#this is THE MOST self-indulgent thing I've ever done and I am having a wonderful time

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

snippet!

hey you can't deal with issues unless you face them, right?

(everyone needs therapy)

----------

The King dwarfs the apple trees.

It’s quiet in the little stable behind them. Again, the animals don’t seem to care. “What did you do to the animals?” Jon says, because he can’t not wonder.

“Ensured they do not detect me unless I wish,” says the King, who hasn’t bothered to land; he hovers above the fish-pond, sending little waves across its surface. “Otherwise, they tend to be… skittish.”

“I can believe that,” Jon murmurs, wondering if it’s the same kind of influence the Hunt extends to animals. He wonders next at the rippling pond next. Is it aesthetic or practical? Is there an air-current effect, or some kind of gravitational adjustment? Can he do that without disturbing the water? Would it be palpable to anyone or anything beneath him? Is it harmful? Is it even real, or a dream-effect? How does -

“You really never stop,” says the King, pulling Jon out of comforting curiosity.

“What do - ” Careful, Sims. Jon modifies his tone. “What do you want from me tonight, sir?”

The King laughs. 

Jon reddens. As attempts to placate monsters go, it wasn’t very good. Anything to keep his attention away from that room and Martin.

“You already know,” says the King so graciously that Jon grits his teeth. “Call the Entities.”

Jon exhales. “I can’t.”

There is a low, displeased rumble, almost mechanical, not a growl, but something worse. “You won’t. I don’t appreciate lies, Archivist.”

“It’s just Jon,” mutters Jon, shaking because he hadn’t been trying to lie, really needs to not make this thing angry while Martin is near.

“As you wish… Jon.”

So that was a mistake.

Jon has no idea if it has something to do with the old concepts of “true names” or whatever, but the King saying that is far, far worse than Archivist. It pings something in him, trembles some soul-deep string in sympathetic resonance.

“Call the Entities.”

“I won’t. Sir. I didn't even choose to do it the first time.” And it hits him: “You could probably force me. Why haven’t you?”

“Before your ascension? Yes. I could have forced you, tricked you, trained you.”

Jon swallows bile.

“But now? It is… delicate. You’ve damaged yourself, Jon - damaged your soul when you rejected all you were given, though perhaps you can’t be blamed. It was too much for any human to bear.” That statement manages to be pitying and denigrating at the same time. “Regardless, I can’t force you now without destroying your ability to do it at all. You’ll have to do it by choice.”

So that’s confirmed.

Jon stares. “Damaged? How?”

“This isn’t the place to show you,” says the King. “Once you obey, I’ll show you. I’ll even heal you, if you want.”

Like hell he’d ever invite this thing to touch his soul. “I won’t call them by choice. You need to listen to me. They’ll destroy the world you’ve built.”

“A world you don’t seem to appreciate, anyway - in spite of my graciousness toward you,” says the King.

All of this is so damned threatening, all of this is a looming Damocles’ sword. “I know them. I know what they can do. I won’t… inflict them on an innocent universe.”

“Now, Jon,” says the King, and that rumble is pleased now, because Jon gave him an opening and didn’t think it through. “That’s not true, is it? You already did. You made that choice - it just didn’t turn out quite the way you thought.”

This is true. 

And all the weight of that choice - the force of it, the shame - lands on him again as though facing him for the first time.

The choice to send the Entities elsewhere, because of Martin’s plea.

The choice to send the Entities elsewhere, violating his conscience, pretending at hope.

The choice to send the Entities elsewhere, because Martin was going to die, and Jon couldn’t do that, in the end.

Could not.

But he had chosen to send the Entities elsewhere. The reason, maybe, didn’t matter.

Jon is silent.

He hasn’t thought about that moment since they arrived. He’s refused. They haven’t talked about it. Haven’t dealt with it.

Jon doesn’t think he can deal with it.

He looks at his feet, at the boots that actually fit him (one of their first purchases, and one Martin was very proud of), and cannot bring himself to speak.

