming, “so you´re trying to get me in trouble, huh?”, “oh come on, relax, nobody´s gonna think twice about two women talking to each other, they´ll be too busy getting shitfaced” he had a point. “go! get your girlfriend!” he said, teasing a little, pushing her to do it, “fuck off” she muttered, secretly enjoying “girlfriend” being used to address you, the word swirling around in her mind as she approached your house, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend almost a prayer like quality to the way its echo kept lingering in her ears, giving her something to put her faith in: the idea of maybe someday soon being able to refer to you as that. 

once you opened the door she didn´t even say hello, immediately opening with “go get a jacket, we´re going to get a drink”, you laughed, “damn okay, you´re wasting no time huh” she nodded, “you know me”, she realized that you looked much more refreshed than the night before, calm and healthy, she suspected you´d taken her order and gone easy on yourself during the day. 

as you walked down the street Tess assured you that she had Joel under control, that he wouldn´t be weird about it, so as you walked into the bar you followed her over to where he was waiting.

as you approached you saw that three shots were standing on the counter, he looked at both of you, “join me?”, which immediately made you relax, he seemed much less intimidating the moment he opened his mouth. all three of you stood there as you downed the shot, immediately twisting your faces as you felt the burn of the surprisingly strong liquor, “jesus did they pour us gasoline??” you said, which got a laugh out of him, the first of many that followed the minutes after when you all got more comfortable, Tess watching you charm him without even trying, all of you standing there by the bar, nursing your drinks, you giving them some of the inside scoop about Jackson they might not have picked up on yet, airing out some of your grievances, letting them share some of their own, it was clear to them you wouldn´t talk so a sense of trust was established within the hour so you spent together. 

once Tommy entered the bar and greeted you before talking to Joel about something private, you and Tess used the opportunity to slip away for a moment, heading to a quieter corner of the bar, sitting down by an empty table. you were tipsier than her since she could definitely handle her liquor better, but it was the nice kind of tipsy, a buzz that made you more prone to being honest, but also, to being affectionate so you had to remind yourself not to kiss her as she stared at you all lovingly, “what?” you said, leaning your hands on your folded hands, looking up at her with doe eyes, she cocked her head, smiling in a way that made her look young, girlish almost, “you should be proud of yourself, he never warms up to strangers this fast. but again, he´d have to be a fucking fool not to like you”.

you sounded a little drunk then as you said “you´re so sweet to me”, while staring at her, and in that moment Tess didn´t care anymore about what anyone might think, she wanted to touch you so she did, brushing your hair out of your face before caressing your cheek, watching your eyes widen as you realized what she´d just done, out in public, but it felt good, to be claimed in a way, so you leaned into it. not everyone noticed, it´s not like every person in town was that invested in what you two were doing, but Tommy immediately clocked it, his eyes flickered over to where Tess´s hand met your face, his own colored in shock as he hit Joel on the arm to draw his attention where he was looking, but Joel just took a sip of his drink, keeping his mouth shut. as Tommy saw the distinct lack of surprise on Joel´s face as he turned to him, he uttered under his breath “oh so you knew??” but Joel just shrugged, “hey, I love you brother, but not enough to spill her secrets to you” and after the initial shock settled Tommy shook his head and smiled to himself while staring down into his glass, “damn, she really went straight for the best one huh”, Joel laughed, “I won´t tell Maria that you said that”, “oh fuck off you know how what I mean”, and he did, during the hour that he´d spent with you and Tess it became clear to him why she liked you, and even clearer why you two had taken so little time to fall for each other. it was so obvious to him, that you were both the types to keep to yourself, to be a little stubborn and unwilling to open up, until you met someone you were utterly mesmerized by, and lucky for you, it had happened. 

it suddenly made his chest swell to witness a love like that forming right in front of his eyes because it reminded him of how romance had changed after the outbreak. nobody had time anymore for endless meaningless dates during the end of the world, survivors knew that it was a miracle to still be alive, and even more of a miracle to meet someone whom you could love, so no matter who they were, where they met, when two people saw a light in each other that might illuminate the endless dark of their world, most people usually went into that love shaking and afraid but determined to keep it, because everyone knew tomorrow was never promised. there was an urgency to love after the outbreak, a deep visceral need, a sense of now or never that sometimes ended up pushing people together who´d have never met before. every now and then the stars aligned and fated run ins ended up creating some of the most beautiful and unexpected unions, Joel thought back to Frank and Bill, about his brother and Maria, other couples he´d met, and how you and Tess were in a similar spot, terrified of the depth of your feelings, but so clearly made for each other, so clearly ready to finally open up. 

as he was thinking all that, Tess saw that your eyelids were getting heavier by the minute and asked “wanna get out of here?”, seeing you nod, a little sleepy and slurring your words as you said, “yeah. but to your bed, not mine” she smiled, “alright, let´s go then”, as she went over to your side of the table and helped you up, throwing a glance back to Joel who threw her a wave and a knowing look. 

once you were outside and the cool air hit your face you realized that the fact that she´d kind of outed you as lovers allowed you to abandon your previous restraint, so you huddled up with her, linking arms, tightly, walking to their house as a few snowflakes fell onto your faces, a giddiness to you that was partially due to the alcohol, mostly due to feeling like she´d somehow committed herself to you because there was no way she´d have done that with someone she had no intention of really being with, not that you ever doubted her but it felt good, to have solid proof of how much you mattered to her, enough to risk potential hostility from onlookers. “so, what made you do that?” you asked, clearly full of adoration for her, she looked at you from the side, holding you close, making sure you wouldn´t slip or fall, the uninhibited even brighter smile than usual on your face making her melt.

“oh well. I realized that pretty much all of them know about my not so spotless past by now, so.. I highly doubt any of them would dare to give us, me specifically, any trouble”, you laughed, nodding, “right. your past as a violent ruthless killer” drawing out the last words for dramatic effect, nudging her, messing with her a little, but instead of laughing she just raised her eyebrows at you, “I really don´t know what you´re using that ironic tone for, miss” you challenged her, “oh so you´re proud of all that, huh?” amused by her taking offense, she shrugged, “no. but maybe I should be, considering that you seem to get a little turned on whenever it comes up” you didn´t even try to protest because it was true, it did thrill you to think that she was capable of all that if needed, “well, maybe I have a thing for fucked up women” you teased, she laughed, “clearly I do too” pointing at you as she said it, you laughed too then, “look at us. match made in heaven” that one definitely wouldn´t have left your lips in a sober state and she just let the words linger in the air as you approached their house but she thought yes, sounds about right. 

walking up the stairs to her room she made you go in front of her, both of her hands on your back to sure you wouldn´t stumble and fall, making fun of you for being a lightweight but lovingly, she liked seeing you with your walls all the way down, grabbing her more freely and saying little things out loud you usually wouldn´t have, remarking upon her eye color, her hands, everything that came to mind, all of your thoughts tumbling out, a never ending list of things you liked about her, to a point where she almost told you to stop, blushing a little, which she usually never did. 

