#please please please give me my euphoria slash not forcing

[clowns-ballpit]

Please suggest all those accounts that put all the lgbt/mogai flags behind a transparent picture of a character

I wish to see the Makara family headcannons

Or reblog this with your head cannons :0D

[snakeboistan]

Pairing: Sugino x Nagisa

This is kinda based on this headcanon I read a few months back that said that Sugino loves it when Nagisa sings for him

The song I used is ‘I Like You So Much, You’ll Know It’ by Ysabelle Cuevas because it’s so wholesome and adorable and I love it bc I reminded me so much of SugiNagi

“It’s okay, Sugino,” Nagisa said softly as he continued to card his fingers through the raven strands that sat on his boyfriend’s head. He sat cross-legged on the pale yellow tablecloth they were using as a makeshift picnic blanket with Sugino lying on the ground beside him with his head resting on the blunette’s lap. Surrounding them were boxes filled with sushi and grilled chicken breast, his and Sugino’s favourite foods respectively. The ebony haired boy just hummed non committedly, refusing to say anything in response, causing the older to sigh. The dejection the baseball lover possessed was so evident that it was palpable and all it took was one single glance at the way Sugino’s head hung low after the match ended, at the way those navy eyes he loved so much looked so downcast even from where he was sitting in the bleachers, for Nagisa to wrap the taller boy in a hug. 

“Sugino,” Nagisa said when he approached the boy, who was sitting on a bench that sat at the perimeter of the playing field. The plastic water bottle in the tan-skinned boy's hand looked like it was going to break under that crushing grip, “come on, let’s go.”

“I don’t really feel like doing anything right now, Nagisa,” Sugino murmured, still refusing to look up. Nagisa could feel the cracks forming in his heart at the sight of the other boy, who’s usual puppy-like enthusiasm never failed to put a smile on his face, looking so disheartened. He crouched down in an attempt to meet the other’s gaze.

“Come on, Sugino. I brought chicken breast. Your favourite,” no response, “please can you just come with me, just for a moment. You don’t have to do anything or speak or anything you don’t feel comfortable doing but I don’t want to leave you alone. Not now, not ever so can you please come? For me?”

The hopeful inflection of his voice was able to make the baseball lover look at him. The expression of pure sadness was still evident on his face, “Shindo-”

“I spoke with him and he says that it’s okay for you to leave without the team.”

Sugino looked at Nagisa, giving the shorter boy a once over and taking in how the blunette was decked out in a too big baseball jersey - his spare baseball jersey - with his high school’s name and his number on it. The small smile that was being offered to him seemed to make him crack. He exhaled deeply, “sure, Nagisa. I’ll go with you.”

So that’s how they ended up here, having a picnic in a small clearing in the middle of a sunflower field, basking under the late afternoon Tokyo sun. It was actually supposed to be a surprise. Earlier that day when Nagisa was packing the bag he was going to bring with him to watch Sugino’s baseball match against a rival high school, he was sure that a nice late lunch-slash-early dinner in the field he found near the school on Google Maps would be a great way to congratulate the other teenager for winning a game after weeks of hard work at practice, he was even going to make a congratulatory cake - which in hindsight was a good idea to scrap since, well...

“It’s not, Nagisa,” Sugino whispered, “If I didn’t throw that lousy pitch the other school wouldn’t have got the point. Now my team can’t go to Nationals and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” Sugino’s sadness was so overpowering that it made even the proudly standing sunflowers that encompassed them seem to wilt miserably, “you were there in the stands, you saw what happened. My pitch wasn’t good enough and the other team scored the winning point because of it. I had one job and I messed that up.”

“Just because you lost once doesn’t mean that it’s the end,” Nagisa said, “You’re one of the most talented people I know. So what if you fell down? Just pick yourself up and continue. And if you can’t get up by yourself then you have me and everyone else around to get you off the floor. Sugino, I’ve known you for months and I don’t think I’ve met anyone that’s as passionate about baseball as you. You’re going to make it to Kōshien, I know it. You’re going to get recruited for the Nippon Professional Baseball League, beat and impress every single player out there like Arita, play for Japan in the MLB All-Stars and show the world just what Sugino Tomohito is capable of.”

Sugino scoffed, “yeah right. Pitching is what I’m the best at but it turns out that I can’t even do that without flopping. God, what will everyone think of me.”

“Everyone has their off-days,” Nagisa reassured dulcetly, “and it’s just one high school match. There’ll be other opportunities.”

“But this was the match that would’ve sent us to the National Championship and I screwed it up. I’m such a mess up,” Sugino whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. Ignoring Nagisa’s own soft words of ‘No, you’re not’, he continued, “why do you even like me so much?”

For a moment Nagisa was quiet, pausing his movements, and his silence made the stone that was sitting heavily in Sugino’s stomach grow and grow into a boulder, his insecurities increasing with intensity. His eyes started to close, in an attempt to block everything out, to not see the look that Nagisa was wearing.

“I like your eyes, you look away when you pretend not to care.”

Sugino’s eyes snapped open at the soft melody that sounded so similar he could tell the source from anywhere with his eyes closed. He looked up at the blue-haired boy to find him looking down at him with that small fond smile that never fails to make his heart flutter and breath catch. Nagisa opened his mouth again to whisper out the next verse, resuming the process of running his pale fingers through inky black hair.

“I like the dimples on the corners of the smile that you wear.

I like you more, the world may know but don't be scared

'Cause I'm falling deeper, baby, be prepared.”

Sugino must have looked dumbstruck, with his eyes wide and jaw slack as he continued to gaze up at the petite boy wearing his spare oversized baseball jersey and who had the voice of an angel. Holy sh*t why does Nagisa have to be so frickin adorable, this isn’t fair!

“I like your shirt, I like your fingers,” Nagisa gently took Sugino’s hand and pressed a chaste kiss onto the skin between the joints and knuckles of his index and middle fingers before nuzzling his cheek onto them, “love the way that you smell.”

“To be your favorite jacket, just so I could always be near

I loved you for so long, sometimes it's hard to bear

But after all this time, I hope you wait and see.”

At the last word, Nagisa pulled lightly onto the hand that he was holding as he got up. Sugino followed the silent instruction, wondering what the other was planning before he was gently led away from their picnic and towards the rows of sunflowers that surrounded them. Nagisa had managed to hold onto both of his hands and was walking backwards, pulling the other along with both his soft tugging and the sugar sweet tune he was singing.

“Love you every minute, every second

Love you everywhere and any moment

Always and forever I know I can't quit you

'Cause, baby, you're the one, I don't know how”

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Sugino found himself trailing towards his own beacon of blue irises that held a shine so captivating it would put the stars to shame. He remembered how when he was in Elementary school, one of his classmates was interested in mythical creatures and would talk about how sirens would lure pirates to their deaths with their songs. Well, he would gladly jump off a ship and drown if the last thing he saw was Nagisa’s bright eyes and the last thing he heard was his honey-like voice. They were just walking along as if they were the only people in the world, making their way past the sunflowers that were so tall that they overtook the blue-haired boy. However, despite being the smallest thing in this vast field of flowers, Nagisa’s presence seemed to be the largest, most powerful being and Sugino was (not so) surprised to find that the sadness that seemed to fill him earlier was completely replaced by this feeling of complete euphoria - all because of this absolutely amazing person called Shiota Nagisa.

“I love you 'til the last of snow disappears

Love you 'til a rainy day becomes clear

Never knew a love like this, now I can't let go

I'm in love with you, and now you know”

“Nagisa,” Sugino laughed breathlessly, feeling completely powerless against the unstoppable force that was his boyfriend’s love and affection, “what’s this all about?”

“You asked me why I like you,” Nagisa giggled, azure eyes twinkling like the ocean under a sunset, “now hush, I’m not done.”

The boy started to sway their interlocked hands sideways as he picked up where he left off, “I like the way you try so hard when you play ball with your friends

I like the way you hit the notes, in every song you're shining

I love the little things, like when you're unaware

I catch you steal a glance and smile so perfectly”

Sugino found himself yelping when Nagisa unceremoniously pulled on his hands, bringing him closer to the shorter boy. Suddenly, he felt soft palms cup his cheek and tilting his head so that he was looking straight down at Nagisa’s beaming face.

“Though sometimes when life brings me down

You're the cure, my love

In a bad rainy day

You take all the worries away”

And now they were dancing. By themselves. In the middle of the endless rows of sunflowers. Well, it was less actual dancing and more of the two of them spinning and propelling each other in a circle and making jerking movements with their hands, but Sugino found himself laughing so hard that tears were seeping out of the corners of his eyes (although, those tears might be more to do with how much he loves Nagisa than him actually laughing but semantics)

“Love you every minute, every second

Love you everywhere and any moment

Always and forever I know I can't quit you

'Cause, baby, you're the one, I don't know how

In a world devoid of life, you bring colors

In your eyes I see the light, my future

Always and forever I know, I can't let you go

I'm in love with you, and now you know”

When Nagisa finished, Sugino couldn’t take it anymore and he just pulled the shorter boy into a crushing embrace, “you’re really awesome, you know that right? And an amazing boyfriend.”

He could feel the other smile against the cotton of his shirt as slender arms returned the hug, “I’m just glad that you’re happier now.”

“How could I possibly be unhappy if I have you?”

“Ah-I-” 

“Nagisa?” Sugino leaned back a bit and found that Nagisa had pressed his face right into his chest, refusing to look at him, “are-are you okay?”

“Yes,” was the high-pitched reply. Sugino gripped onto the blunette’s shoulders and gently pulled him back to see that the other’s face was so red that they could rival the sweatbands that sat on his wrists.

“Uh, Nagisa, you good?”

“Yep, I’m fine,” Nagisa squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut nodding his head so rapidly that Sugino thought that he’d get a headache.

“Are you sure because you’re-”

“Yep, one hundred percent.”

“Nagisa,” Sugino huffed out a laugh as he poked the other’s cheek, hoping to get the blunette to actually look at him, “you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I-I’m not embarrassed,” he said defensively, finally opening his eyes so that he could pout at the taller boy, whispering, “I-I just-you can’t just say stuff like that, alright.”

“What? Stuff like how you are the most incredibly amazing boyfriend ever and you always know how to make me happy.”

“Sugino!” Nagisa whisper-yelled as he buried his face into his hands.

Sugino laughed, prying Nagisa’s fingers away from his face, “come on. You can sing an entire song about how much you love me but I can’t give you one compliment.”

“That’s different.”

“How?!”

“I-I just-why don’t we just go back to our picnic. We don’t want crows getting to our sushi and chicken.”

Sugino smiled fondly and patted Nagisa on his head, “sure thing, Nagisa.”

Together they walked back with linked hands.

I'm in love with you, and now you know

[romioneficfest]

A different kind of apology

Title: A Different Kind of Apology

Prompt/Day: Day 7 - Anything goes!

Tumblr name:

Rating: K+

Brief summary: Ron has just returned, fresh after destroying the locket, and Hermione has never been more furious: though he, undoubtedly, expects her temper to subside after a few hours —as it usually does—, night falls again and she still refuses to talk to him. What she doesn’t expect, though, is that he’ll try anything for her to forgive him.

She lays in bed, lost in thought, facing nowhere as she feels her thoughts stew. They haven’t stopped boiling since he’s come back: a Molotov cocktail of relief, euphoria, incapacitating hurt, and steely fury is brewing in her mind, and it’s all she can do to keep it from exploding.

So she’s kept her mouth shut.

Not an easy feat for her, especially not when she feels herself overflowing with things to tell him (it’s so good you’re back, I’ve been dying to talk to you), with things she wishes she’d said before (don’t leave me, Ron, I can’t do it without you), with things she yearns to spit in his face (how dare you, walking out like that, I thought you were dead)… But some things take precedence over others, and for Hermione Granger, the utmost priority is always to think— and right now, she needs some silence to do it properly.

She hears a rustle as someone clambers in through the tent flap. Harry’s on guard tonight: he’d been volunteering a lot more today (undoubtedly an effort to get her to talk to Ron), but she hadn’t let him; finally, when he’d noticed she was starting to succumb to exhaustion, he’d forced her to step inside and get some rest, Hermione, for Merlin’s sake.

So she had, and Harry had taken her wand to sit out front and keep watch.

But that means there’s only one person who could be climbing in right now— and it’s the person she least wants to talk to in the world right now. So she rolls over in bed, her blankets shifting as she switches her gaze to the opposite wall, keeping her brow furrowed and her back turned to the rest of the tent.