“All I want you to do is finish what you already started,” the King practically purrs at him. “Call the Entities. It’s a choice you already made, Jon. Don’t worry. I will keep you safe.”

Jon shakes his head, just a little, but doesn’t raise his head. “You can’t. No one can.”

That rumble again, displeased, there and gone. “You are running out of chances to do this the easy way.”

Jon shudders hard. “I know. I’m sorry.” He’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for.

There is a moment of bad silence. The only thing in it is Jon’s fear because he doesn’t know how long he can hold out once the King decides the easy way is done.

“Enjoy your stay,” says the King. “I suggest the stew - it’s particularly hearty.” And he’s just gone.

Jon covers his face with his hands and doesn’t go back to his bed or his body until he can slow his non-corporeal breathing down.

[groenendaelfic]

Hey,

haven't seen you around a lot lately. Just writing to check in. how is it going? Wish you a nice evening

it is going, thank you for asking!

Life has been very busy these past few months but is moving in a hopefully good and definitely exciting direction.

In this particular order (if memory serves correctly) I've:

decided to move halfway across the continent

marked the one year anniversary of the worst time of my life

had other people mark the one year anniversary of the worst time of my life with all that entails

quit my job (I'd been planning that for a while)

had my boss and hr offer to let me go instead and half my notice period to two months (aka 'give' me more money and facilitate my move, yay pity)

started looking for a place to live and organizing my move

found a new job in a slightly different corner of halfway across the continent (I start July 1st)

got my request for citizenship approved (epic timing guys)

found a place to live in an awesome area (I will be able to do all my errands on foot and my new job is only a short bike ride away)

told everyone I was leaving for sure

signed the paperwork to have my uncle in law take over the place here

had my cousin offer to move my stuff with his remodeled fire engine in exchange for gas and (bridge) tolls

did all the paperwork in the universe ever

started saying my goodbyes for now (I still have lots of family and friends etc here so I'll be back a lot)

had my cousin tell me he'd make a bro trip out of the move because his friends really wanted to see a basic bridge, and room and board plus no girls was all the compensation they needed for getting to carry my boxes

said thanks but no thanks to citizenship (sorry Wille, you'll always be my King)

was asked if I minded the move taking a bit longer because the guys wanted to stop for totally unplanned soccer (a not insignificant part of their motivation if not a deciding factor I dare say)

did more move and job leaving planning and paperwork

welcomed, fed and watered a bunch of guys really into soccer bridges and very disappointed I didn't have more boxes they could compete carrying

prepared a big lunch basket and said goodbye to said guys and my boxes

sat down to write this list wondering where I should celebrate midsummer (aka do I want to travel back and forth to get everything ready or stay until it's time to hand in my work laptop etc)

Phew, yes. Also a million other things which won't come to mind right now. Thank you to everyone who left me such kind messages btw. I appreciate them so much but am still learning to respond to kindness and compliments without awkwardness. They nevertheless give me life.

In more interesting news to everyone here I've also done a lot of writing.

Mostly on One Wild Summer, which has already grown into a monster, but I've been writing the exciting parts later on and still guesstimate a 15k or so stretch which needs bridging to get to all the fun stuff I've already written.

but also on The Prince and the Barista and As Long as We Have Each Other. I only need to make it coherent and once again fill the gap to where I stopped posting.

plus *cue exasperated sighs* I'm also 9k+ into a new fic! The (once more) absolutely most self-indulgent thing I've ever written in this fandom and something I swore I never would turn into a proper fic. Expect the prologue for that (which was meant to be 500 words and not 5k) soonish.

Everything else including regular updates not before mid to late July though I think. Because moving and starting a new job and life means busy times and while I can write scribble down connected sentences with half a mind, I can't beta read and edit with half a mind.

tl;dr: I am still writing yr fic and haven't abandoned my fics, but am also busy moving. goodbye cloudberries and lingonberries, hello wineberries vineyards and appleberries apple orchards.

[sazzujazzu]

Hello, as the days count down and the Bad Batch finale draws closer, may I show to the fine folks of tumblr my first Star Wars OC in 20 years, created thanks to this show? 😃

Too bad, I'm showing them anyway 😊 somberly chilling while listening to their bestie talk.