once you were in her room you immediately flopped face down onto her bed, groaning as you felt the soft bedding under you. Tess dutifully bent down to help you out of your shoes, a simple gesture that made you feel even softer towards her. once she´d also helped you out of your jacket she didn´t lay down but decided to sit next to you on the bed, tempted by the sight of you, pulling up your shirt all the way to your shoulders so she could caress your back, a “hmm” sound of approval from you the second she touched you, her fingertips running up and down your spine, stopping for a second as she saw a faint scar under your right shoulder blade, tracing it for a moment. “how´d you get this?” she asked, you obviously never looked at your own back and you couldn´t even think of where´d you´d gotten it, it was so long ago “don´t remember” you said as she leaned down to kiss the impact of that ancient injury, her lips resting there for a moment as she thought that she wanted all of your pain to be like that in the future: a distant memory, so far gone that it doesn´t have any hold on you anymore. she wanted nothing more than to give you a life that would be so full of love and warmth that you´d remember the rough years before knowing her with a sense of that all seems so far away, I can´t even recall the details. you were lost in the feeling of her impact on your exposed back as she kissed you all the way up to your neck, feeling you relax under her. 

after a while you wanted to see her again so you used all the strength that was left in your tired body to roll over onto your back, she laughed as she saw the effort it took and helped you move closer to her, “come here” she said while grabbing you, which ended up with you laying your head in her lap, staring up at her as she held your face on either side, smiling down at you, it struck you in that moment how perfect her face was to you, her hair framing it beautifully,“you´re so pretty” you said, drawing out the “y”, that was not the word people usually used for her and she shook her head while tracing your facial features with her index finger, “you´re the pretty one here baby”, the pet name got to you, you grinned, enjoying the feeling of her feathery touches on your face, lulling you into a state of sleepy bliss. laying on her thighs was about as comforting as anything in your life had ever been. 

“oh by the way” she said, watching you close your eyes for a moment, “hmm” you answered, “your schedule for the next month or so is cleared, no more working around town for a while” you were confused then, your eyes open again, her palms still warm on your cheeks, “what do you mean?”, a smug grin on her face, “well.. I thought a lot about what you told me last night, so I talked to Maria earlier. I asked her if she´d mind if I stole you away for a while to help me around the house. Joel is god awful at being indoors for too long, he´s better with the garden and the facade of the house, all that, so I suggested you should help me instead. and I think she said yes because she was just glad to see me warm up to someone but yeah..by the time Tommy gets home I think she´ll know what my actual reason for all that was” you nodded, smiling, taking it all in, “I´m surprised you think I´d be any help” you joked, “oh I think you can handle painting some walls sweetheart”, you nodded, “or, you know, how did you put it, I could “sit there and look pretty”, she laughed, stroking your hair, “exactly yes”, you realized that she´d done that to look out for you, to watch over you and make sure you weren´t doing anything stupid to yourself, which made you emotional then. 

you started to actually imagine it, spending your days with her and it seemed a little too good to be true, “that should be fun. you and me and an empty space” you grinned, “hm, let´s see how much work we actually get done huh”, “oh and Joel actually said we could decide what to do with the attic once we´re done with it. use it as a nice space to hang out in when you´re here or something” you laughed then, “I think he might have said that because he heard us last night, you know, trying to get us far away from his room” she laughed, considering it “maybe. but don´t worry, if he did hear us, you sounded hot” she teased, you slapped her arm then, “stop”. 

after a few more minutes of you laying there you both got ready for bed because it was clear that you were gonna stay over. she washed your face for you because she was scared of you hitting your head on the porcelain if you did it yourself, giving you some of her clothes to sleep in, a loose long sleeve shirt and oversized sweatpants, a similar kind to the ones she was wearing which you used mercilessly to your advantage, your hands slipping under her wide shirt the entire time you two were in the bathroom, feeling her wince a little each time, “you´re groping me” she joked as your hands wandered up her chest, “I am yes” you whispered before she told you to quit it and go to bed with her, but she loved it, having you all over her, being handsy, it was sweet considering how restrained you´d both been just a day before, debating whether holding hands in public was fine.

once you both got comfortable under the covers it took very little time for you to doze off. at first you laid on top of her for a while but then you moved to your side so you could face her, you both wanted to look at the other person so you ended up falling asleep as mirror images, one arm around the other person´s torso, feeling each other´s slow breaths as you feel asleep, your body heat keeping the other person warm during the snowy night. 

it was a symbolic image, the way you two laid there like two perfect halves, because even though you´d lead very different lives leading up to that moment, you were both experiencing the same exact thing: a new beginning. your love was going to change your lives drastically, you both felt it in your bones. for you it was an awakening, for her it was a rebirth. for you it would mean finally coming alive, finally feeling present and like it was worth it to have been born regardless of the mess that happened in the world so shortly after, for her it would mean embracing a third period of her life, after growing up in the normal word and then going through hell with Joel in the QZ, she was finally going to leave behind the guilt and shame about what she´d done to survive the decades before, what she´d done to get to the point of meeting you and finally seeing a light at the end of a tunnel she didn´t even know she could ever get out of.

that was where the acute sense of nervousness had come from for both of you, that fated feeling of: this woman is going to change everything.

laying there together that night, safe and content in each other´s arms, you both felt no fear anymore, only the deep calm of knowing you were only at the very beginning of a love so transformative you would finally know what it feels like to stop surviving and start living again.  

you were both convinced the other one had saved you. you were both right.

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝗦𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀

𝟬𝟭 : 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘

Hiding deep affection for someone is one of life’s most difficult games to play: secret glances, hesitant conversations, and heart-pounding moments filled with anticipation.

Or so you thought.

But when a school trip takes a turn for the worse, you and your fellow classmates find yourselves entangled in a chilling mystery under the guise of a mafia game orchestrated by an elusive creator, the stakes for victory become just that much higher.

With tension escalating, friendships, loyalty, and concealed sentiments are put to the test as secrets unravel, forcing everyone to their limits. Faced with the option of life or death, just how far will the desperation of human nature push against the borderlines of morality?

Authors Note: I didn’t think I’d be back to writing for another series in full so soon, but clearly, I have a love for high school-themed horror stories so here we are once again. There is a face claim (Jung Da-Bin) as well as a name (Han Seol-Hwa) for those who don’t like to imagine themselves in place of the main female lead while reading! This is a story where you don't have to watch the show beforehand to understand (as long as you know how the mafia game is played!) Here’s to hoping this will be a fun ride for Night Has Come fans, Kim Jun-Hee enthusiasts, and lovers of green-flag characters ♡

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓

It is necessary to issue a warning regarding the upcoming horror and gore apparent, as this genre can provide an exhilarating and thrilling experience for those who seek it, yet caution is urged in proceeding further for those who wish to avoid it. Viewer discretion is advised when engaging with this work, for content will include the darkest recesses of human nature, graphic violence, visceral descriptions, and unsettling themes such as bloodshed, dismemberment, psychological torment, death, and explicit language that may be disturbing to some readers.

This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, persons, living or dead, is absolutely coincidental. All credit goes to the creators of Netflix's Night Has Come and the webtoon it's based off of by the same name for the characters, plotline, and overarching flow of events. I do not own anything aside from the creative license of elements that deviate from the original works including, but not limited to, dialogue, characterization, narrative, and reader-insert.

Understand that this fictional narrative does not condone or glorify criminal activities nor any form of violence. The portrayal of mafias and their actions is purely for dramatic effect and storytelling purposes. It is essential to approach this story as a work of fiction that should not be taken as an accurate reflection of real-life situations or individuals. Moreover, the depiction of high school characters should not be misconstrued as an endorsement or encouragement of any behavior that may create fear, discomfort, or harm among individuals in educational settings.