“‘Mione,” she hears a soft plea, and her heart threatens to melt: he never calls you that, he must mean it, oh Merlin, it’s so sweet. However, her anger regains command and steers her harshly away from that path: he left you, he screamed at you, and he came back laughing, like nothing had happened… With steely determination, she remains where she is. “'Mione, please…”

And still nothing.

A second later, she hears the cot springs squeak as another weight settles down on it— and she really has to steel herself to keep her arms crossed, her face unyielding, to not reach out and smack him, how dare you, Ronald…

“You don’t have to talk. I know you don’t want to. But just listen to me, please.” Silence. “Please, can you do that?” She keeps her silence, impassive. Ron seems to take it as a yes, sighs, and plunges in: “I know I should’ve never left…”

She hears a cold laugh rattling around her insides, and hates how it sounds: Oh, figured that out, didn’t you, you bright boy, took you long enough to realize you should’ve stayed. She shakes it off; its cruelty scares her, and she refuses to think that’s how she really feels.

“…and I’m sorry I did,” he continues. “And if I have to keep apologizing to you every day of my life until you believe me, Hermione Granger, I will. There wasn’t a second after I’d stepped outside your spells —they’re brilliant, by the way, I really couldn’t see anything, but of course you don’t need me to tell you that— that I didn’t wish I hadn’t. And it’s not like I went back and lived comfortably in the Burrow, you know, I had to hide too—” She scoffs, and he hurries to correct the offense: “—well, of course it’s wasn’t as bad as you lot had it, but still… It would’ve been better if I’d been with you. Everything is, Hermione, please trust me on that.”

She still says nothing. That awful part of her, the one that keeps cackling in the pit of her stomach, wants to see him grovel, wants to see him beg, wants to see him get on his knees and bawl for forgiveness. But Hermione’s nothing if not level-headed, even when she’s the angriest she’s ever been, and so she holds her icy silence.

He tries a different approach now, in a softer tone, at a slower pace: “I meant it, Hermione, it was your voice I heard coming from the Deluminator. There’s no way I could’ve made that up. Your voice— well, it’s the only thing that could’ve brought me back. And it did. I don’t think— I mean, if it’d been Harry’s, I would’ve thought the thing was cursed and chucked it,” he stops to chuckle, but quickly zips it when he notices she stiffens rather than laughs. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s you. I came back for you. Yeah, of course, it’s a noble quest and we’re going to save the Wizarding World and all that rubbish that some kids are gonna be bored listening to Binns droll about in a few decades, but I came back for you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you alone. I couldn’t bear not seeing your face among the first things I saw when I opened my eyes every morning. I couldn’t bear the fact that I wasn’t getting regularly lectured in the same voice that brought me back. I couldn’t stand it, alright? Guilt was a factor, I can’t deny that, but being away from you is the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”

The beast in her chest is quiet now. It’s not purring —though it wants to, a part of it does, he missed you, Hermione, you, he came back for you—, but it’s laying low, still on the lookout for a threat without being on attack. Ron seems to sense her softening, because he places a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t swat it away— whether it’s because her anger is still petrifying her or because she genuinely wants it there, not even she can tell. “Say something, Hermione,” he pleads, even softer this time. “Anything. You don’t have to say you forgive me. You don’t have to say it’s okay. Just say… say… say anything.”

She’s still not looking at him, but it’s as if he’s deflated. He doesn’t try anything more— is he still hoping? Is he thinking she’s going to roll over and look at him and tell him it’s okay, you lovely boy, I forgive you? She can’t lie to herself— a part of her wants to, it’s pulling at her heartstrings to just look at him already, but she won’t give in. She can’t. She’s too angry, and he needs to know that, he needs to know just how broken he left her.

She doesn’t move.

Everything stands still for a moment, a tension thickening the air so much you could slash through it. Then he speaks again, almost mumbling: “Alright, you don’t wanna talk to me, I understand that. Just let me try to apologize to you— let me show you how much you mean to me— in a different way.”

The bedsprings lift again, and she thinks he’s gone to sleep, he’s gonna try again tomorrow, but he’s given up today— and then the bedsprings creak down again with even more force. The blankets lift, and he crawls in bed behind her. She feels him settle in a curve around her, cupping her body with his, and he drapes a careful arm around her midriff. He hesitates; but she hasn’t stiffened, she hasn’t tried to get away, and he takes that as a sign that he can pull her to him tighter.

She’s surprised to feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, surprised at how much she likes this, surprised at how a long-hidden craving she’d had for so long (while he was gone, while he wasn’t near her) at last feels sated now that he’s holding her. And finally, in the warmth of his arms, even as she still feels her chest bound with the last strains of anger, she allows herself to fall asleep peacefully for the first time in months.

[ravenempress101]

Sorry to bother but could you write a smut (riverdale) where Bret blackmails Veronica and makes her jerk him off and give him blowjobs, and one time he makes Archie watch him “punish” her? Please and thank you💚🖤

Aweeee Hun you are never a bother I’m very happy I got to write for you I hope you enjoy it yesss

Warnings: smut, filthy filthy smut, bondage, hickeys, Archie and Veronica, Bret being himself, manhandled

“Bret I don’t want to do this anymore”

Veronica taking one step near the dorm of stonewall prep. Bret captured her shoulder in his hands and turned her right back around. Inches away from her face Bret gritted his teeth.

“Oh no do you know what’s on the line for you”

Bret holds up the tape and Veronica mouth dropped open as she stood there and shocked Veronica began to hold out her hands for the tape

“What’s that?”

“Oh it might be the little session of you and what is that riverside trash”

Brett glancing at the tape and then back at the raven haired girl infront of him as he swung the tape teasing her. as he took one step closer toward veronica enclosing her in the dorm.

“Reggie”

Veronica squints her orbs glancing from the tape to Bret and a smirked creeped up on his face at Veronica’s intelligence. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She needed to get that tape before her father and even everyone from Riverdale sees. Veronica wasn’t trying to cheat on Archie but being the orange haired boy being gone for a while she had her needs.

“Bingo, so you are going to continue the little sessions we are doing or Riverdale and carrot top with be getting a show”

“Okay just don’t share it please Archie doesn’t need to know”

As Veronica crawled down to her knees placing her arms in the air. Her eyes trailed up to Bret’s and the tape. He places the tape in his pocket, demanding Veronica

“Good now un button”

Veronica shook her head up and down. Her eyes welled up with water and her slender hands found there way on his jean button. She did as she was told and then pulling down Brett’s pants along with his boxers. His manhood sprung free. The watery liquid spilling from it.

“Open”

Brett seductively claimed, her red stained mouth opened placing his tip on her mouth Veronica tears began to spill from her orbs on to her cheeks. Bret grabs her hair and then plunges himself in her mouth. Veronica shriek at the impact as Bret directing her head up and down his shaft. His breath becoming heavy.

“Mhmm babygirl your so good aren’t you? No wonder why Archie loves you”

He moaned and through his head back finding his high in her throat. Veronica was deep-throating all of him. She could feel the tip tickle the back of her throat while Bret enjoyed the warmth and sucking she performed. Veronica being manhandled as her mind unconsciously rolled back to her head at the force her vision of Brett capturing Archie. Archie was fighting Bret. He grabbed the leather restraints from his dorm bed and grabbed Archie’s wrists locking them in the leather strongholds.  Archie tied up to the bed as he jerked to get out of them but he was pulled back by the bondage.

“Bret I’m going to kill you, let me go!”

“Roni go tie carrot tops mouth shut”

“Yes stonewall master”

Tears running down her face scanning at Archie’s eyes. Her steps closer to the oranges haired boy tied up. Veronica heart broke from seeing her lover tied up at the hands of the devil himself.

“Roni we are getting out of here promise you don’t have to do this”

“Yes I do Archie, it’s the only way”

“Nooo ver… mhmm”

Veronica places the black rope around Archie’s mouth tying his protests shut. He struggled in his grasp of tying the last knot. Veronica tear stained eyes looked at Archie’s fiery ones.

“I’m sorry”

Veronica whispering toward Archie while his muffled protest capture by the ropes and while he throws his head back. His whole body restricting him.

“Veronica your taking to long let’s go now”

Bret grabbing a black stick with a little black feather on it slapping Veronica on the booty she winces and gets on her knees and crawls to Bret

“Good girl love you on your knees”

Brett capturing her throat as her breath hitches from his index finger and thumb closing in on her shaft of her neck. Bret smirked

“Let’s give him a show”

Veronica breathless protested. He kissed her lips plastering her on the wall hanging her like a painting. Bret trails his kiss down her neck unbuckling his pants Roni protests and swings her arms to his shoulders, her fists came in contact with them as his exposed shoulder flared up red. Veronica’s slashes everywhere on his body. Bretwas like a brick wall wouldn’t budge. capturing the black leather restraints on the wall and his rough palms found there way to her wrists as he locked her in. Archie moaned underneath his gagged.

“Now let the fun began”

Bret apprehend the leather whip and the whip cracked a gash on her thigh. Then another whip to her neck. As Bret takes her arm turning Veronica around where her back and booty where exposed a slash found its way on her booty and then He trails the black feather up her back then he faces Veronica back to him and jumps on top of her climbing on her and his jeans are down and then he finds his finger in between her lace underwear pulling them to the side and lined his pre cum soaked head at her entrance and jab inside her

“Bret noooo ughh”

Veronica body let out a high pitch scream. her vagina engulfed in Bret’s manhood. He pulled out and slammed back in her once more. As he was inside her he accelerated in and out in short motions. His cock growing bigger as he made her walls swelled. As her vagina flared up with wetness from her juices.

“Mhmm babygirl your so wet”

As Veronica body betrayed her. Bret split her open inside. As he curved inside her his thrust became rough. Bret feeling Veronica’s snugness around his shaft and his groans danced on the wall as Veronica protests mixed with him.

“Now for your punishment you will be screaming my name until you cum”

Bret trailing his mouth down to the middle of her big breasts. As he placed kisses on the left side of her boob on the light areola. His mouth latched on to the nipple. Sucking as it gotten harder while he swirled his tongue

“Noooo I am not ah ah ah”

Veronica’s mouth fell open with yells and twitches at the sensation Premating through her body that he gave her. Bret places his thick rough thumb in her mouth to silence her screams.As Archie was watching all of it. Muffled screams escaped from him.

“Well I’m not going to stop thrusting until you scream”

“Archieee help me ah ah “

Brett losing control of his thrust became hard as ever. Veronica was filled with the wet slaps that Brett made. As bret took his thumb out of her mouth. Her lip found its way in between her top and bottom lip. Her eyes shut tight, feeling the pain from his panther smash.

Archie's gagged fell off from his sweat covering his face at the sexual activity Veronica had to endure.

“Roni, Bret she has had enough”

Brett plastering himself hard and rough as Roni’s body betrayed herself as she wanted it to stop her high was crashing in on her. Bret attacked her neck placing blue and purple bruises on the side. He licked the spots he created and changing his direction to curve inside her. Veronica felt her G spot being ripped apart by the movement.

“Brettt oh god ughh”

“Say I’m better than the boy that lays on that bed or I’ll thrust where your raw and sensitive”

“Heck no”

“Alright then”

As Brett was going at a inhumanly speed. Veronica high laced her body. A wave of euphoria came crashin in. She split all over Bret as her high continued. Bret keeping up the pace and straightness. Veronica became sensitive all over. Her screams where louder than before and Bret was bringing her agony with his pleasure that he loved.

“Archie I can’t go much longer uhhhh!”

Veronica is trembling under Bret. Her chains shaking in the process of Bret effect of no remorse.

“Say it roni so this can be over”

Archie kicking his feet battling for his freedom. Archie was supporting a half erected manhood himself. With Veronica nurturing on Bret he wish it was him of all those times Veronica busted on him.

“No archie I only love you”

“If you love me you’ll stop this and say it”

“Alright your better than him”

“Than who”

“Archieee auhhh”

Bret thrusted a few more times bringing him close as his thrusts lost structure and became sloppier as he felt his precum turned into his white thick substance inside Veronica’s womb.  As Veronica felt him cum inside her. Her stomach bubble as she felt like her daddy’s lunch from earlier creeping back up her throat. While Bret was licking her neck, She shivered and gulped as she forced the food back down and shook at the monstrous moment that took place.

As Bret was finishing, He pulled out and he through Veronica on the bed and Archie and Veronica looked at Bret in disgusted.

As Veronica orbs blurred. Her throat hurting as her hair was in Brett’s hand in a fist. Her vision focused back to where it all started. Veronica felt a familiar liquid enter her throat. As Bret cursed under his breath. The liquid traveled down her throat and Veronica swallowed with one big gulp. Bret pulled his penis out of her throat. gasping for air, as Brett captured her petite painted hands. He used her hand to rub his sensitive tip and her finger ran over the hole. Veronica hand gripped around his shaft as she slowly went up and down. It was slippery just for her. Her juices coated his thick manhood. Veronica slipped up and down on him. More of Bret’s cum squirted out and landed on her stained face.