Please excuse the poor background (I got lazy) and half-finished Tech (I got sad)

there's, uh, a big mess of words under the image because I wanted to put into words the importance this show has for me, and I am bad at doing so.

I want to get some thoughts off my chest, because I have no one in my day-to-day life who cares about the animated Star Wars shows, and especially the Bad Batch. (well, other than my mom, but I don't want to bore her with my rambling too much. she already banned star wars from me once, i won't let that happen again lol)

I can't stop thinking how much I don't want Bad Batch to end.

This show has been so dear to me. I can't remember the last time I've loved something this much.

Before the second season started, I had an artistic block that had lasted way too long. Anything I drew or wrote, mostly turned out a horrible mess after staring at a blank page for hours and hours, if I ever managed to create anything at all. For someone who tends to draw whenever their hands aren't otherwise busy (aka all the damn time), such a block weighed down on my mental health.

Well, then season two happened, and full-on gave me back my love for Star Wars, a love that had somewhat gone out over the last few years. Then, Plan 99 happened, and broke me because again my favorite character "died" (I'm in team Tech lives until I draw my last breath or until proven correct. That chocolate-eyed cutie-pie is alive nothing will convince me otherwise). Pretty much after finishing the episode and staring at a wall for another 30 minutes, I said "nope" and began writing.

I wrote for hours. I believe it's been well over a decade since I last wrote fanfiction, but here I was, creating a Star Wars oc, something I'd last done as a ten-year-old. And now, roughly a year later, I think I've written over a hundred pages of (very self-indulgent) fanfiction with the Batch, and with my oc that I've come to love.

And drawing, oh boy, have I been drawing!

(... Sure, I've mostly been drawing Tech, over and over again, to a point I once actually considered lying and saying "yeah that's my boyfriend haha!" to a man at my job last summer, when asked who it was that I was drawing for maybe fifth day in a row 😂 likely would've been a more acceptable excuse for someone my age. But, I mean... I just really love drawing him, not only because he is my favorite character of maybe all time, but because he is just so fun to draw! And most of all, at least I draw again!)

And it is all thanks to this wonderful show about a bunch of defective and effective copy-paste boys and their sister.

It's probably something many say, but I've always felt like a bit of an outsider. I've felt like I have no place; when I was a kid, my interests were very different from the other kids of [gender assigned at birth], and trying to play with them while inserting my own interests into the games, often didn't go so well. I was... kind of an odd child (although now, older and questionably wiser, knowing that I might actually be autistic, many things make more sense now. me kind of discovering this about myself is also partially thanks to Bad Batch)

Also, growing up trans/non-binary, while not even knowing what that is or having a word for it, didn't really do much to help with the feeling of "I'm different and an outsider because of it". Perhaps it was one more reason I fell in love with Clone Force 99, because I could see some of myself in them. Being different from the "regs".

I love this show, and these fictional people have become my family, and I am not ready to say goodbye to them.

Alright, weird pile of thoughts over. In case someone read all this, uh... thanks 😊

[vaninakan]

Late night thoughts vol. 1

It's 4 am and I cannot sleep so I'm just gonna splooge some random thoughts that I have (some positive, some negative, and some that's probably just nonsense.)

Uhh, I like to get negatives out of the way first so I guess I can start with that.