As is such, readers are advised to engage with this story responsibly, keeping in mind its intended entertainment value while differentiating between fiction and reality.

PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, DISTRIBUTE, OR UPLOAD MY WORK ELSEWHERE AND CLAIM IT UNDER A DIFFERENT NAME.

𝟬𝟭 : 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘

[outofangband]

(Reposting this mini post because I inevitably had more to say also I’m still sick so like, apologies if this is even more rambling than usual)

Previous post on this

“Morwen (Brodda) had seen once when he rode to her house on a foray; but a great dread of her had seized him. He thought that he had looked into the fell eyes of (an elf) and was filled with a great fear lest some evil should overtake him. And he did not ransack her house nor discover Túrin else the life of the true heir would have been short.”

Just a fun linguistics note! Fell in this instance is an archaic word, meaning, fierce, cruel or terrible, and actually is where the word felon comes from

I know I already rambled about this forever here and in a number of posts in my word ran among them tag but I just literally cannot ever stop thinking about the language used in this scene

I will never not be obsessed with this passage. It’s such a visceral description of fear and it is entirely distorted. It’s such a jarring jump to the perspective of a minor villain figure, something that we don’t usually see in Tolkien, not like this

The language!! It’s so strong!

“A great dread of her had seized him”

“Filled with a mortal fear, Lest some evil overtake him”

Morwen looks at him and he is afraid for what? His life? His soul? He thinks Morwen, or what she can do*, is evil! It’s hard to explain but the use of the word here feels similarly jarring to the use of the word horror being used about this same character in BoLT, albeit for opposite reasons

What does he fear in that moment?

And just in that line! Lest some evil overtake him! Brodda clearly believes that the evil is the other! Not himself, despite his literally working for Morgoth! It’s just a really interesting line with such a plethora of implications.

It shows very clearly what he considers evil or at least what he doesn’t. It’s not what he’s doing to Aerin, it’s not what’s happening to the other Hadorians, it’s not the murder of a nine year old that the passage says would have happened if he had entered the house.

The evil, to him, is Morwen.

Another thing  I think is interesting because when humans in Tolkien are compared to the elves it’s typically an honor! It’s because they’re seen as particularly beautiful or elegant or observant/sharp, etc but here it’s like…dehumanizing? Othering? It’s beyond a negative thing, it’s a call to violence that Morwen avoids then only because Brodda *is* so afraid of her. It’s not a fear there’s any safety in though. Quite the opposite.

I went into the legacy of this scene in the notes of my post on food control in post Nírnaeth Hithlum and am almost done with a longer post about this! But it’s so disturbing. Obviously what is most horrible about Brodda is what he does to Aerin - and she is often the most immediate victim of his hatred of Morwen, the most obvious example of this being how he beats her for her aid to Morwen (what I went into the implications of in the previously mentioned post). I do not want to ever mitigate this. But there are branches of misogyny overlap and there is something disturbing about his hatred of Morwen in itself as well.

Does this make sense? Again I have another post about this so I don’t want to go too much into this but I hope this makes sense.

*which of course she cannot actually do! I do love to make fun of Brodda endlessly for this scene but as I said in my main post about it, there’s absolutely nothing funny about it for Morwen. It’s terrifying and imbued with the threat of violence; not abstract or superstition based but real, tangible violence that Morwen, especially as a survivor of the Bragollach, has likely seen firsthand

Other note: I’ve always imagined that Morwen is standing in the threshold of her house and stepped out if not to confront him than to put herself between him and Túrin. I suppose it’s possible she was already outside or something, obviously there’s no way to know. But I personally have always imagined that she steps outside when she realized someone was approaching. I think the courage there is extremely profound especially as she had no way of knowing that Brodda would flee like that.

Final notes: someday I will post my writing of this scene from Brodda’s perspective because it’s one of my favorite pieces I’ve done lately.

[rainswept]

Hiii I noticed u have great taste in fics.. so i’m gonna ask if you can recommend a few hsr & genshin fanfic writers?? Pls & ty 🙏🏼

oh man,, this is such a great question. i’m touched you decided to come to me!! i’ll go ahead and list some writers and the fics that came to mind first (most of them are angsty, i apologize, but those are what usually stick w/ me 😭😭)

dulcesiabits — my all time favorite fic in general is still your shadow under the illusory moon + part two. also dissection of a liar, which i read and went hunting for again because i forgot it was a fanfic and mistakenly remembered it as part of his canon character stories. i was Really Confused. i looked through the wiki and game for a really long time. anyway, dulcesiabits herself also has a bunch of fics for other fandoms (including hsr) + other genshin characters, and everything i’ve read from her has been absolutely heart-wrenching and world view altering (positive)

perpetualcynicsm — The Writer Ever for everyone who likes long fics and wants to get invested (their current wip is over 130k words). their work is absolutely amazing and clearly has so so much effort and passion put into it. i’m not even that big of a fan of xiao but they got me to read about him anyway. i still haven’t gotten to to dance amidst a sea of flowers but i WILL. terribly underrated as a whole

thenyxsky — not sure what else to say except for when reading awaken i died just like heizou did. it had me on the edge of my seat and then left me feeling like a part of me was left in the page. it was so so good and AGAIN incredibly underrated

ruershrimo — one of my favorites was hair, which remains one of my favorite lyney drabbles in general to this day,, such good characterization and so poetic. super super underrated for the third time and also a really sweet person in general

noraszoo — ohhh my god i found their blog through one of my mutuals recently. their writing is so sweet and descriptive and their dialogue!! particularly loved keep my blankets warm and my name in your mouth

m1d-45 — i’m not the biggest fan of sagau usually, but their work introduced me to a flavor of it i actually liked and changed my mind. my favorites i can remember reading were wandering and (what about me?)

aeroblossom — their writing and theories and the little things they notice in the game are all so good. a symptom of something wrong and a curse-bearer in particular. so vivid and compelling, really feels like you’re there, watching someone go through everything in real time or even going through it yourself. once again, so awfully underrated. criminally, even, for how much of an emotionally reaction these gave me. god

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch — i love her dialogue and the way she breathes life into scenes and characters that are typically overlooked or gotten awfully wrong. i loovveddd changsheng’s favorite, and tolerance.. oh man. one of the only fics i’ve ever read where blade actually feels and acts like blade.

i have plenty more, especially including my mutuals, but i didn’t want this to get too long so i just put in the ones that i vividly remember left me with a gaping hole in my chest where my heart had previously been (positive). the ones that gave me a visceral reaction and changed the way i see the world (also positive). i’m sure there were more that also did that to me but it is 4 am and i want to post this now 😭😭 if you do want an exhaustive list all the writers i could recommend, feel free to send another ask! i could talk ab them all day and all night so please don’t be afraid, i’m sure i’ll have more to recommend every week

[13eyond13]

6, 10, 11, 37 and 40 for the book asks? :) Sorry for asking 5 at once, I love to read your book posting ♡

Oh don't be sorry, thank you for indulging me so much!

6. Which book was the last one you really, really loved?

Another book that I quite enjoyed reading this past year was:

Paradise Rot by Jenny Hval

Some people refer to this as "the lesbian piss book" hahaha - and I am not gonna lie, there is definitely a moderate amount of piss (and also maybe some lesbianism) to be found within! I don't even really know how to sell or explain this book except that the oppressive atmosphere and the eerie vibes and the lush and poetic writing style really drew me in a hypnotic sort of way. The way the protagonist describes her lonely awkward alienation trying to adjust to living in a new country and the sticky, visceral descriptions of the strange building she ends up living in and her relationship with her roomie just really got under my skin and fascinated me and kept me on the edge of my seat.