Veronica was ruined for Bret. Bret loved the power he had over Veronica and he will always show that he ruled in his world.

[queer-francis]

Frank Morrison x GN Reader

((CW: dub-con, knife play, blood play, choking, reader death))

You had been fumbling with the damaged generator in the dark for a few minutes now, and it was nearly finished. The smell of metal, grease, and gasoline wafted through the air as it rumbled to life loudly, the pistons pumping and churning as the lights above it flickered on and illuminated the scenery around you. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, you felt a chill tingle your spine, and you quickly looked up over your shoulder. A crow cawed in the distance, making its disturbance known, and you knew something was coming. Someone. You hadn't seen the killer during this Trial yet, but you had heard the screams of one of your fellow survivors earlier, a sound that never sat well with you. It always left you feeling nauseous and fearful about whether or not you were next, and this time was no different.

Oh, how right you were.

You kept low to the ground as you crept slowly through the brush and away from the generator. You had hoped to cling to the shadows, maybe hide behind the tattered brick walls littering the landscape around you, but you knew from the way your heartbeat was acting up and the intensity of your fear that whoever this killer was was closing in and closing in fast, and you'd never make it if you tried to sneak your way over there. You darted up to your feet and started sprinting, eyes wide with panic as you heard someone behind you break from the underbrush, their breathing heavy from excitement and exertion. You chanced a look backwards and saw the smeared and bloody masked smile of The Legion behind you- Frank.

You felt ice in your veins as you remembered how he had raged at you in the last Trial you had with him. You were the last survivor that wasn't on a hook, and you strategically had distracted him with a throw pebble at a partially finished generator, causing it to get stuck in the motor and cause an explosion, while you unhooked Claudette who then helped you unhook Jake and Ash. He was worked up in a frenzy back then, coming after all of you, but you had a secret… you had woke from the fog laying right next to the hatch at the beginning, and you had a key. The tumble you took as you tripped over a tree root brought you back to reality and your current situation, and your mom's voice chuckled in your memories as your head cracked against the ground. "Silly goose, didn't you know you're not supposed to look back at who's chasing you?"

His body was on yours as he tackled you back to the ground as you attempted to get up, a snarl ripping from his mouth behind his mask, and you felt the sharp sting of his blade slash across your back, leaving a deep wound. You cried out and tried to scramble away from him, but his grip was too strong, and he ripped you backwards into him. He pinned you back down against the ground, twisting your arm behind you roughly as he straddled your hips, letting out a soft, breathy laugh at having you there beneath him. You squirmed, choking down a sob- something told you he'd just enjoy your pain anyway, and as if on cue, he pushed down on your arm a little harder as he hummed in a musing tone.

"You know…" he started, his voice amused as he trailed his knife teasingly over your spine, enjoying the soft gasp you let out as it left a thin line of blood beneath it's sharp edge. "You really fucked me over the last time we were in a Trial together… I think it's high time I returned the favor."

With that, he leaned down and chuckled darkly into your ear as he dug his fingers into the cut across your back, playing in the blood that was seeping from it. You hissed through your teeth, tears pricking the edges of your eyes, and tried to buck him off of your hips by rolling to the side. He grabbed your hair and jerked your head backwards, the silent threat made known by his knife that was now at your throat. Your body went still, though still tense, and he tilted your head back to where he could see your face.

"Huh, you're actually kinda hot in a desperate 'please don't kill me' kinda way," he said, and if you were in any other non-life threatening situation, you would have laughed. As it were, you couldn't help the soft huff that made its way out of your mouth, fear restricting any other noise from making its way out of your mouth.

You heard a soft thunk in the grass, and your eyes flicked downwards to catch the sight of his mask on the ground. At that moment you felt his lips brushing against your neck, and he drew his knife almost lazily down the front of your shirt as he reached around you, cutting through it with ease just as he had with the back of it. You whimpered softly as he pushed you back down to the ground, lifting himself up and off of you just enough to flip you over to face him. He was… almost completely normal looking, you noticed- attractive even. Wavy auburn locks were pushed back from his tan skin and out of his stormy blue eyes that reflected the faint light of the generator behind you. A pale scar decorated his nose, and another angled across the edge of his lips. His studded tongue licked over his lips that quickly formed into a feral grin, revealing sharp, wolfish canines. As he started to tug at your pants, the realization of what he wanted hit you and you found your voice.

"N-no, I-" you were cut off by his knife at your throat again, and his fingers finally got your button undone. You bit your lip as he slipped his knife down along your torso from collarbone to navel, leaving another narrow line of blood, and your back arched beneath him with a shaky gasp.

"No?" He asked, his grin widening as he cut you again- across your lower stomach now- and drew another sob from you. The wound as non-lethal as the others, but that didn’t stop it from hurting any less. "Here I thought you wanted to be my knife whore. Maybe this will be a lesson to not fuck with me like that again."

He finished getting your pants off of you, tsking when you attempted once more to wiggle away from him, and this time he sliced into your thigh. You didn’t try to fight him about it after that. He began to cut your underwear off, and once you were bare before him, he let out a hum of approval, his blue eyes raking over your bruised and bloodied body with obvious, sadistic lust. He kept his knife pressed firmly against your neck as he leaned forward, and you heard the tell-tale unzipping of his pants. He wasted no time in pressing teasingly against your entrance, enjoying the wide, teary-eyed look of horror on your face, and with a sharp, painful jerk of his hips he was inside of you. Your muscles clenched around his rough entry, but your scream was cut short as his freehand closed around your throat with a near crushing strength. He thrust wildly against you, not giving you time to properly adjust to his girth, nor would he let you get more than half a lungful of air before tightening his grip on your throat again. Tears were streaming freely down your face as he took you, pausing every now and then to catch his breath and keep himself from reaching his climax just yet. It was clear he was going to drag this out as long as he could, and he leaned down to lick the blood that was steadily running from the cuts on your chest and stomach. He bit harshly into your skin, drawing a weak mewl of pain from your lips, and he left a trail of messy bites from your abdomen to your neck, adjusting his hand so he could bite on you while still choking you. There he suckled at your skin, angling his hips to reach deeper within you, and the constant friction had your whimpers of pain slowly turning to deeper moans of pleasure. You were dizzy from blood loss and oxygen deprivation, and were teetering on the edge of euphoria. He finally released his grip on your throat, and you inhaled sharply, thankful to be able to breath properly again. He laughed softly and closed the distance between your lips, nipping and sucking at your bottom lip with a satisfied noise.

"Look who's enjoying themself now," he teased, not hiding the smug look on his face, and you felt your cheeks flush in shame.

You looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes. He was right, you shouldn't be enjoying it, but you couldn't help it- it felt good. He felt good, and he forced you to look back at him with a sharp tug on your chin. He caught your lips with his own, surprisingly gentle with his kiss, and his thrusts began to grow more erratic. You felt the coil of pleasure that had been building within your core winding tighter and tighter, and you hooked your legs around his waist, urging him onwards, rolling your hips against his. He growled in response, breaking the kiss to pant against your shoulder, and he slipped his arms underneath you to hold you closer to him, and the muscles of his chest and abs felt warm against yours. You squeezed your eyes shut as he brought you closer and closer, and finally, you were spilling over the edge, crying out his name again and again as you bucked your hips up against his. He dug his nails into your back as he fucked you through your orgasm before letting himself reach his own release. He buried himself as deep as he could inside of you as he came, and you shivered at the feeling of his warm seed filling you up.

Maybe it was sick, maybe it was fucked up, but you couldn’t help the way you were left wanting more. There was simply something about fucking someone so dangerous that left you with a nice adrenaline high, and something told you you’d become addicted to the way he felt. You always had the worst taste.

He sighed in contentment as he nuzzled his face into your neck, his bloodstained hand reaching up and playing in your hair languidly as he let himself enjoy the afterglow of his climax. You turned your face into his palm and pressed a soft kiss to ]it, and just at that moment the exit gates' sirens went off. He snorted derisively, tightening his grip on you in a completely possessive manner. 

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart," he purred, and you oh so carefully draped your arms around him, not wanting him to think you were up to anything devious, and you tilted your head with a little smile.

"Who said I wanted to go anywhere?" You asked, and you rolled your hips suggestively against his. You met his groan with a soft laugh and decided to be bold, to take what you wanted just as he had.

You quickly rolled the both of you over while he was off guard and ground your hips down, bringing his softening erection back to life within you. You rode him at a quick and harsh pace that matched his earlier, cooing and moaning out your praises of how good he felt- ignoring how that normally would have embarrassed you, and his stormy eyes never left yours, his expression one of delight, yet also... hesitant. It didn't take him long to reach his climax again, and as you felt him spill within you again. However, you also felt a sharp pain between your ribs. Your eyes widened in shock and dismay, looking down at the knife in his hands that was stabbing into your torso. He twisted it, then pulled it free. Crimson cascaded down over the both of you, and you let out a soft, pained noise. Your body seized up at that moment and he caught you before you could fall, cradling you in his arms as he pressed soft but hungry kisses to your dying lips. His fingers tangled in your hair and he smirked down at you, watching the life leave your eyes. Your vision faded, and the last thing you felt was his warm breath against your ear.

"I'll see you again next Trial, doll."

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Five

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I’ve done drugs a few times in my life. Specifically spice.

 Spice is like a sub group of drugs that specialize in mind altering activities. Side effects change depending on which exact spice you ingest. The most potent (and expensive) is one called glitteryll. Glitteryll is the best thing I’ve ever taken.

 I was really nervous about taking it at first. I thought that my tiny body wouldn’t be able to handle it. I thought I was going to die in the leather seat of a dusty ship, slumped over in a pool of my own vomit. Clearly, I didn’t.

 Talik caressed my cheek, her sultry eyes sparkling. Her fingertips felt burning hot against my skin, trailing down my jaw somewhat sensually. “It’ll be okay,” she told me quietly. She was so close, I could feel her cool breath across my features. Talik was looking at me in a way that no one had ever looked at me before, and I hadn’t known what to do.

 “Close your eyes,” the Twi’Lek whispered with her pouty pink lips. I didn’t close them. “Come on,” she cooed. “Close them.”

 I closed them. The fear had made my heart begin to thump with anxiety. I could feel it ricocheting against my ribs like a hammer. I didn’t want to take it.

 But I felt something press against the bottom of my nose, right by my nostrils. It felt sharp- maybe it was Talik’s nail or a knife. I don’t know, I kept my eyes shut tight.

 “Take it,” the girl whispered. “Just sniff. I’ve got you.”

 I inhaled the fine powder. It burned for a while, making my nose twitch and my face cringe. My throat became dry and I felt itchy all over. It didn’t take long for my body to begin overheating, then run over like I was taking an ice bath. My veins felt like they were vibrating. My stomach felt empty. But then Talik said “Good girl. That’s a good girl,” and everything felt nicer.

 Her warm hands left me, and I leaned back against the cushioned leather. My eyes slipped open so I could look at the ceiling, and the lightbulb above me was transcending past the realm of colors. It was a rainbow of shades I’d never seen before. Everything seemed to be a different tone of lemon and alcohol, washing into lavenders dotted with magenta and passion red. I watched it fade in and out for a while, because the longer I stared, the more it looked like a painting I couldn’t quite place.

 My stomach started thrumming with complete and utter euphoria. I felt like I was in paradise, on a white sand beach overlooking crystal, aquamarine waters. The clouds were rolling in in any color but white, booming with fluff that looked more than edible. I could see the rings of Geonosis in the distance, and the moon of Iago. The wind was making me cry sparkles, and when I went to touch my air, it turned to smoke and ash.

 I can’t say why my paradise appeared to me as a beach, because it’s not even close to my dream at all. I’m more into the snowy mountains, myself.

 “Do you think he misses me?” I slurred out. My words made my mouth feel numb, my pupils dilating like crazy.

 “Who?” Talik said smugly, playing along.

 I bit my lip, because I suddenly felt like I was going to drool. “Anakin,” I mumbled incoherently, as if it were obvious.

 “Who’s Anakin, love?”

 My brain struggled to compute, like it was frozen with ice. The image of a redhead stabbed my memory like a little needle. He has pale skin, dotted with tan freckles. Pale green eyes pear up at me as a kaleidoscope swirls between pupils. Wait… who’s Anakin?