10. Sci-fi or fantasy? Why?

I haven't actually read a ton of either genre yet, but right now I'd probably say fantasy! I feel like sci-fi is often just a bit too thought experiment-ish and cerebral and lacking in complex interesting characters for me to really get invested in it sometimes. Definitely still open to having my mind changed about that in the future, though.

11. Classic or modern? Why?

Classics! I'm big into reading famous/influential books that I've heard a lot about and doing things like going through lists of books you have to read before you die, that sort of thing. I also find a lot of brand new books just not really up my alley most times. I kinda like to wait for the hype around something to die down and see if it stands the test of time a bit, or still remains something people are thinking and talking about regularly, before I decide to really dig into it myself.

37. How many books are actually in your bookshelf/shelves right now?

I have my books spread across two places right now so I can't give you an exact number, but I'd estimate I own somewhere between 150-250 physical books. Buying books before you read them can always be a bit of a gamble, and they're not exactly cheap brand new, so I find most of my physical books at thrift stores and second-hand bookstores, usually!

40. Name one of your favourite books from your teenage years.

THE favourite book of my teenage years by far was Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice:

I was just obsessed with this book when I was 15-16 years old, hahaha. I related so much to Louis at the time (his guilt and angst and tortured loneliness over being a vampire = my guilt and angst and tortured loneliness over being secretly gay, ofc). I eventually grew out of it a bit and started seeing it as a little sillier when I revisited it again older, but I still have a soft spot for that series and think the first few of the books in the Vampire Chronicles are certainly worth a read. I know there's stuff in them you can easily laugh or turn your nose up at or point out as being problematic and whatnot as well, but I do think they're also super creative and interesting and entertaining and quite deep reads. And still the best/only vampire lore and world-building to me as well. I just never like the rules that any other fictional vampires follow nearly as much as I do the ones that Anne Rice invented for her world!

[bookish asks]

[brayneworms]

Hi hi! I just wanted to pop in and say I love your work! Your style is so well balanced and descriptive, something about it is just really visceral??? Your characterization is also always beautifully done, which I love! Rn I’m obsessed with your Kabukimono fic, the scenes you create are just so well executed and honestly your work has helped me out of a recent creative rut (seriously, it’s inspired me to write again. It’s that good.) I always look forward to your uploads, and I hope you are well<3

im so sorry this is so late i log into this account like once a week but oh gmy gofodh thank u so so much this si so kind . i hope ur having the best day ever and im so so flattered that some of my writing helped you out of some writers block, i know how frustrating that can be :<

[tripleyeeet]

*checks calendar* *clears thraot and picks up the microphone*

HELLO EVERYONE! WELCOME BACK TO TUESDAY INTERVIEW!

I'm your host Annie and I'm here once again with our beloved Summer!!! How are you doing, Summer?

Today, I'm here to talk about the elephant in the room; the release of the first chapter of "Curse You". We've been haging onto the promise of this amazing series and now chapter one is finally here! I, for one, loved it! 6k words of pure bliss, mixed with a fucked up and unhinged protagonist and a sexual tension that you could cut with a knife (much like Zayis leather clothes *coff coff*)

But if you don't want to take my word for it, here are some reviews of readers from all over tumblr!

#ma’am#I am unwell#I am screaming#zayis is so perfect#the tension#I’m#and and and#knife#that’s all just knife#I wouldn’t not got me good like#she KNOWS#she already knows#BUT ALSO#how is that gonna jive with his whole#sexual trauma thing yk yk#like#god I’m so excited (from @fictionobsession )

#yoooooooooooooooo!!!!!!#summer this is so good!#excellent EXCELLENT tension between them#really gorgeous symbology and metaphore#the candle burning at two ends???? yes#zeyis is really interesting and REAL feeling#and it was a fun read#absolutely flew by as if it was a 2k worder#honestly this is stunning (from @elfinbloodbag )

"OH MY GOD I HAD TO READ THIS BETWEEN GOING TO CLASS AND SHIT I AM LITERALLY ON BREAK RN BUT I NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED HOLY SHIT BESTIE IM SCREAMING VISCERALLY AND TEARING OUT MY VOCAL CHORDS AND AHHHHHHHHHHH" (from @leighsartworks216 )

Summer, how do you feel after posting this first chapter? Was this the response you were expecting from your readers?

Also, after your latest fic, posted only yesterday called *checks notes* "Feed Me" and the explosive reactions from your readers, what do you say to those who say you should —and I quote— *checks notes again* "go to horny jail"?

it wouldn't be tuesday interview if i didn't post my response on wednesday. :')

first of all, i'm fucking dying. ANNIE THE REVIEWS? the fact that you took the time to curate this is hilariously wonderful and i love you for it!! you're a gem and i love you and your description of the fic is pretty much spot on, so i'm glad the vibes carried over.

second, i feel pretty good about posting. i'll be honest, sharing any sort of oc content kind of makes me want to throw up but everyone's been super nice (as per usual) so we let the brain rot continue!!

and third... yeah i should probably be sentenced to life in horny jail for that one i ain't even gonna lie to you. :)

[mothymusings]

First Entry

“Esto es verdad, y no miento. Como me lo contaron, lo cuento.” ― Donna Barba Higuera, The Last Cuentista

For my first (and a few after this one) entry into this blog, I've decided that I would review books I've read in the near past before exhausting my queue. So let's jump in, shall we!

Synopsis

A story spanning centuries and across worlds, The Last Cuentista follows young Petra Peña, the daughter of scientists and the granddaughter of a storyteller as her entire sense of reality crumbles in the wake of an apocalyptic event. Leaving behind the only place she, or any other person in history, has called home in hopes of starting civilization over on a new planet, Sagan. 

Petra has to come to terms that all she ever knew, the landscapes and stories from her abuela are gone as she and the rest of her family enter hypersleep, hoping to wake up once the journey is over. However in the ranks of those whose fate is to watch over their pods for generations never to see Sagan itself, conflict is brewing; change is coming. 

Now Petra, the sole person to remember the past and Earth as it was, has to navigate an eerie and dangerous landscape all while grappling with the fact that even the things she thought she’d keep through her journey to Sagan may very well be memories in the wind. 

First Impressions

The Last Cuentista felt to me like it nailed the central themes and overall narrative about remembering the past and honoring the traditions of our ancestors even in the face of conformity. I remember reading it on a plane ride, squished against a total stranger in the dimly lit cabin and never taking my eyes off the pages. I felt the loss and the anger, the tension, fear, grief and solace as I walked through this interstellar journey with Petra and the other kids of Zeta Group. 

The book felt simultaneously easily digestible due to its middle-grade rank and still complex enough to ponder what it was conveying. I came away feeling at peace, there isn’t technically a happy ending I would argue, not after all that went on right before. But it was a start after the end, left open ended not in hair pulling agony; rather slumping in exhaustion and taking a moment before gathering up the pieces left. 

The Good, The Bad, and the Fuzzy

Now here’s where we get to the Nitty Gritty of book reviewing. I’ve already outlined the Good in my First Impressions but I will place more of the Good I saw in the book smiles. I enjoyed the vivid descriptions, especially tied into the uncanniness of the augmented Collective. It kept me wondering why they would want to radically change their own genetic makeup if the memory of Earth had been (supposedly) all erased. The trauma Petra experiences and her reaction to it is realistic, and I felt for her as someone who also recently lost a loved one dear to me. It’s hard, and the moments where you feel like letting go are visceral. Plus less about the story but the cover illustration is absolutely gorgeous, shout out to the illustrator for such an amazing design!

The Bad…as a preface I will never be too harsh on a book since again, this is for my own entertainment and overall my reading list is catered to what I like. But still, no book is ever perfect. One of the problems I had was my suspension of belief in the fact that the ark ships had the technology for suspended animation and the ability to upload any topic of the world’s collective knowledge in the modern day. Not to mention how the Collective simply “purged” the adults because they were too finicky to brainwash. Even still, those were valuable resources they could have used instead of relying on the limited amount of children on board. It reduces risk of course, but surely having maybe one or two adult scientists around per generation, even if confined, would have sped up their technological advances. Plus for the book’s title to be the Last Cuentista, The Last Storyteller, the stories Petra herself tells Zeta crew feel almost rushed and unsubstantial. 

The Fuzzy, where things feel lost in the fluff. I had so many questions throughout the book, mainly about Voxy and what will happen to him on Sagan since the Collective seem to be deathly allergic to something in the environment. Why Chancellor Nyla kept the personal effects of the ship's inhabitants instead of purging them like the rest of the risks. How Ben managed to upload an ai/computer program into Petra and the fact that she was only able to access it in hypersleep and not normal sleep. I understand that this book is middle-grade rated and that may provide some restrictions and boundaries, but I still felt that there were so many what-ifs?

Conclusion

The Last Cuentista is one of the few Sci-Fi books featuring a Latina protagonist I’ve seen, with an interesting narrative weaving tradition with promises of the future together while arguing against conformity as a solution to previous misdeeds. It’s a good read that I feel definitely would have completely captivated Middle School me hard, and even now as an adult I still enjoyed it despite its moderate use of what I can only describe as ‘trust me’ poetic faith. Overall this book is one I would recommend as an easy sci-fi read that also provides good emotion to keep you invested and feeling. 

Rating

A solid 7.6/10 Lamps! 

Upcoming…

Be On the Lookout for the next book being reviewed, The Memory Librarian: And Other Stories of Dirty Computer by Janelle Monae!

[landwriter]

hello

just spent several minutes wailing over ur depictions of physicality in border country (and also the sequence where hob just says “yes” to every question,,,,,,,,,holy god like,,,,,,,,,,to want someone like that even just as much as they’ll give you that it’s “yes” with no questions,,,,,,,,,,,,violently unwell) (AND ALSO “His heart is a rabbit again, now unsnared, tearing across wide-open moor. Away from something, toward something” AND “a gift in bone, in skin, in silk” YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR THIS)

i would like to extend to u a Ramble Card (if u so wish to ramble) like this fic altered my brain chemistry tell me anything abt ur process abt how u write abt how u actually managed to reach into my chest cavity and reconstruct my lungs free space to talk abt writing or anything!!

thank you thank you thank you vergil <3 <3 <3

i think we are so used to inhabiting our bodies that we can forget how animal they are. until those moments before you kiss someone. or until you feel a wash of queasy anxiety during a hard conversation. until you do hard physical work and can feel your muscles singing and blood thrumming.

and i thought abt how someone like dream, who is at once both so imbued with feeling and so existentially petrified of acknowledging it, would be betrayed by that sort of body. it is a horror to him. he looks so viscerally uncomfortable in the waking and i decided it's because he is and this is why there's so much animal metaphor and especially animals in fight or flight mode (in pursuit, being snared, being freed, being frozen in fear), and kind of lushly violent descriptions of the human body (bones sinew blood etc) because from dream's POV i think that's how it would feel to him. like a bleeding, pulsing, violent, terrified thing. a thing he cannot so easily bid to his will as his realm/himself in the Dreaming. he needs the clothes to hold himself together. hold himself in.

i love our bodies. i love the crazy wet electric ferrous flesh bone HOLLERING of them. i love our sweaty palms and frisson and the way our faces go when we're turned on. it was really fun and neat for me to lean into that level of description but slap a totally different normative take on it.

also despite my weakness for overlong descriptive language all my story ideas come from, are born of, orbit around dialogue. the yes, yes, yes, yes is the spine of border country. thank you for appreciating it!

[ripeteeth]

five things you never get tired of writing

Thank you for the tag, @danpuff-ao3!

So, I have to confess that I've grown to hate talking about writing and my process, as I'm constantly afraid of coming off as ultra-pretentious or self-involved. But hey, as my therapist likes to point out, that's my trauma talking, baby! So it might actually be a helpful exercise to think about the parts I really do love.

Before I get started, I'm tagging @mia-ugly, @soft-october-night, @weatheredlaw, @racketghost, @iodhadh, @jaggededges123, @veganthranduil, and anyone else who wants to do it!

the body and everything with it

I'm a bit obsessed with everything visceral. I love imagery of the body - the bones, the tissues, the skin and sinew. I love the constant process of our growth and erosion of ourselves into death. I'm just fascinated with our constant war - we are always both our body and at odds with our body. We spin complex, intricate stories to escape the simple fact that we are animal - put on this earth to eat, drink, fuck, and die. I'm fascinated by the concept of holiness as a rejection of the body, like the Cathars taught. If earthliness is evil, and the body is earthly, then all things related to the body must be evil. We're told that the saints denied themselves - food, companionship, drink, touch. How can the one thing that we are freely given be evil? I can't stomach it. Look, even our language is somatic. I can't stomach it. Get a leg up. One foot on the ground. Head in the clouds. To be separated from the body is death, and I want to roll around in the visceral aspects of language and description.

2. trivia and scientific/historical minutiae

Writing is fun for me because I'm a bit of a magpie about trivia and love to drop in little details about parchment-making or historical polar expeditions or so on. I'm really thriving and enjoying writing my Frankenstein story as there's so much to include - details about anatomical plates, about Luigi Galvani, about historical dissection and surgery. Picture it as a nerd shoving a book under your nose going look, look, this is so cool! That's basically what I'm doing every time.

3. food

Okay, so this is sort of cheating, because all food is a body of some kind or another - plant or animal - and thus we're back to my fixation with the visceral. But I have a deep love of food and cooking, so I can spend ages on the line of cream that rises to the top of milk, the scent of garlic and onions in a cast-iron pan, the tender bruising of a plum at the bottom of a bag, the perfect scent of a sprig of rosemary. Food has always been a focus in my family, despite how completely poor we were, and my mom's treat to herself was to pick up a food magazine now and again - usually Gourmet or Saveur. I would spend ages with her carefully poring over each brightly lit page, admiring the way the light gleamed on olive-oil tossed pasta, and how it disappeared into the powdery dark cocoa of chocolate truffles. We couldn't afford it then but I learned a language of food I had not yet tasted. As we got a little more secure and comfortable, my mother would bring home treats - preserved lemons in a ball jar, duckfat in a quart container in the freezer. I eventually learned how to cook and attended culinary school, later working in restaurants, and it's been a revelation of pairing these things I have heard of - duck, sumac, creme fraiche - with the actual texture and taste. There's something incredibly magical to me about the language of food. The imagery of it. The brutal physicality of it. We make food beautiful because we love it. It feeds us, nourishes us - but I am also fascinated by the fact that food implies death. Everything that feeds us has once lived. We consume the bodies of others; we'll be consumed ourselves. There's something both sacred and profane about that, I think.