 “I don’t… I don’t know…”

 And then I died. The high was gone when I woke up. I never found out who Anakin was.

 I did spice a few more times after that.

 The Jedi takes a step forward, but I am quick to correct him. “That’s close enough,” I warn, lowly. “Stay there.”

 The gleam of hope in his eyes falters. I’ve said something only a deeply disturbed individual would say. I’m proud of myself for it.

          “I sense darkness in you,” The inquisitor whispers out from behind me like a snake. “A great darkness.”

 “But I sense light,” the Jedi argues. He steps forward, despite me telling him otherwise. “Come with me. Come into the light.”

 I don’t know if either of them can see it or not, but I’m kind of in the middle of something. I’m literally keeping all of us from immediate death.

 I curl my fingers, feeling the Force run from me to the great rocks overhead. I guide them to the great chasm to the left of the room and let go, finally feeling a full breath enter my lungs.

 “Come with me. Please,” The Jedi beckons again, this time holding his hand out.

 His next move was his last.

 The Jedi makes the mistake of refusing to heed my warning. His right foot comes closer to me, and I draw my saber and ignite it. In one move, I bring it over my head and lunge for him. He raises his blue saber to block, but I’m not aiming for what he thinks.

 My colored weapon passes straight through his wrist, not even giving him time to cry out in pain before I execute him when he falls to his knees. I slash at his back from behind, severing his connection to the world of the living, along with the connection of his legs to his torso. The Jedi falls to the floor, in two pieces, both still and limp.

 He wanted to help me. He wanted to make me into a person who obeys codes even at the cost of my own beliefs, even though he would never admit he had previously done the same. He was delusional. He was sick. He won’t torture anybody like he did me or the Eighth Brother again.

 Speaking of Eighth Brother, he is watching me. I look at him through my lashes, my face stoic and apathetic. “I sense much hate in you.”

 Yep, that’s about right. I don’t answer him.

 “You could learn the power of the force- the full power.”

 “I don’t care about power.”

 “LIAR!” he shouts, attempting to make me flinch. The Eighth Brother suddenly points at me very stiffly. “Loot the body.”

 My eyes glance down to the corpse of the former Jedi. Smoke peels from his robes from where my lightsaber cut into him, still sizzling a little in the shape of a burning, orange gash.

 “Go on,” the Inquisitor urges. No doubt, this is some kind of test or a manipulation tactic to sway me to the Dark side. There’s no need to sway me- I’m already on good terms with that side of the Force. As long as I don’t fall into the trap he’s not so cleverly planted for me, I’ll get out of this with the upper hand.

 I crouch to my knees, disabling my lightsaber but keeping it in my hand. The only thing I sense of value on the Jedi is his lightsaber, which is half bronze, half silver. It looks like two different people designed it. One half is simple, a little more natural while the other half looks ornate and detailed like the inside of a palace. I peel the Jedi’s fingers from the hilt and run my eyes over it, pushing back up to my feet.

 “Test it out,” the Inquisitor urges. “Does it feel balanced?”

 I press the switch on the emitter and the lightsaber comes to life in a tall, blue streak, but I still feel rather unimpressed. “It feels like a lightsaber.”

 “And what are you going to do with it?”

 Oh, I see. He wants a certain answer out of me. He wants me to say something so he can twist it to meet the qualifications for Empire material. He is a cocky one, that’s for sure. I guess that’s kind of smart, if it wasn’t so obvious and dumb.  

 I close off my new weapon and click it to the other side of my belt, putting the original back on the opposite side.

 “Stealing from dead men, are we?” he continues. Through the slat by his eyes, I can see two glittering orbs, as small and dark as beetles.

 “What else is there to do with them?” I tell him.  

 The Inquisitor takes a few rushed, hurried steps over to me. “Let your passion drive you. Let the Dark-”

 “Don’t come any closer or you’ll be next.”

 I can feel the nerve I’ve touched there. It seems the Eighth Brother no longer appreciates my lack of cooperation and touch with anger. His voice deepens and drops, and his left-hand slides to his lightsaber. The handle of his is a big circle, and if it’s dual bladed than I may be in for a challenge.

 “That’s too bad,” he says in a tone filled with vile poison. “I was hoping we could handle this civilized.” His red saber comes to life, only one blade out. His knees bend slightly in a minimal fighting stance, as if he wanted to look as if he weren’t trying.

  I remember one night, when Cal and I were fourteen, neither of us could sleep. I got up to look out our dirty window and watch the blinking lights flash in tune with the night shift workers. The redhead pulled up a chair next to me after I had been sitting a while, and even though it looked like he wanted to say something to me, he didn’t. I appreciated that about him. I appreciated the calm silence he easily brought, even when I was curious about what he would say.

 “Where are you from?” he asked after a while. I turned my attention to the redhead and met his light colored eyes. His fluffy hair was a bit of a mess, and his freckles had depleted in how noticeable they were from the first time I’d seen him. The cream-colored shirt he wore to bed was too big for him and covered up his hands in the sleeves, but made the long, pink scar from his ear to his jaw all the more noticeable.

 Cal had quickly grown in a stocky boy, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. Although I wasn’t older than him by much, I was already several inches shorter than him. He was nearing six foot by now.

 “You know,” I said, my eyes transfixed on one, red flashing light in the distance. “Places.”

 “Oh yeah?” the boy played along. “I think I’ve heard of it.”

 I looked over at him, and I was met with a kind smile. It made me feel warm inside, so I started to smile too.

 “Where were you before Bracca?” I decided to question, and immediately regretted it. Cal’s eyes shifted down to the floor and flickered with anxiety, and his chest started to rise and fall a little more intensely. He clenched and unclenched his jaw and opened and closed his mouth like he meant to say something, but couldn’t quite get the hang of it. I decided to comfort him.

 “I came from Coruscant,” I said quickly, giving him time to calm down and simply listen instead of think. It was my own, subtle way of letting him know he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, but I don’t think he picked up on that. “Didn’t like it much. Too many people for me.”

 “So, you decided to come to a planet full of people, all crowded together while they work?”

 “Precisely,” I retorted.

 Cal let out half a scoff, half a chuckle, and I felt him relax. I can’t recall what we had talked about after that, or if we even talked at all. I know eventually we decided to go to sleep, but there was a foundation of- what? Trust, perhaps? A sense of comfort between us that never went any farther. That might’ve been the first time I felt happy or content in my entire life. But now I’ll never get that back.

 I wonder if they Eighth Brother felt that way too before he fell to the Dark Side. I wonder if he felt content and satisfied, and then suddenly had that feeling ripped from his grasp. The difference between us in that sense is that he couldn’t accept the loss and fought to get back what he once had by any means necessary, while I only mourned the loss but came to terms with what it was and why.

 “You are strong in the force,” he tries, one last time to beckon me to reconsider. “Why make such a weak decision?”

 I don’t answer him. Let him have his fun convincing himself he is upsetting me. If he goes on long enough, he might inflate his head so much he’ll either fly away or get so cocky in battle he leaves himself susceptible to attacks on my part.

 Killing the Jedi moments ago wasn’t a fight, it was an execution. This is different- this one has more of a will to live. I’m not exactly afraid for my life against the Eighth Brother, but I know I need to stay vigilant and quick moving.

 I stand still, my hands at my sides. Remember when I said that staying calm and cool in an argument will make the other person more angry and give you the upper hand? It’s the same here. Me not making any moves of aggression must be hurting the Inquisitor.

 It doesn’t take long for him to start towards me. He lunges with great speed, only a foot from my face when I raise my hand.

 Immediately, he freezes in the air. The Force, strong and cold as ice, feels solid and sharp. I can feel it binding what I want to the man’s body, giving me complete and utter control over him. I could want to make him hurt. I could kill him.

 I cast my hand to the side, and the Inquisitor flies back and to the ground. The Eighth Brother’s red saber goes off and clatters from his hand.

 My left hand reaches for the blue saber I’ve newly stolen and presses it on. It feels heavier than the other blade- the green one- and I already know I don’t like it too much. Still, it ignites in a sky colored streak. With my other hand, I wrap the air around the Inquisitor again, dragging him towards me so his knees scrape against the floor.

 It doesn’t take long for him to be on his knees, throat against my blade.

 This is the thing that makes me feel just as good as spice. Complete and utter control over someone else. I know how Talik feels now, how she was addicted to holding people like pretty little dolls and manipulating them into giving her what she wanted. She liked how it made her heart feel. It liked how it made her feel important.

 “Aren’t you going to kill me?” The Eighth Brother croaks. “Do it.”

 This isn’t his way of taking me to the Dark side, I can feel the genuine defeat and acceptance in his voice. He doesn’t want me to strike him down to become more powerful and ascend or whatever, he wants me to finish him- like an animal on its last leg. Would it be mercy to put him down then? I can feel the heavy weight from the Dark Side in the Inquisitors shoulders, as if he weren’t meant to bear it to begin with and is now facing exertion.

 I killed the Jedi because I could feel how unhinged he was. He wanted me to come and rebuild or hide with him just moments after almost killing himself and two other force users. He believed so radically in the Light Side of the Force, he lost sight of what the ‘Light Side’ meant. He was going to kill the next person who turned him down and consider himself good for acting out what he thought the Force wanted.

 But this Eighth Brother, this boy, is more honest than the ladder. He knows he’s been let down by the Light Side and the Jedi, and while the Dark Side isn’t the best option, he feels it is his only option. He knows how heavy and exhausting it is, but tells himself it will all be worth it. His reasons for believing it to be worth it are not mine to know.

 I slide the switch of my saber off, and the blue glow ceases to exist. I will not kill the Eighth Brother. He is not mine to kill, nor do I believe he deserves death.

 “Don’t follow me,” I tell him, watching his beetle eyes glimmer like tiny planets.

 Then, I turn away and grab my pack from where it slipped off my shoulder by the shelves, somewhat expecting his lightsaber to stab me in the back. I know he won’t though. Somehow, I just know it

 I can hear his thoughts rather dully, all of them jumbled together incoherently. I don’t bother to listen. I’m sure a few are cursing me and a few are wishing I leave unscathed, but never encounter him again. I make my way to the giant door with the Imperial symbol and slide it open with the wave of my hand.

 With both sabers on either sides of my hips, the Garreth’s Imperial jacket and a back full of stims, I walk through the door. Behind me, the Eighth Brother remains unmoving on his knees, panting less loudly and not daring to turn and watch me. I know I don’t want to encounter him again for sure, because now that I know I could kill him, I probably would. But I do hope, just a little bit, that he makes it out of there alive. The last image I see of him is him on his knees, clad in black.

 I touch the flashing control panel by the door, and it shuts closed, sealing off the original entrance I had to the cave. On Bracca, I learned how to rewire and mess with circuit boards inside panels like this so whatever it was hooked up to wouldn’t work anymore. It was a bit of a complicated process, but now that I have a weapon, I understand the fastest way to keep this door from opening with the panel again is to destroy it. I take out the blue lightsaber and bash the end of it against the panel once, twice- no more. It shuts off and shatters with a spider web pattern at the impact.

 With that, I leave the Imperial Facility, and luckily never encountering the Eighth Brother again.      

  I don’t run into any of the Eighth Brother’s lackeys on the way out, and soon enough I’m met with fresh air again. The rain has stopped but the wind still smells fresh, and the rays of light from the sun heat up the atmosphere considerably compared to the dank cave. After quite a while of hiking, I stand on the edge of a mountainside with a rocky path to my right. In front of me is a beautiful view of mountains and a large Zeffo statue I used to use as a landmark. In the distance, I can see a large landing pad built off the side of a mountain, stocked with tie-fighters. 

That’s where I’m going.

[theshatteredrose]

Fighting For You (Chapter 10 - Final) - Trials of Mana Fanfiction

AN: It’s cold, windy, rainy, and dark – perfect time to write and update, is it not? :’D And we’re up to the last chapter! Writing guys in distress is so much fun. I should definitely do it more often. Anyway, big thank you so much to everyone who has read and interacted with this story in some way. I truly appreciate it! And I hope you enjoy reading~

Chapter 10:

Duran’s chest ached and he was so dizzy that he could barely see straight. But having the free movement of his arms and legs gave him a feeling of euphoria. As was the weight of his sword.

The chains were painful, the vines even more so. But those flowers…when they bloomed…

That was a pain he had never experienced before in his life.

The flowers felt as though they cut into his very soul. And from what Agnar had revealed (as little as it was), they likely were attacking his soul. To take away his skills, his strengths, his knowledge of the sword would mean cutting him to his very core.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Hawkeye asked him, his concern for him still prevalent.

Truthfully, he didn’t feel his best. And was sure he didn’t look it either. But he was through being helpless and useless.

Hawkeye and Kevin had done so much for him. It was his turn to do something for them in return. If the only thing he could do was to help in the battle against Agnar, then he would do that. He would do that to the best of his ability.

The pain and discomfort would be sorted with later. It wasn’t as important as ending this ridiculous situation.

“I’m all right now,” Duran insisted as he and Hawkeye raced outside. “More than able to put an end to this.”

Kevin had managed to keep Agnar outside the mansion, often simply grabbing him by his armour and just hurling him back several feet. And yet, despite the clear thrashing he had received, Agnar continued to stand and fight.

It shouldn’t be that surprising. He did steal the strength and skills of seven swordsmen. And had the knowledge of black magic.

Defeating him for good wasn’t going to be easy.

“Arg, why?” Kevin all but whined, frustrated. “Why can’t I defeat you?”

“He is nothing more than a shadow,” Shade explained. “A powerful shadow, that is true. His sole focus is the way of the sword. And only a swordsman can finally put this to rest.”

Duran nodded his head sharply. “Looks like it’s up to me.”

“Duran? You ok?” Kevin asked as he paced over to him, still in his beastman form. His previous rage abating when he saw that Duran was free from his prison and up on his feet.

“I’m alright now,” Duran insisted as he gave him a hopefully confident smile. “Thanks for weakening him for me, Kevin.”

Kevin was undeniably pleased with his reply, his wolfen features, usually quite fearsome, stretched into a happy-puppy smile. But that lasted for only a few seconds, disappearing at another sound. An unfortunately familiar sound of something crawling their way through the dirt and grass.

Zombies.

And Agnar moved to stand tall once again. Though his armour was torn and fractured, he still moved readily. And with a sense of purpose.

Duran immediately wielded his sword before him defensively, mindful of the ground beneath his feet. The very last thing he needed was to be grabbed by those smelly, grubby zombies again. He wasn’t in the best state. He only had enough strength to unleash one attack.

He had to concentrate on the real threat.

Agnar was his target.

“Hawkeye, Kevin; I need your help with this. Distract the zombies for me. This battle won’t go on for any longer than it already has.”

Hawkeye immediately moved to flank his right. “You got it!”

And Kevin moved to his left. “Right!”

As Hawkeye and Kevin easily took out the zombies as they crawled up from the ground, Duran engaged in a stare down with Agnar. Though, stare-down probably wasn’t the right phrase, but Agnar was fully focused in on him. Taking slow, methodical, and purposely intimidating steps toward him. Armour battered and torn, sword by his side.

Duran ignored his fatigue and the lingering pain in his chest. He knew, however, that his current energy would not be able to sustain him for very much longer.

One attack. That was all he could manage.

It was all that he needed.

If Agnar was so interested in his skills, there was no harm in showing him!

“Spin Slash!”

With each slash of his sword, each well-aimed attack, amongst the fury of wind he thought about the poor seven swordsmen that lost their skills and their lives to Agnar’s bitterness and greed. The pain they had endured. Suffering through the flowers as they bloomed one by one. All alone. No one to help them.

Each swordsman was completely innocent. Simply doing what was right, what they believed in. Taken too soon. Their lives thrown away without a care.

Just like Agnar himself claimed to have endured.

He had turned into the very thing he hated.

Time to put an end to his greed. And torment.

Duran pivoted on his heel to deliver one final attack. “Cut you down!”

Agnar had somehow managed to endure each furious swing of his blade and Duran feared that he may not have been strong enough. But the very last strike was what finally threw him back several feet. His weapon and fragments of his armour breaking off.

He fell onto his back, landing hard against the ground. His helmet rattled loose and proceeded to bounce across the ground, rolling several feet away. Allowing for his head, or what was left of it, to be exposed.

Duran stabbed his sword into the ground to use as a crutch and heard Hawkeye and Kevin gasp and mutter in surprise. His own reaction was more passive, simply staring down at the white skull as he panted softly. The battle appeared to be over, though he remained tense. His grip tightening on his sword when a low, self-loathing laugh radiated from the skull.

“Haha…how fitting. To be bested by a swordsman.”

“What’s the truth?” Duran found himself asking as he leaned heavily against his sword. “Why did you do this?”

Agnar didn’t immediately answer at first. He laid there in silence, unmoving, his empty eyes and white bones giving nothing away. Until finally, he uttered a noise similar to that of a deep sigh.

“I cannot remember my true motives for this,” he returned, his voice unexpectedly sombre and yet sincere. “It was once revenge. Revenge against my old companions who so readily abandoned me. But now? I am not so sure. Maybe a vain attempt to save other knights? As…deranged as the methods appear to be. But…I have lost sight of my reason a long time ago.”

That…was what pain did to a person. Made them forget. Made them think of nothing but their pain. To be in such a state…He wasn’t the same, was he? With his goal to defeat the Crimson Wizard?

No. He would never hurt another like that. His strength was his own. He would put himself through whatever was necessary to get stronger. He would never force another to sacrifice something on his behalf.

And his companions wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself for his goal. They would never leave him, and he would never abandon them. Never.

“You lost sight of what it means to be a swordsman,” Duran stated, his voice free from judgement. “That’s where it all began.”

Agnar fell silence once again before the white skull unexpectedly rolled to the side. In his direction. “I must admit that I am somewhat…jealous of you, Duran. To have such supportive companions willing to fight for you. Companions you trust without compromise.”

Slipping his sword upon his back, Duran crossed the short distance between them and approached Agnar. “I’m sorry that your companions didn’t stay by your side,” he said as he knelt upon the ground next to him. “I can’t even imagine the pain and betrayal you felt.”

“You are fortunate.”

“Yes, I know.” Duran’s mind was filled with the vision of his companions, of Hawkeye and Kevin fighting valiantly for him. So readily fighting for him. What he would have done without them, he didn’t know.

And he didn’t want to find out.

“But…I am glad that I can finally rest now.” There was a surprising amount of relief and contentment in his voice. “It’s been so long. I do regret many things I have done. Perhaps, in my next life, I could return to the ways of the swordsman. And find…redemption. And peace.”

And so could the seven swordsmen.

Agnar’s skull rolled back upright, as if to stare up at the sky. “One favour I wish to ask of you; destroy my skull. My last link of chain keeping me in this world.”

Duran nodded his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Alright.”

He lifted his sword from his back and moved to stand above Agnar’s skull. Though still expressionless, the eyes nothing but empty sockets, he imagined that Agnar had his eyes closed and was waiting. For the pain to end.

Gripping his weapon in both hands, he raised the blade over his head and brought it down sharply.

The skull immediately shattered into many different pieces, scattering across the grass in a white haze. The armour that housed Agnar’s skeleton deflated, crumbling uselessly upon the grass also.

As Duran allowed his sword to rest idly by his side, he heard a voice. A soft, sad whisper.

…thank you…

Duran gave a simple nod of his head in response. A small smile soon appeared across his lips. Finally, Agnar was at peace.

The abrupt sound of snapping, breaking wood caused Duran to snap his head up and spin around. Just in time to watch as the two-story haunted mansion violently furl into itself. Disappearing piece by piece in a sparkling blue light.

“Let me guess; just like with the ghost ship?” Hawkeye stated rather than asked.

Shade shimmered into view before them, his attention toward the crumbling structure. “Yes. With Agnar no longer supporting the illusion, it has no further use.”

“It’s…over?” Kevin asked with uncertainty in his voice.

Duran nodded his head slowly. “Yes, it’s over now.”

It was over…

“You can sleep now, Duran.” Luna’s voice was soothing and gentle. “You’re safe. Everyone is safe. Now rest.”

Duran closed his eyes. And crumbled to the ground in a dead faint.

… … … … …

Duran was in that mansion again. The same endless halls. The same pungent smell of dust and decay. The same dark shadows that hid unknown enemies and danger.

Yet, something felt different. Very different.

No whispering. No feeling of dread. No ghostly hands attempting to drag him down.

A quiet creak of a floorboard behind him prompted him to immediately spin around. Half expecting to find himself prey to those shadowy, ghostly hands. Instead, he found himself confronted by seven figures. Men in armour with swords upon their backs. They were of different ages and of different builds. But all were swordsmen.

Seven white, ghostly souls.

Were they-?

In unison, the seven men dropped down to one knee and bowed their heads toward him in revere. “Thank you for freeing our souls.”

They were the seven swordsmen that fell before him.

They were free now, too.

He was glad.

“With your dedication and heart, you will indeed become the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.”

Before Duran could respond, he was interrupted by a bright light. When the light faded, he found himself staring up at a wooden ceiling. A sight that was somewhat familiar and comforting.

But it couldn’t compare to the relief he felt when the faces of his companions filled his vision. Kevin to his right, Hawkeye to his left, with Faerie hovering between the two.

“Thank goodness!” Faerie sighed. “You’re awake.”

“You ok?” Kevin asked, his face creased in obvious worry. “Worried that something else had happened.”

“You fainted on us,” Hawkeye was the one to explain. “We had to carry you all the way back to the village. Well, Kevin did. You’ve been asleep for a few hours now. You’re not suffering from anything else, right?”

Duran slowly sat up in bed. His muscles ached in protest, a feeling he honestly wasn’t all that used to. But he ignored the discomfort to look to his two companions. They both looked tired, haggard even. And he felt a prang of guilt from all the trouble he put them through.

Yet, that guilt was surpassed by gratitude.

“Hawkeye, Kevin; thank you. For everything.”

Faerie and the Elementals, too. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if they weren’t all there for him.

Kevin gave him a beaming smile. “Of course! We’re…friends, right?”

Duran’s gaze drifted over to Hawkeye for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to Kevin. And gave him a smile and a nod of his head.

Yeah, they were friends.

“Hey, Faerie? Could you and the Elementals keep Kevin company for a bit?” Hawkeye suddenly requested, his voice surprisingly serious. “I want to talk to Duran. Alone.”

“Oh?” Faerie turned her attention toward him, her hands planted on her hips. Silence fell as the two simply looked at each other before she finally nodded her head in acceptance. “Alright.”

Duran wasn’t sure what Hawkeye wanted to talk to him about, but Faerie seemed to understand.

“Kevin, let’s see if any of those item seeds we discovered have anything useful for Duran,” Faerie requested sweetly.

Kevin nodded. “Ok.”

As Kevin readily ran off, the Elemental moved one by one to follow, allowing him some privacy.

Undine was the last to leave, and not before giving him a small piece of advice. “We’ll depart for now, but remember; be honest with yourself. Only you know what it is that you truly want and desire.”

Duran got the distinct feeling that Faerie and the Elementals knew exactly what it was that Hawkeye wanted to speak to him about. And honestly, that made him a little nervous. Undine had been with Hawkeye during the…trials for the keys. He couldn’t help but wonder what she had chatted at him about.

Looked like he was about to find out.

“Something wrong?” Duran asked when he was certain that it was just him and Hawkeye in the room.

Hawkeye didn’t immediately reply, which was rather uncharacteristic of him. Instead, he was silent for a moment, to likely mull over what it was he wanted to say. “You had us worried, you know,” he finally said.

Duran couldn’t prevent a wince. “Sorry.”

If he had known that they would all have to endure such hardships, he wouldn’t have insisted on going. But hindsight was a wonderful thing, right?

Hawkeye shook his head as he turned and sat down on the foot of Duran’s bed. “Faerie told me what happened. Tough guy, huh? Enduring all that pain on your own. Not knowing what was happening.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Duran admitted. “But I knew you were fighting for me. The least I could do was hold on and wait.”

Hawkeye exhaled a puff of air that sounded similar to an amused laugh. “We’ll, I’m glad I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“I’m not used to relying on others,” Duran found himself also confessing. “But with you, I find it easy.”

“Oh?” Hawkeye leaned back on his hands and looked directly at him. “Any particular reason why? Is it my charms? Or roguish good looks?”

Duran rolled his eyes with a smile on his lips. He was clearly looking for a compliment. However, it was a question he wasn’t sure he could answer. Or brush off.

“Truth be told, I don’t know,” Duran began as his gaze drifted down to stare idly at the floral pattern of his bedcover. “There’s just…something that I like about you that makes me trust you unconditionally.”

“Hm? Like?” Hawkeye repeated. “What kind of like are we talking here?”

Duran didn’t answer. He roughly scratched at his hair and turned his face away from Hawkeye in a desperate attempt to hide his blushing.

Hawkeye sighed loudly as he heaved himself to his feet. “Ah, I see I have to be straightforward and blunt. My seductive charms simply do not work on you.”

Duran blinked and turned to look up at him. “What?”