4. myth, religion, and monstrosity

It probably comes as no surprise to anyone who reads my shit that I grew up in an incredibly religious area, soaked to the bone with Calvinist damage. I went to a Christian Reformed church and cut my teeth on coloring books with Christ's body dying on the Cross. I doubt I will ever have a wholly comfortable relationship with religion and that comes through. I love to write characters struggling with religion and the claustrophobic, oppressive feeling of an unairconditioned church in the height of summer, hundreds of voices repeating the same things, singing the same songs. This is also why I'm fixated on monstrosity. It's about abjection, right? The abject other? You are alone in the middle of a sea, different from the others. You are queer. Uneasy. Separate. An infection the body is searching for and seeking to eliminate. I can't separate the two. One and other, holiness and monstrosity. I want to write about them and mix the imagery - a holy monster, a monstrous saint. I am a child standing at the fountain soda machine and pushing all the buttons. I love myth for that, because you're given imagery and a language to evoke this. Is a chimera evil? Medusa had her head cut off for a bad hair day, but was it her fault? I always come back to this quote from Ocean Vuong in On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous:

“What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.”

5. desire, sexuality, and erotism

Okay, so this is it. This is REALLY IT, which is - I KNOW - back to the body again. When I fixate, I fixate. But I want to be more specific. I'm fascinated with how we are creatures of desire. We're born needing. We need to be fed, to be cared for, to be held. We are a bundle of wants and that never changes, only the shape of our desires change. How do we introduce ourselves? "Hi, I am so and so and when I grow up I want to be -" So many things are about our desire. We struggle with it so much, with the wanting and the inability to have. With our shame for wanting. We want to eat and feel guilt for it. We want to sleep in and feel ashamed. We want, we want, we want. It is endless and consuming. I love characters tormented by desire, twisting their shame into spiraling rituals around it. Have you ever read Hunger by Knut Hamsun? It changed me. This is a man who wants very simple things but who damns himself in his rejection of his want. I love that. I'm fascinated. Desire is so endlessly bewitching because I want to understand why we desire the things we do. I remember reading Crash by J.G. Ballard and coming away floored by this erotic desire that was so strange to me, so completely and wholly not my own, yet somehow familiar in the viscerality of it. In truth, I frequently reverse-engineer my original characters. I begin with a kink and one wholly incorrect fact that they adamantly believe and then build them from there. Beginning with the kink is so fun for me, because I want to then ask how did you get here, what is your relationship to this eroticism and why, how do you feel about it, how do you share it? Whether or not I ever include the sexual life of the character or the kink itself doesn't matter, but it tends to prompt a lot of thought about who the character is and why. If we are the sum of our desires, then I figure it helps to take a good, long look at them.

[isabellehemlock]

Five things I love to write

Thank you to both @beepbeepsan & @alllthequeenshorses for tagging me in a lovely, insightful, question to ponder my creativity ~ I could have sworn I did this a few months back for @boutiquetraveltravelboutique​ but can’t seem to find it on my blog now lol.  

And then I thought, “well, that was a few months ago - and maybe I’ll share what I’m working on now and into the next few months??”  Sooooo get ready - Some might be familiar with things I do tend to write about, and some - might be like, “Wait, you’re doing what??”

Y’all gonna be like: 

The rest under the cut lol

Non descriptive references to things but still, I hope y'all got your filtering tags on 👀

1. Dark themes

My next two fics cover murder, cults, medical trauma, food trauma, domestic violence, drug use, spiritual abuse, child abuse, csa, and a bit more that I’ll wait to share until they’re ready for posting.  I think because it’s not something I tend to read casually on my own, and because I appreciate tags for these things, it has left a false impression for some people.  Won’t they be surprised when I wrap up my final fandom event and dive into something no one expected?  Going out with a bang for my final TOG pieces, it’s been a year in the making, and I’m finally at a place to write it with the attention and energy it deserves.

2. Affirming theological themes

Not a real shocker but I’ll be continuing my streak of affirming theology for religious queer characters.  It’s projection for me, and resonates with about dozen people I’ve had the privilege to get know across fandoms and platforms.  It’s healing for myself, it’s healing for them, and I don’t imagine deviating from it much regardless of what future fandom’s I’ll be writing for.

3. C-PTSD & trauma

Kind of hand in hand with the above, in that certain events can have a lasting impact, so though I know I have written about this - it’s been a much more affirming way as people have already made strides towards a more functioning baseline (though maybe Endless Ocean, and Their souls were knit together (and he loves him as himself) were fairly close to what I’m aiming for).  However my final piece will be at the start of that healing journey so it will be much more visceral than I think the surface scratching I did in those two linked.  It’ll be rough. 

4. Interpersonal dynamics and communication

And in a shock for no one . . . I will continue to be writing about these two themes and how we as people can communicate our wants, needs and desires in a healthy, productive way while still honoring our own boundaries as well as others.

5. Found family 

Once again, I adore a good theme that speaks to me on a personal level.  There’s something about nurturing relationships with people where you say, “I choose you.” and they say, "I choose you, too."  Yesss please ~

So . . . there ya go.  Brace yourselves lol.

[scorchedhearth]

omg if u are still interested in doing the director’s commentary ask game would LOVE 2 hear your commentary on ‘the other side of the coin’ and/or ‘insurmountable’ they’re some of my faves <3 <3

ahh, thank u!!! im glad u like those pieces <33 will do the other side of the coin!!

ask for my director's commentary of a fic

this is one of if not my favorite fic i wrote in 2022! I wrote it for the whumptober challenge with the prompt blood covered hand, kyle wasn’t on my mind at first for this one and i dont remember how i got the idea, just that i knew i wanted to use a repetitive motif here with the mention of the days blending together. the fic starts and ends with ‘the days are blending together’ to really insist on the idea that kyle is trapped in the current situation, that every day are the same to him, and in the structure of the piece the ending and beginning are the same, like a loop.

there’s a balance with this fic being less factual than others i’ve written but using sparse poetic language and more flowery forms to show kyle’s state of mind, that he’s running thin and the text itself cannot come up with beautiful ways of describing the war happening around him. i did this a lot, like the descriptions being cut by an action to show the fight around him taking his focus, or many small, short and factual sentences to once again prove kyle’s exhausted state. in general im a big fan of when medium makes u feel how the characters feel with tricks like that so i was pumped to do that here

another thing was trying to explore is kyle’s mindset in the omega men, i find it’s not a book that’s talked about often in fandom circles so i really wanted to sink my teeth in it and write out my thoughts about it, how kyle is struggling with trying to do the right thing, the heroic thing, while being used to fight a bloody and violent war, how he knows he’s being used but he can’t abandon them either, and how this conflict is slowly but surely eating at him.

i just had to put hands in there, u know me, but it was my favorite part to write! how the blood and gore around him isn’t human in the slightest (green, thick, sweet) but shock him just the same, how it’s not the first time it happens and won’t be the last, how it’s so antithetical to being a green lantern to have one’s hand covered in blood, and especially how kyle can’t ignore it. he wants to be able to do that, to go around helping and fighting but the weight of the violence is taking a toll on him and keeps him down, another thing he’s struggling with. that’s why there’s the line about radu’s calloused hand from good and honest work, in implicit contrast to his gloves and blood-covered ones

the fact that he doesn’t say a word, even when spoken to, is another indicator of his current state, the person who loves to connect with others, to speak and share and communicate, unable to utter a single word. and kalista was great to write, i have my doubts with how kind wrote her in the book and his inspiration, but nonetheless she’s an interesting character, and it’s hard for kyle to be able to understand the months spent together as used to manipulate him when he fell in love hard and fast (kyle’s attitude with love and being a hero and how they’re often the same thing so interesting too!), so it’s important that he can’t dismiss her and her words even when she says things he viscerally doesn’t agree with (‘you did good’ when he’s drenched in blood)

that’s why the last part is important, there’s this sort of moment of clarity, where kyle drops the bloody suit but can still feel the blood on his apparently clean hands, and he knows for a fact he doesn’t want to do this, he knows he’s being used and manipulated, he knows he’s going against many of his beliefs, and that they’re still forcing his hand now, but all of this is swiped away when he realizes that tomorrow will be exactly the same, and the exhaustion and endless loop of fight and death he’s stuck in wipe away any of his more powerful thoughts to leave behind tired resignation

also! the title comes from (i believe) the second issue of the omega men, when kyle talks to kalista about how he got the ring and he explains the other side of the coin, that he's a hero but lost so much and has so much doubt, i found it cheeky to show the other side of the reality of a fight like this, that for kalista's eagerness and ruthless pursuit, there are kyle's struggles and doubts

[lapinlunaire-games]

5 Things You Never Get Tired of Writing!

Thank you for the tag @magiciansvoyage!! <3

Survivor's guilt - how do you move on from something that took everything you were away from you? When you're the only one left to mourn, who mourns you? Who remembers the you that once was, when you can barely hold the memory of everyone and everything that might have kept that person alive? It's all just great food for thought, and I do love myself a feast.

INTERNAL CONFLICT - There's this saying that Edgy HS Jinx sharpied into her planner/notebooks: "There is nothing the world can do to me that is crueler than what I have done to myself." (Yeah, I know, I know - it was a rough time, y'all. You know how it is.) I feel like that kind of vibe still resonates with my writing because I love exploring what kinds of arguments characters can get into with themselves. There's something really fascinating to me in how people divide themselves and what kind of flaws they see or don't see.

Falling in love - 🎶 one of these is not like the others 🎶 it's not all gothic social intrigue and Shakespearean Asian-American stories with me, oh no! (it's...just mostly those) The building of a relationship is just so fun to me! Romance is so fun, there's sweetness, intensity, and everything in between - and never does the course of true love run smooth! This kind of ties into #2, now that I think about it...

Women (<3) with blood on their teeth - do I mean this in a vampire way? a feral girlboss way? a wounded but surviving way? yes. i will not be elaborating, hope that helps. <3

Surreal connections - I am a Big Fan of elaborate, Wilde-esque imagery, which lends itself quite nicely to the amounts of magic/nonrealistic themes I find myself writing. I especially love getting to write in surreal descriptions that play into the way my synesthesia flavours my perception. I love getting really visceral and unexpected with imagery, describing experiences in the woven way I live them. Mind melds, using magic, being subjected to magic, dreams....unff, so good.

This was so so fun, thank you again, Arlo! I have seen this come up from Many People on my dash over the past few weeks (I am So Sorry this took so long ahaha), so I shall refrain from tagging. However!

If you want to do this, this is your sign! I bestow upon ye a Tagge :D

[jmflowers]

For the weird questions to writer thingy 4-6-7-13-15-25-37 pleaseeeeee. And do you actually think writers are that weird?

4. What is a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

I’ve answered this once already, but I love those words that don’t really have a synonym. Like, there may be another word that means sort of the same thing, but it doesn’t convey the same way – the colloquialism is wrong or there just isn’t a way to translate it. Visceral is one of those words for me, since it takes so much description to express as much as it does on its own. Hygge is another really great one, though there are more version of it in other languages. I also love the word syntax because it’s one of the only words I remember and still use from grade ten English class.

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

That what I believe about my own writing abilities is untrue. I’m terrified that one day someone will lift the veil and prove to me that I’m not any good at this. To imagine all the time and effort and energy I’ve put in to reach a point where I can be satisfied with what I accomplish just being for naught is devastating. I think I’d completely lose my sense of self if anyone were able to shake me that drastically.

I’m also terrified, with all things, that one day my health will fail me (again) and I’ll no longer be able to do what defines who I understand myself to be. I think I could eventually cope with never walking again, or being able to talk, or eating solid food, or whatever could befall me, but not being able to tell stories in some way would destroy me. I think, for me, words are the backbone of how I translate my love to others and I’m not sure how I would fill that gap.

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

I’ve answered this once already. But, to add to the previous thoughts, I’ve got a lot of really amazing people in my life that I cherish greatly. However, the deepest, most important connections have been forged (at least partially) through writing. The girl I used to pass stories to in drama class when I was seventeen is still someone I go camping with every year and cry with when life is too fucking hard to comprehend. I spent my thirtieth birthday on a mountain with a friend who used to keep me company on Skype while I was writing my way through depression when I was nineteen – and she’ll still proofread anything I send her way, no questions asked. The first person I talk to every morning, arguably the most important person in my day, has let me sort through ideas with her for nearly a year.

I like that writing allows me to reach people I may never know, may never speak with. I love that what I create can impact someone else’s life in some miniscule way. But I’m truly, truly honoured that this piece of myself, when I choose to share it, can strengthen the bonds I have with people I love. Because words are how I translate my love to others.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you to write about? What is easy?

I struggle a lot with conveying the challenges of mental health. There’s a really fine line between what feels honest and what feels inauthentic and it’s so easy to tip from one to the other. For someone who has experienced the weird conglomerate of highs and lows, I think there’s a lot more believability factor. But for someone who hasn’t, I think it starts to seem “overdramatic” really quickly. And I’m saying this as someone who used to only exclusively write dark moments, especially while I was in the thick of it myself. Now that I’m older, I worry about discrediting or even fuelling someone else’s experience. It’s easier, at least for me, to write a refuge from that.

Which is, to say, I think what's easy for me to write about is comfort and love. I can’t give every person a place where they can have safety and find redemption, but I can do that for characters and it almost feels like the same thing.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

No, no, and no. I grew up with not a lot of money, so we didn’t own most books that we had access to. If we did own them, they were treasured. I was taught very early on not to write in or damage anything that would need to be returned to the library or the person we’d borrowed from or even just passed along to the next person in the hand-me-down chain. It’s broken my heart every time I’ve lent a book from my collection to someone and they’ve either not treated it well or never returned it. I do not forget those things. I had a copy of Christina’s Ghost by Betty Ren Wright (Apple Paperbacks print) when I was a child that I loved so much, I lent it to a friend to read and she left it outside in the rain and destroyed it. I’ve never been able to replace that book and it haunts me even more than that ghost haunted Christina.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

I like this question, so I’m going to do a few characters from a few different pieces or fandoms I’ve written for and from the current Hygge Universe.

In Extraordinary Measures, the doctor’s daughters are both named after flowers because the woman he loved was a florist and in his grief, he imagined that they would combine his love of science and her love of nature to name their children. If she hadn’t died and he hadn’t been able to create a new layer of reality, they would’ve had different names. Also, the drunk driver that killed the woman he loved is the same drunk driver that later killed Arizona in that layer of reality and then Teddy in the next layer of reality – because that person needed to have the fate of killing someone while intoxicated behind the wheel in order to reach the next step in their own journey and eventually find redemption. He went to jail, served his time, and helped others on their course to recovery.