He fell silent when Hawkeye placed a knee upon the bed next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He then leaned forward, the hand on Duran’s shoulder unexpectedly slipping to gently touch the back of his neck.

Though Hawkeye moved slowly at first, allowing Duran ample time to pull away or somehow disengage from him. Instead, he found himself frozen still and watching with unblinking eyes as Hawkeye’s face moved closer to his.

And pressed his lips against his.

Duran’s breath hitched in his throat, his lips parting just a little in surprise. However, he made no attempt to move. And neither did Hawkeye. With his eyes comfortable closed, he kept his lips against his.

And Duran felt them. Felt the warmth of Hawkeye’s lips. They made his lips tingle and his heart flutter in his chest.

It was no denying it. It wasn’t an accident or mistake. It wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him.

Hawkeye was kissing him!

Duran had no idea how much time had passed as he stared wide-eye at Hawkeye. But, unexpectedly, he felt the distinct feeling of disappointment when Hawkeye slowly leaned back. Removing his lips from his.

“Hm?” Hawkeye was unfairly confident and casual. “Get it now?”

“B-but aren’t you-?” In love with Jessica? Interested in Reisz? Always flirting with other women? Pick one!

So why did he…?

“You really are adorable.” Hawkeye had the audacity to smile and wink playfully at him.

Duran bristled as a blush flared across his cheeks. “Don’t tease me!”

Hawkeye chuckled, quite obviously amused. Though, he didn’t pull away from him completely. Nor did he remove his hand from the back of Duran’s neck. And Duran himself made no attempt to put distance between.

There was no point.

“Can’t help it,” Hawkeye said as he purposely leaned toward him again. “Want me to kiss you again?”

“…Yeah.”

“There we go~”

When Hawkeye leaned in again, Duran allowed his eyes to close, this time intent on enjoying the feeling of Hawkeye’s lips against his. He even allowed for Hawkeye to push him down onto his back, getting comfortable upon the bed.

With a small, almost inaudible sigh, Duran sunk bonelessly into the mattress as Hawkeye crawled over him, his lips not leaving his for any longer than a few seconds. Hawkeye rested heavily on his arms on either side of Duran’s head while he simply wrapped his arms around Hawkeye’s neck in return. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to do, so was content to allow Hawkeye to take the lead and carefully guide him through the tender and meaningful kiss.

He was going to get some loud chittering from the elementals. Teasing him. Congratulating him. Maybe even some more advice. But he would deal with that later.

He just hoped that Faerie could keep Kevin busy for just a little bit longer…

[ikonislife]

Shame 2

Junhoe x Reader

Angst, Smut, CEO!Junhoe

Warning: Mature content.

Somewhere in between his haughty smirk and sultry whispers, you let yourself lost in a path of no return with the man who doesn’t love anyone... Or does he?

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Final

“I think the whole party heard you by now, love. Didn’t peg you as a screamer.”

His voice echoed across the dark empty room, uneasiness rising within the pit of your stomach but at the sound of the low growl of neediness commanding an answer, you had no mind to care for the curious way the walls seemed to be amplifying every sound.

“Sorry..I can’t help it… Shit…”

But to your disappointment, Junhoe pulled away leaving you feeling empty and cold from the lack of his tongue. You pushed yourself off the table, wondering what he had gotten up to but was met with perhaps the most mesmerizing sight, Junhoe leaning back in his chair, chest heaving heavily and you realized just how immersed he was, how far he let himself get lost in pleasing you. His lips coated in your nectar, nose too was glistening with wetness that made you want to lick it all off of him… And so you did. He sat still, feeling the desperation in your little fingertips gripping at his crisp white shirt, tugging away his loosen tie and simply smirked when he felt your tongue cleaning up every bit of yourself left over on his features. His eyes cold and piercing, staring you down with almost disdain and haughtiness but he did nothing when you settled on his lap, arms locking at the nape of his neck. Your lips needy, moulding and sucking at his lips then trailing up his nose, you lap at his intensely sharp jaws before sucking a wet spot at the base of his neck. It was only now that his hands returned to your body, gripping your waist so harshly you could feel the blooming of bruises already on your once flawless skin. He nipped at your earlobe, dragging his tongue down to your bare collar bone before scrapping his teeth against it, bitting then sucking no doubt leaving his own marking, claiming you as his. Junhoe leans in closer, that dangerous smirk teasing on his lips as he whispered something you’d never in a million year could conjure up even with that gutter mind of yours.

“Did you think you were fucking special?” Suddenly you felt bare, vulnerable and exposed even though Junhoe was no longer intimately making himself acquaintance with your body.

“What?” Hands grasping at your loosely hung straps, desperately to cover yourself with what little fabric he had left you with.

“Did you think you were special?” He growled once more, the sharpness of his eyes, that distasteful curl of the lips whenever he was disappointed, disapproving were all back as those beautiful features slashes at your every inch of skin. “A doll good for passing time suddenly thinks she’s a princess? Give me a break.”

“N-No…”

“No?” He scoffs and never before had you felt so inferior, so degraded and there is no describing the pain coursing through your veins. “Did you think I was going to take you out to a nice fancy dinner? And what, live happily ever after? You must be daff, insane if you think I would just hand over my status and money to some stupid girl that couldn’t keep it in her pants. If all it took me was a few charming smiles and a well-placed white lies for compliment, I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

Your heart sunk to the deepest depth they had ever been to, not even getting a glass of 1900’s exorbitant wine dumped on your head by that rich douchebag at your part time all those years ago couldn’t compare… Because this, this is a personal insult. At the least you know that pompous ass was only putting up a very pretentious front for the woman that was much too beautiful and graceful for the ugly person that he was. It was pointless drama over the wrong wine. 

Without commanding them to, not the tear you’ve been holding back not from pain but from the pleasure derived from the torture but bitter tears. Bitter because you knew you shouldn’t but did, bitter because you thought he cared.

“I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

The next moment your feet were already hitting the ground sprinting, you ran and ran but no matter how far, that hauntingly chilling sentence wouldn’t let you escape its cold fingers. No matter how much you tried, the contempt spewing from his lips, the dirty looks, you couldn’t escaped them. 

“I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

You screamed but all that came out was silent, a silent cry for help that only seemed to amplify the scorns and jeers. The hours long you had spent plastering your face with pounds of makeup wasted as the tears streamed down your cheeks. You thought the worst was over, the hurt had been done but what you hadn’t expected was where your feet had carried your dishevel self.

“Are you alright, Y/n?” A kind face, Mark from HR so gentle with that mesmerizing smile. “You look a bit cold, here take this!” 

A warm jacket wrapped around your shivering shoulders as he lead you across the crowded lobby, people smiled and greeted the both of you but non seemed to be shook at your Cinderella-eques self, not the princess at the ball but the one that had lead to her meeting with the fairy godmother. Something in the way his hand so tightly woven around your aching shoulder, the way he’d occasionally gave it a soft squeeze as if reassuring everything will be alright got you in a trance. So you let your eyes fluttered close, letting yourself get lost in the vast ocean that was his addicting mix of whiskey and expensive cologne. 

Mark is your fairy godmother.

“Look everyone, Y/n just came down from a “one on one” with the boss,” A loud cheer erupted along with whistles and catcalls. “We all know what that mean, don’t we?”

You couldn’t believe your ears, that soft voice that had been so caring suddenly raged with all the contempt, all the derisiveness the world could bestowed upon one person. You wanted to disappear, to blink and be back in your warm bed but when they opened, all you could see was sly smiles and gasps of judgment.

“Mark, what are you doing. No, I-“

“Don’t worry, Y/n. We all know what a good little pet you’ve been for the boss.”

No matter how much you pried, what force you gave, Mark’s hands around your waist holding you back for the world to taunt would only grew stronger. You begged but it went unheard as if a lonely leaf floating in the wind, useless and fragile, as if your words carried no meaning. Then at the height of it all joined the arrogant Mr. Koo with all of his scorn and condescending jeer.

“I can’t imagine what else you’d do had I actually tried.”

All you could do was screamed, screamed until your voice hoarse and throat sore. You screamed but their laughters always louder and before you knew it, your consciousness slipped through the crack of time and-

“Y/N. GODDAMN IT, Y/N. WAKE UP!”

Cold sweat breaking, you felt as if the weight of the word had just been lifted off your shoulders, as if you had just stepped away from the edge of a cliff.

“What? Irene? What are you doing here?” throat dries, funny enough you actually felt like you had just been fucked by the world as you stammered your confusion away.

“Well you screamed your ass off, so I came over. God, you’re drenched. Come on, let’s get these clothes off before you get sick.”

No mind nor strength to fight against Irene’s caring hands even if you felt sick to your stomach and wanting nothing more but to melt away into the night, your body limp as she tugs away the wet pieces of clothing and replaces them with fresh one. Only now did you notice the pants heavy in your chest and the shiver still coursing through your pale cold hands. Your mind hazy and has it not for Irene’s constant sweet chatter lulling you toward reality, you couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to distinguish whether this was a dream or the real world.

“I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about it so, drink this and get some sleep. We’ll deal with this tomorrow morning.” As understanding as ever, a mug of warm tea shoved into your hands and with a blink of an eye, Irene disappeared back out the door with one last understanding smile even though she probably has no clue what was going on in your brain. Although judging by the concern clouding those brilliant eyes and the questionable bit of the lip, Irene knows exactly the cause of your horrendous screams.

Somewhere across the city, across all the tax brackets and fortified private community walls, Junhoe finds himself tossing and turning with the guilt of words like knives eating away at his heart. Warm bed and heavenly soft blanket abandoned, he treks in search of the poison that will surely bring him sleep even if the price for a few decent snooze would be the hammering headache by tomorrow morn. As the cool breeze of a peaceful night brushing against his skin, he took a sip and marvels at the disgustingly polluted sky above with a sigh of disapproval. Not even a dot of stars, not even the moon could fight against the cloudiness as it shies away from the world below.

Suddenly but perhaps not unexpected, Junhoe’s mind flooding with euphoria as the lackluster sky above only reminded him of the insatiable craving growing deep within his heart to see once more the way your eyes shined so brilliantly as if they possessed the universe within them whenever a sweet smile was gracing his day, making it just a bit brighter. The way his name danced so beautifully even if the only two times he had ever had the pleasure of hearing you called him were either with the utmost respect during work hour and the sinful cries of overtime. Just the simple act of you uttering his name alone leaving his imagination running wild.

He wonders what it would sound like had you met at the age when first love was blooming and the only thing dictating his life was teenage hormone. Although if he must be realistic, you’d still be moaning his name by the end of the night so at least that part remained the same. 

Would it be any sweeter, had you been the first girl he had learned to love. Perhaps the rowdy days of high school is a rather bad example for the way his heart now seems to be singing your name but that feeling within his gut, the churning and fluttering, that is definitely reminiscent of the good old teenage days.

Would it be much more endearing had you met when he realized the love he once experienced as a young lad had done nothing to prepare him for the pain brought upon his young naïve self, mistaking that love can conquer all. Junhoe is certain he’d have been head over heels for your adorable self just as he is now and no doubt in his mind you’d have teach him a lesson or two on love. 

Nowadays, love for him resembles the sun… Not that he thinks of it as sunshine, daisy, and sweet honey but rather the sun to Icarus, the boy who flown too high. He loved and he flew, he was so high and he got hurt. It’s something grand, something magnificent but it’s also something impossible, something unobtainable. Happily ever after is only a fairytale and this cold, harsh life of a young CEO is anything but that as he closed himself off from all possibility of entrusting his heart away.

Your smile carried him to the moon and back but soon the cloud of solemn spread over the precious memories of happier days as those harsh words thrash about his consciousness. It was out of character, so bizarre the way he had behaved especially toward someone so special, the second those grand doors had shut out the fading clicking of your heels, Junhoe had collapsed, a shiver ran deep within his veins at the realization of what he had just done… He had turned into his father, worse, his grandfather. 

In no way was his father anything but the most perfect husband and dad in the world but the man he was at work, that person was in every way shape and form someone Junhoe aspires not to be. It was as if his father had possessed dual personality disorder, a kind loving man turned into a monster the moment the perfectly polished shoes and impeccable suit meticulously cloaked over every last bit of humanity he had. Junhoe despised the way he treated everyone as if they were simply dirt beneath his shoesm the scowl that was permanent upon his lips, how everything and anything could become personal.

Now his grandfather, the legacy, or rather stain as Junhoe and his father liked to remind everyone, the stain he had left behind was something of the unsavory sort, something his father had worked to the bones to rid and Junhoe still doing his best to not falling into the beaten path. He was for lack of better terms, a sleaze and as faithful as the second hand on a clock. Junhoe had been appalled, revolted by the words spreading on the grapevine of his womanizing way even before he had step foot into the company. He didn’t understand the flirty looks and sweet words being thrown his direction regardless of the gender, the disrespects he had thought. It wasn’t until his father had officially handing over the reign that the dirty past got dredged up. Suddenly his father action didn’t seem so harsh, suddenly the preconceived reputation of himself didn’t seemed so farfetched any longer.

It had been a near three years since his dad had left the throne for sunshine and Mai Tais by the beach with the love of his life, near three years since Junhoe ascended into this vicious world. He had been good, he swears on his life that he was much more than his predecessors, and everyone would agree. Yet the moment Junhoe saw the fear flashing in your doe eyes, so scared, so terrified of the monster that had shadowed everything he worked so hard to achieved, he knew he had lost it all to a few moments of irrationality. The way your shoulders shivers and body so small against the cold metal of the elevator instead of his arms… Your tears… Maybe Junhoe isn’t any better, maybe him trying so hard to prove otherwise to a world already fearing a person he isn’t did just the opposite… And this curse, the Koo family curse upon the men is something inevitable, something out of his grasp. All he could hope to do now is to mend the bridge he had so cruelly broken yet for reasons not at all unknown to Junhoe, reality as he suspects much grimmer than the last flicker of pipe dream that you’d still look at him with those stars filled eyes. The bridge, after all might be nothing now but ashes and lingering pain that he will never be able to erase because what woman would willingly give her heart to a man that could offer nothing beyond his dick and unkind words.  

Here’s a collection of Mr. Koo in suits to distract you from the fact that this part was waaaaay shorter than the first (:

[ouraniafrangea]

Re- (2020)

On the topic of clothes and their creation, memory becomes a motive force, in which someone can rely on to recreate and renew the past.

In a way, memory is the glue that holds both my dissertation paper on the female pioneers of the Rebetiko music genre and my main project on childhood dysphoria. Both themes, Rebetiko & childhood, are irrevocable and long gone. So, our memory of them, collective or personal, is what brings them to life.

When looking back at one’s childhood, by photographs or memory, clothes become one of the first things that come to mind. Clothes we loved, clothes that shaped our adult style and references but mainly, clothes we were forced to wear. Clothes for special occasions, school festivities, parades, and formal visits. Clothes, usually picked by someone else, to cover needs that are far from our own, but successfully fill the needs of representing sex, age, class and national pride. A memory, positive or negative, leaves a special mark, which alters with time. When a memory is personal, its mark is even more vivid and deep. Even more so, when it comes to childhood. How can we transform a memory? Can it be renegotiated and finally, changed? In terms of my own personal experience, childrenswear could get a bit oppressive at times, other times, not at all. For example, formal dressing or the mandatory ceremonial dresswear (e.g. Greek parade), were very suffocating and dysphoric. So, in my main project I focus on this subject, highlighting two matters of childhood: memory and the dysphoria when it comes to clothes.

As a tool to understand the subject further and not focus solely on my own experience I created an online questionnaire. In this, 58 anonymous respondents answered some questions concerning childhood and clothing. Their answers were very illuminating and helpful for the implementation of my concept, especially in technical issues, such as length, colour, texture. That way, my collection was made, reflecting on a dysphoria that is larger than my own and aims for a collective aesthetic and memory.

Moving on, based on personal pictures of that era and the actual garments I worn at that time, I tried to make use of this memory and create a collection that, even though it brings that primary feeling of dysphoria, it does so in a new manner, finally creating a new memory, maybe positive, at least a bit more pleasing. A restoration of memory.

The title of the collection, “Re-“, comes from the first half of the compound words: Remember, Restore, Remake, Reshape.

My inspirations come from childhood memories and garments, but also in the ways in which a garment can cause dysphoria, with fluctuation in shapes, longer lengths, layering.

This collection is not a copy of the actual clothes I considered oppressive, but by using some oppressive elements I create a collage, with my experiences as a starting point, creating at last a result that maybe, at first glance, has nothing to do with that era.

The reference point of my silhouette and shape research were some rococo style furniture, closets of the 18th century Europe, where their many hidden drawers remind me of the memories hidden inside, even though they stay permanently shut. These shapes can either be big and still, or small and fluctuating. They were created in such way that could either be removed or are in the endings of each garment as a finishing touch. All those shapes are made with prints, declaring the weight of the dysphoric memory one can carry with them.

Furthermore, the use of slashing (e.g. the renaissance costume technique of cutting the outside fabric in straight cuts, to showcase the inside), creates a multi-coloured tension and gives an alternative approach to layering, useful for showcasing dysphoria. These cuts were not made in traditional straight lines, but in semi-circles, which were deliberately put on key places, deriving from the questionnaire. These parts of the body, the breasts, the knees, the hips, the thighs and the back are suddenly highlighted in positive way. They give colour and show off those previously dysphoric areas.

The prints used were picked with different criteria in mind. First, their optical interest (e.g. vivid prints), my personal memory wearing them (clothes worn in special occasions), and their general significance in Greek childhood, (e.g. Greek parade). Lastly, some unisex prints were used (e.g. stripes), showcasing how this matter can be traced in all sexes. Vivid, traditionally “happy” colours dominate, typically associated with childhood, deriving also from the questionnaire. From this exploration the main colour of the collection emerges, black, which gives the much-needed antithesis. Inside this dark uniformity, the child-like prints pop. They were drawn exactly as they were, but were made in a “softer” way, appropriate for the theme.

Even though the concept at first had dysphoria as a basis, the materials and textures used, gradually gave a solution to the “problem”, creating this way contrasting ensembles. The fabrics used, felt, organza and georgette.

Felt was used on the outside, were combining it with black, an asphyxiating feeling is created and the prints in satin-like georgette on the inside or in smaller details appear in this stiff exterior, creating and interesting antithesis. The organza, see-through and thinly, is only used as support system when necessary. In terms of other materials, invisible zippers are mostly used, giving the impression of a clothing that you cannot escape from. Same goes for length, where most of the outfits are long, apart from some very few. The antithesis keeps appearing in the shapes, where in spite the bulks created with the use of moulage, the rest of the surfaces are tight and asphyxiating.

This collection creates a brand new universe, were its people “wear” in one outfit both their “dysphoria” and their “euphoria” at the same time. Memories tangle and create a mix where inside this asphyxiation of appearance and self, they become somewhat pleasant and, in the end, unite us.  

[domitiadrusilla]

Curtain Call

To lose yourself, it is a conscious decision, a point that crosses over your periphery where you decide to push past the fray and careen further. I heard that ballerinas train a lot like runners, but at some point I’d became one and the same. I never wore a white tutu, mine had been lilac when I performed, dancing with sprinkled lining cheek bones and puffs. I didn’t have to push myself, since I had already been for years. The other girls would wince as they pressed their limbs to bend to their limits, yet mine like liquid flowed with ease. Even as youth, we were pressured to perform above and beyond. Because in Two, there is no fray, no middle ground, or in between. A girl in lilac can’t exist in a town of concrete and hollow skyscrapers. She must leap into the darkness and embrace her sprouting midnight wings, since her final performance approaches. You can’t wait to be called, you must always grasp it in your hands, your final dance.

It took until the gauntlet when I learned the true meaning of flight. You don’t relive the high of reaching ungodly heights, all you remember is the spilt iron on the floor and the feeling of the earth collapsing beneath your feet as you fall. I fell into a routine after the iron of Thrax, after making a promise with the headmaster. One year to improve, if not I’m on the streets. She called it probation; the others called it freeloading, but I called it surviving. So I didn’t give a fuck at their snide comments, I kept my head held high as Dad told me, throwing that anger into training. Since he told me this is a dance that doesn’t cease until I’m dead, but oh how the audience would live to see me spin out. That's what they live for, what the audience craves as my whip cracks. Although I only danced once, every bull crack against flesh is a tango in itself, with my hips swaying to the rhythm I set. If this is my dance, then I’ll play to my melody and mine alone.

Valentine knew this, but he always wanted to a duet, despite dancing with his own glaive next to me. Once the gauntlet began as Cain hid in his caves, I finally humored him. We would exchange sly glances as he would show up at hours far behind the sun, staying in silence as sweat and brute strength echoed in the room. I think I gave him an idea for his last scene at the beginning, as I plucked his glaive from the rack and swirled it like a baton. Batons and bullwhips go together if you haven’t heard, although the audience didn’t expect them to. Setting the opening after tossing him his glaive, a coachmen’s crack had been our starting gun.

There's a certain thrill to a performance, the audience's eyes on you, the grazing of metal to flesh, the scent of iron and sweat in the air. It’s almost a primal dance, with his glaive slicing the back of my head, dripping maroon down my neck. My side arm crack and the audience's applause too distracted me before I could have fully twirled away. Naturally, I paid him back tenfold with a forward lash to his cheek. Valentine stumbled at the unexpected force, spatting blood at my feet, hand clutching his face as it pulsated blood all over his neck. There was a hushed air that had overtaken with cheers dying down as an intense focus emerged. The fight had finally begun. “Come on Valentine, don’t get soft on me.” He didn’t answer, besides offering a broad smiled compliment. “It’s nice to finally share the stage, isn’t it?” His emerald eyes offered warmth even through pain, and with a quick lunge and the swivel of my hips, his blade sliced into my right hip. We typically wore armor, but not for a fight like ours. In the arena, there wasn’t armor to protect ourselves. So when fighting for our rightful spots, we didn’t wear any. There's a mutual respect to not take things too far, but there for two kids who came from where we did, I couldn’t afford to lose.

With the lurch of my forearm upright, the leather looped satisfyingly, flickering blood at the overhead crack that bounced off the walls. His eyes trailed after it, an uneasiness knitting across his brown brows. He couldn’t have moved quick enough, for my forearm had already jutted forward, delivering a deep gash to his other face. Blood splattered across the ground as I pulled my whip back, hand grasping the leather to squeeze the remnants off, dripping in between my feet and onto my boots. Two gaping flesh wounds mirrored each side to his prior beautiful face. I always mocked he was too pretty for a career, and even afterward once they healed he didn’t look too bad afterward. “Well, Topher, perhaps I can teach you a thing or two. It looks like you could use it.” I called over, cockiness flowing through my stride with a coy grin on my lips. Part of me enjoyed seeing his smile whipped away, his eyes hardening into a scowl. But he always begged for this fate, and I merely just aim to please.

By then my taunting words and pale look that glazed his freckled face had thrown him off his game, even if a grin had returned to his lips, wiping blood off them with his thumb at a question with no answer. “Twice, huh?” Yet his cockiness had caused him to fumble his blade, swiveling the long weapon into the air before slashing downward, delivering a strike that I easily sidestepped. The discomfort of sweat and blood melding my curls to one another, combined with his perseverance, rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps he had been purposefully missing or grazing me, to just surprise me. Wanting to end this already, getting a tad cocky, my leather found his right calf, wrapping around it which he used to his advantage. Despite the whip cutting through his pants, digging into his calf, he pulled it backward, sticking his glaive forward, jutting it into my stomach.

There was a collective gasp awaiting my next move. Brief concern mirroring his stained face, clenching his jaw as my hands grasped the metal rod. Holding an unwavering gaze, iron rolled tainted my lips, licking the metal away as my hands grasped the metal, pulling it further into me. A sound of disgusted groans wavered in the air, but it was merely music to my ears. I couldn’t let him know he hurt me. Despite a searing bright flash of pain echoing throughout my core. Shoving the metal rod backward, releasing Valentine from my grasp as the words escaped my lips. “Well played.” Whip limp on the ground, by the time I flicked my curls backward after retrieving the cast away leather, I heard the shuffling of feet, finding him suddenly half way across the platform. Desperation now evident in his features, he tilted his glaive downward before swirling it, positing himself in a warrior's stance. It was an odd sight, I slowly walking towards him as smirked coyly, taunting him. “What are you going to do, kill me? Run all you want, but my whip won’t hide.”

But then he did it. He broke my patience.