In Epithet, Charity wakes up in the car in that suburban neighbourhood because Vanessa’s gone there to catch a glimpse of Johnny, who is living with Tracey in a witness protection situation while Vanessa is undercover. In original drafts of the story, Charity and Vanessa actually went there first before going to Vanessa’s agency, and meeting Johnny is why Charity decided to help with taking down her people. But Vanessa wouldn’t risk her son like that. I’d really like to finish that piece in particular because I have it all mapped out, but I’m not sure if the course of action will allow me to explain which of Charity’s kids exist or where they are. Charity's least favourite food is peanut butter.

In Hygge Universe, Maya and Carina settle on a donor who looks a bit more like Maya; each of the kids have one distinct feature from him that allow for a slight physical connection to Maya, though Maya and Carina never expected that would be the case. Carina buys Beatrice her first vibrator and Maya is the only one embarrassed by the experience – she never finds out that Carina did the same for Andrea. Carina’s knee hurts as she gets older because she once fell while out with the kids and never got it looked at because she was too busy trying to convince them that she was okay. Carina is called Mama instead of Mamma because Maya was worried she’d never be able to find her Mother’s Day cards in English with the correct spelling, but the kids usually just get her Italian cards anyways once they’re older and figure out where to find some. Beatrice ends up fluent in Italian; Andrea can understand it but doesn’t speak or write it very well.

In Visceral, Carina is on the shower floor because the guest bathroom doesn’t have a bathtub either. It’s one of only a few things that she dislikes about the apartment, another being that stupid closet tucked into the corner of the sitting room.

In general Station 19 fanfiction, Carina hates soy milk.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

Depends on which of my words they’re looking at. I am a different writer in different aspects of my life, different mediums, and with different characters. They’d probably just think I was committed to the process. And a big, big fan of women.

You think historians will ever figure out that people are gay?

And no, I don't think writers are weird. I think, like most sectors of creative people, that our brains function in a slightly different way than other human beans.

writer asks

[sinigangsta-ao3]

Thursday Thoughts: How fanfiction helped me to reconnect with my identity as a writer

A little under three months ago (and after nearly one year of consuming fanfiction late at night, when my kids were asleep, and on incognito tabs on my mobile Chrome browser), I decided to take the plunge and enter the world of fanfic as a (GASP!) writer.

First, a little storytime...

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I viscerally remember receiving a Bugs Bunny diary when I was maybe five or six years old and faithfully recording my thoughts, observations, and daily happenings. Every. Single. Night.

I took special care to hide my diary key someplace safe so that my parents couldn't unlock that tiny journal and read my childish musings (which, when I think about it, were probably misspelled descriptions of my kindergarten crush or complaints about my siblings).

From there, I eventually graduated to managing blogs (specifically, and to date myself, a Xanga), scribbling poetry in the margins of my textbooks, and attempting to write my own stories — original fiction and, yes, fanfiction (Harry Potter and LOTR, to be exact).

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, writing was not just a hobby; it was the most useful tool at my disposal to process what was happening in my life. Especially since I was one of four children, growing up in a very religious household, and I didn't have many outlets or spaces outside of my family, my school, and my little hometown to explore. To question. To articulate the multitude of thoughts that plagued my mind.

I was very sheltered. And not always seen or heard because, simply put, there just wasn't enough quiet or space for my voice to cut through all the chaos. So writing was my outlet. Writing allowed me to condense really convoluted and complex thoughts into something discernible — and, finally, people heard me. They understood me.

And I loved it.

And I was good at it.

So good that, when the time came for me to go to college, I decided to enroll as an English Literature and Communications double major. And I decided to use my four years in university to study and hone my craft. I declared emphases in Creative Writing and Literary Journalism. I wrote stories for my campus literary journal. I served as editor for two sections of our campus newspaper. I was a teaching assistant for creative writing and journalism classes. I got internships for external publications. I had ambitions to work for a magazine after I graduated and/or write long-form, special interest pieces as a freelance journalist.

... But then I got really depressed. For a multitude of reasons. But some big ones were:

Feeling marginalized on a predominantly white and very affluent campus, while my family was dealing with very serious socioeconomic problems back at home (another topic for another Thursday Thoughts blog post, I think...); and

Approaching graduation in the middle of an economic recession — and questioning my decision to pursue a fucking English degree when I needed to think about how I was going to support myself.

Sadly, this led to my (conscious or subconscious, I'm not really sure) decision to abandon my ambitions of writing professionally. And I got a job in Human Resources once I entered the workforce.

And I did not seriously write again for over a decade.

Fast forward to today...

Amidst a multi-year, global pandemic and an ongoing global social justice movement, I experienced another serious depressive episode and a major case of burnout. It caused me to take medical leave for half a year. I started antidepressants to cope with the extreme emotions I experience daily.

And it also forced me to start to do a lot of self-reflection (with full support from my partner and a licensed therapist).

For the first time in over a decade, I had time to pause. To remove myself from the capitalist grind of producing and working and never resting. And I asked myself: Who am I as a person? What is important to me? As I continue to live my life — and particularly now that I'm a mother and someone whose professional life is so grounded in taking care of others — how can I continue to take care of myself? And model what it means to live unapologetically and authentically?

Now, I'm sure you're probably thinking: "What the hell does this have to do with writing porny stories about cartoons?"

And this is my whole point: when I started writing fanfiction a few months ago, it helped me remember that part of who I am — part of who I've always been — is a writer.

And I had lost sight of that part of me when I, unfortunately, abandoned my plans to pursue a writing career.

As a space, fanfiction was easily accessible to me. I didn't have to worry about any barriers to entry, like finding an editor, or a publisher, or a distributor to share my stories.

I could just write. And post it online, regardless of whether or not it was "good enough" or "perfect."

So that's what I did.

I started to write a little fic about a young woman who was mourning the loss of one of the most important relationships in her life (it was really my excuse to channel my own grief of lost relationships).

And people started reading what I wrote. And they started conversing with me. And they began to share how much my writing meant to them, how I was able to make them feel things.

And then they asked for more. So I wrote a sequel about a young man who was dealing with major depression — and who needed to reconcile the mistakes he made and learn how to make amends with those he had hurt (truly, an excuse for me to write about my own experiences with depression and feelings of inadequacy and regret and wasted potential).

And people kept responding. And then I eventually started connecting with other fic writers — who quickly became sources of inspiration and help and shared commiseration. Who, above all, became friends.

And it reminded me of why I loved writing in the first place: because it helped me to feel seen. And it helped me to show other people - I see you too.

Writing has been the best way for me to make sense of the world. Writing has been the easiest way for me to connect with others. Writing has always helped me to understand myself better.

And, in a really silly yet beautiful way, writing fanfiction helped me to rediscover that part of me — the part who is a writer. The part that I thought I had completely lost sight of when I, unfortunately, abandoned my plans to pursue a writing career. The part that I thought I would never be able to find again.

Now, I feel very inspired. I feel connected. I feel creative. And, most importantly, I'm having fun.

I feel like myself. And if continuing to write little stories about cartoon characters is going to continue to help me feel this way...

Then goddammit, I will keep writing little stories about cartoon characters.