Like a roman god, his body launched the glaive into the air towards me as if it were a javelin. I dove into the concrete beneath us, right forearm and leg scrapping as the blade narrowly landed by my face, careening into the crowd. The room suddenly became too loud, as I let out a cry at the feeling of blood squelching out of my abdomen, and at the screams from the crowd. Forcing myself up, the boy had been muttering to himself, closing his eyes with a smile as I stomped over to him. “Are you fucking kidding me, Topher? The hell is wrong with you?!” There had been kids in the audience, ones who were barely reapable. Anger pulsated through my veins, voice booming with a force that silenced the air. Flexing my wrist once more, I quickly closed the distance, eyes narrowing as he knelt down in defeat, pointing to his barely recognizable face with a final request. “Finish me, you’ve earned it.” Although he disgusted me in that moment, I did as he pleaded, slashing down against his chest with a splintering crack. The boy collapsed under the weight of himself, I to my knees as I discarded the whip. Applause broke out, my vision waning, scooping the boy up in my arms, my hair veiled us from them as my hands smoothed his matted hair away from his eyes. Vocal range depleted and softened, my gaze slipped out from its malice, words echoing as he slipped into unconsciousness. “Don’t be such a fool.”

By the time I awoke, they had placed us in the infirmary. My body ached in ways it hadn’t before, heavily influenced under drugs to the tune of a bandaged stitched stomach. Although a numbed euphoria coursed through me, my stomach turned at the feeling, thinking of the man that bloomed in the metal bathtub. Pushing myself off the table as the room had cleared out for the next emergency, I pulled the IVs out from my arm to a wince, stumbling for him. They had enveloped his face in cotton tinged in pink. He looked at peace, like a content street dog. The sky cried behind us when he awoke, leaning over to me as he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.” That afternoon was the first time I left the academy since Thrax. The first time I ran through alleyways with glee and climbed atop skeleton skyscrapers and sat perched amongst an emptied rooftop. I tried looking for my home as Valentine sat in a discarded lawn chair that somehow made its home up here, but it had blurred into the city beneath me, worn away and faded with age. I promised to myself one day I’ll return to that spot, to find the faded purple tutu and coiled bun, toothy grin held by a man before his back gave out, before he bloomed in that metal tub that I had to wash away. Valentine asked what I had been looking for by the time I joined him, but all I could answer was “something long gone.” The sky died and faded away into pinched lights in a sea of blackness, I clutching to a buoy of a faded lawn chair.

That was the last day I saw Valentine. On the day I lost myself in an ocean of blood and stars, only left with memories of scars and abandoned Polaroids to never be found.

[lifeisupanddown]

Freddie

I think I must have a set a record. I was only in the hospital for 7 hours at the most. I swallowed the pills around 11 PM. The expected fear and regret hit full force about ten minutes later. I called the police, unlocked the door, and laid down. They came quickly as I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I don’t remember being taken to the hospital, but I sure as fuck remember them pumping my stomach. They kept me for an extra five hours for observation, two more for psych evals, and then I was out of there. Free as a bird.

I was back to work at 9 AM.

I never really asked why I kept trying to kill myself. This was attempt number 10. I suppose I could describe it this way: I am a pot. A big black pasta pot that’s been used for too long. Probably should have thrown the whole thing out years ago. But the pot keeps getting filled up with water. The water consists of stresses, anxieties, responsibilities, and failures. And eventually, my pot-self overflows with water. So I try to throw myself away.

But every single time I chickened out. It would only take a matter of minutes for me to panic and call the police. The first time I did it I cut my wrists. But as a suicide newbie, I cut them the wrong way. The way they show in the movies, left to right. Luckily, this way is far less likely to kill you. I had no sooner slashed my second wrist that I grabbed the phone to get help. I forgot to unlock the door, of course, so they busted in and I had to shell out a ton of money to replace the door.

Never made that mistake again. Also never cut again.

Cutting was so messy. I didn’t like blood or pain. I figured the best thing to do would be pills. Pills were easy, painless, and effective. I first downed a bottle of asprin. Like previously, I called the police before anything bad could happen. I tried cough syrup, caffeine pills, sleeping pills, and even laxatives. None gave me the peace of mind to actually go through with the act.

So for my most recent attempt, I got some Xanax from a guy in the park near my house. I paid a ridiculous amount of money (but who cared because I’d be dead, right?). I swallowed them, hoping to a god I didn’t believe in that I would finally be able to just fucking die already. But just like every time before, I freaked out and dialed 911.

The ER staff knew me by name. Once I came out of the euphoria and pain of the stomach pump, I’d no doubt see a nurse standing over me. “Again, Freddie?” It was embarrassing but just part of the overall experience.

But this most recent time I felt great afterwards. I was done with it. It’s like my eyes had finally been opened. I decided this was going to be the last time I ended up with a tube down my throat. No more pills, no more terrified police calls…I was going cold turkey. I felt oddly joyful during work. Maybe I would get a therapist! And if I got my life together, I could go to college! Get a girlfriend! Make something of myself!

I drove home with a smile on my face. This was going to be my turning point. This would be the day I’d look back on warmly with my wife and kids. “My dear family, here was the day I became who I was always meant to be.” I floated into my apartment. The cloud of happiness must have been the reason I didn’t think it was weird that my door was unlocked, or that all the lights were on.

I took a long hot shower, changed into some comfortable clothes, and went to the kitchen to fill my blissful tummy.

He was waiting for me there.

I was so surprised to see another person in my house that I almost fell over. “Who the hell are you?”

He smiled. “Take a seat, Freddie.”

I scoured my brain, trying to figure out how I knew him. He looked so familiar. He was an average looking guy, maybe in his early fifties. Thin, with long limbs. He wore a plain white turtle neck and slacks. It was typical dad-wear. Nothing about him was threatening. Or, rather, nothing should have been threatening. But here he was, in my house, way too close to my knives. His easy demeanor caught me off guard.

“You need to leave,” I told him. I tried look intimidating but in my Star Wars boxers it was hard to do.

He clicked his tongue. The sound was oddly grating. I realized he was scolding me. “Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” he said in a disappointed lilt, “I’m here to help you.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. If you just leave now I won’t even call the cops.” This was easily the weirdest situation I had ever found myself in.

The man sighed. “Please, sit down. I’ll explain everything.”

I got tired of this strange conversation and felt in my pocket for my phone. But it dawned on me that I had left my phone on the coffee table. Glancing there now it was gone. I looked back to him in a stunned silence. He held the phone up mockingly.

“Give me the phone,” I said sternly.

“Sit down,” he replied, matching my tone.

“I’m done with this.” I turned to leave the room and go out the front door when the man pounded something against the counter. Shakily I realized that in his other hand he held a gun. He gave a short laugh. I backed up. “Hey, whoa. What do you want?”

In a measureable tone he responded, “I want you to sit. How many times must I tell you?”

I did as he said. I sat on the couch, facing the kitchen where he stood. My front door was so close, but I’d have to unlock it and run out before he could fire a shot, and I definitely wasn’t that fast. I sank into the cushions. The weight of the situation hit me like a truck.

“Are you comfortable?” the man asked.

I shifted. “Who are you?”

“My my, Freddie. Where are your manners?” He clicked his tongue again. It made my stomach turn. “My name is Michael. Like I said, I am here to help you.”

“Help me with what?” Sweat was breaking out down my back. I had never been this close to a gun, let alone an intruder in my house.

‘With your life, of course.” Michael leaned against the counter, twirling his gun. He placed my phone down. “You have been asking for help. So clearly asking. Like so many others. I am here to do what you obviously cannot.” Without warning he slammed the gun down on my phone, landing with a resounding crack.

I almost jumped to my feet but he had already turned the gun back to me. “I can do it quick, if that’s what you want. It’s what most people prefer.”

“Do what?!” I could feel the tears as they bubbled and spilled down my face. The remnants of my broken phone were strewn across the floor.

“Kill you, of course.” Michael gave me a crooked look. “That’s what you’ve been trying to do for years.”

“I don’t want to die, you fucking psycho.” Something like rage stirred inside me, but it could have been fear.

“Oh no?” Michael laughed. “It hasn’t even been 24 hours since your last suicide attempt.”

My breathing was heavy. “How do you know that?”

Michael just kept clicking his damn tongue. “You don’t recognize me? That’s okay. Most of them don’t. But I’ve seen you. Ten times you’ve been in that ER. All dizzy and stupid looking. Not a pretty look, Freddie. I’ve cleaned up your vomit enough times for both of us.”

That’s when it hit me – he was a janitor at the ER. He was the one who kept putting fresh flowers in my room. I had always resented the flowers. They were so beautiful and alive. Maybe that’s why he did it. To make me angry.

But I didn’t feel anger when I sat on that couch. I felt terrified. I had never had a gun pointed at me before. I had contemplated using a gun during my multiple suicide attempts, but my cowardice got in the way. The gun was so final. So messy.

Michael slid out of the kitchen. “I have helped sixteen people so far, Freddie. Isn’t that wonderful? I want to be a saint someday – that’s why my name is Michael. He is known as the angel of mercy. I am merciful too. I am too kind, maybe.” He chuckled to himself. “You don’t have to thank me. Saints don’t ask for words of thanks. They are rewarded in heaven.”

“Please,” I said softly, “I know you think I want to die. But I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then why did you try to kill yourself so many times?”

“Because I’m an idiot. I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes. But now I want to live!”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Michael twirled the gun in his hand as he crept closer to me. “You had ten opportunities to live. You don’t get an eleventh.”

Gripping the couch, I decided to change my tactic. “Well, what gives you the right to kill me? Even if I did want to kill MYSELF, I never wanted to be murdered.”

“They never do,” he reminisced. “The third one called me sick. Said I should go seek some mental help. Can you believe that? Me?! While he was the one who couldn’t stop cutting his own wrists.” His incessant tongue clicking was buzzing against my nerves. “And number twelve told me I should spare her because of her children. But they were so much happier when she died. No more drunk mama puking her life away.”

“I’m not asking you to spare my life,” I said slowly. A plan for forming. “I’m just asking you to let me do it.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh Freddie, do explain.”

I started to stand, gauging his response to me. “Like you said, I have failed to kill myself ten times. But what if I could do it this time? What if…what if your guidance helped me find the courage to do it myself?”

He considered it. “And how do I know that you won’t turn the gun on me?”

“It doesn’t have to be a gun. It can be anything you want. I don’t care.” It took everything I had to keep myself together. This could backfire on me and I knew it.

Michael cocked his head. “You think you are clever, Freddie.”

“I think I am desperate.”

He chuckled. “Honesty becomes you.” He stepped back into the kitchen. “If you want to do the job yourself, I cannot deny you. But you might prefer my method.” He knelt for only a second and brought out a bottle of bleach. “Since you’re so fond of swallowing your life, I think this is only fitting.”

He placed the bottle on the counter. His tongue kept clicking. I walked over to the counter. I could smell the medical taste of Michael’s breath. He grinned at me. “Go on,” he urged. “Bottoms up.”

I reached out and took the bottle. With shaky hands I took the cap off. The smell overpowered anything else. Michael clicked away. I lifted the bleach slowly, hearing the liquid slosh from side to side in my trembling hand. I would only get one chance. One shot at survival. This was it. If I could fling the bleach into his face maybe I could escape. I would get the cops. This ordeal would be over. I could start actually living my life. I could –

“Freddie,” Michael said in between tongue clicks. “Come on, Freddie.”

My head started to hurt. The sloshing sound got louder. The smell penetrated my nostrils. My vision started getting hazy. All the while Michael was clicking his damn fucking shit ass tongue.

“Freddie?”

I opened my eyes and I wasn’t in my house. The lights were blinding. Everything hurt.

“Freddie, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

I tried to wipe my eyes but I couldn’t move. I realized slowly that I was on a bed. But I could hear Michael’s tongue clicking. Click. Click. Beep. Beep.

“Freddie, this is Dr. Hutchinson. Are you awake?”

My vision centered on a woman seated beside me. She was a doctor I had seen before. She worked in the ER. I opened my mouth to try and speak but nothing came out. Sympathetically, she said, “Don’t try to talk. Your throat is…well, when bleach enters the body…”

I tried to move my head but it was useless. I hadn’t drunk the bleach. I swear. I went home and…Michael’s clicking continued. I looked for him but I only saw the machine I was hooked up to. Sickeningly I realized the clicking was coming from the machine. It charted my heart rate. New memories flooded back. After overdosing from Xanax I had a momentary high, but the second I got home I was back to being suicidal. My life was worthless. I downed as much bleach as possible before throwing up. It ate away at my esophagus. Blood and bile covered my chest. A neighbor heard my gurgling screams and must have called the police.

There had never been a Michael.

Tears spilled over my cheeks. I rolled my eyes over to the corner of the room. In pathetic misery I gazed upon the fresh flowers, blooming with life and vitality. I tried to focus on what the doctor was saying. I could only hear a few words. “Terminal.” “Hospice.” “Comfortable.” I think she saw I couldn’t understand, so she leaned in closer. I caught everything she said this time. “Freddie, this is the eleventh time you’ve tried to kill yourself. And, unfortunately, it looks like you’re going to succeed.”