- Does anyone else miss when art/animation communities felt more niche but open? I'm particularily talking about the animation meme community here cause that's a community I've more or less lurked in for a long time. I remember a time when there was the big three of animation memes a lot of people and myself were inspired by. It feels silly to say that what got me into art were a bunch of independent artists animating anime cats fighting eachother, but that's exactly what happened. I loved these creators (still do) and I looked forward to seeing what else these creators had to offer. As time went on, more creators came in the fray with a lot of cool talent and craftmanship and it was honestly very cool seeing what everyone had to offer. That's something I loved most about AMC, that so many were able to feel free to create whatever they wanted and how wonderful it paid off to see that creativity put into so many special masterpieces of independent art and animation, and that's something I'll always admire. So it breaks my heart to see what the AMC has became. Don't get me wrong, there's still a ton of great artists out there and y'all are fantastic, but I cannot help but feel like the environment in that community especially had gotten a lot more vile than what it started off as. To be fair, that's pretty much any community these days, I'm well aware of that. But I have never seen so much drama, so much infighting, and so much people being deplorable to eachother in my life that it's honestly sickening! I've always wanted to make my own animation memes and I still do, I have a TON of ideas I'd love to get to eventually, but if I ever decide to post them, don't expect me to engage much with the rest of the community. IMO, the best communities you can have are the small close ones you have with your best pals.

- For the past few years, I've been distancing myself from big social media branches and fandoms because of how toxic the environments can be for some of these spaces especially, and it's honestly helped a lot with my mental health (Deleting my Twitter and moving here has honestly been one of the best things I've done last year). It's partially why I've stopped posting so frequently, because really the only people I truly care about pleasing are me and all my close friend groups and found families I've built. I don't really care about statistics and platform building, if people like my stuff, then that's cool. I can look at a post I made with bigger numbers than usual and go "huh, that's pretty neat" and then move on talking about a crossover AU I've been cooking up with my boyfriend. That's not to say I don't appreciate my followers or people who like my content, I do. But know that what I make isn't catered to what'll get me the most attention, it's what'll make me and my family happy. And if people like that, then that's cool. Maybe every now and then I'll ask my followers what they'd like to see, maybe a fanart raffle or sketch request event, I think that'd be nice. But for the most part, this page is very, and I mean VERY self indulgent.

- Uhh I've been doing okay for the most part, personal issues I don't wanna get to aside. I've mainly been working on plushies, commissions and other self indulgent projects. I mentioned before that I got into the latest Cookie Run game, and that's pretty cool. I've mostly focused on making art for that and mine and my boyfriend's OC/AU projects. I'll post more about it when I get there, but for now uhh... gay people.

You'll learn who these guys are soon enough, for now you'll only get name drops

The big gruff fellow is a lava rock golem named Vulcan and the pretty boy is named Jack Frosting.

- And I think that's mostly it for tonight? This post took me a full hour to write so it's actually 5 now as I'm finishing up oops..

My sleep schedule's fucked.

Uhh any final words before I pass out? Hmm..

Gender dysphoria sucks okay BYYYEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

[sdaomine]

'til death do us part... or 'til i kill you first

Things take a sharp turn when Marius and Vyn discover each other's secret identities. Filing a divorce is on the table, but Vyn takes matters into his own hands—after all, he'd rather end the marriage here than in court.

A/N: Finally, FINALLY done with this fic that has long been rotting in my drafts! I've been wanting to write a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU for my favorite gay ship but lacked the time to actually finish it (but here we are!). I wrote this in 2022 but only concluded it today, AMIDST my many, many university backlogs <3 Anyway, I know some stuff here won't make sense but this is a self-indulgent fic so... yeah.

wc: 13.8k words.

==

Six years in.

Six years of a wonderful marriage. Six years of black tea and chocolate drink during early mornings. Six years of intoxicating kisses, sweet and zealous; six years of what the youngest von Hagen called the best fuck he’d ever get in his lifetime.

You see, when you marry the love of your life and spend wild, beautiful years with them, you start to think you are building your relationship’s mighty foundation—that sooner or later, the two of you would be able to finally lower those invisible walls which had always separated you, because admit it or not, there is no marriage built without deep, dark secrets.

But six years in and Marius von Hagen finds himself holding tightly onto his gun—a pretty sleek silencer he so cherished, a gift from his brother—his back pressed hard against the wall just beside the stairs, waiting.

“Hah—shit. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest heavy, almost suffocating. Marius pressed one hand against his heart, feeling its erratic pace and, at this very moment, he was all but trying to calm his rapid breathing.

But then there was a quiet creak on the wooden stairs.

Marius’ eyes screwed shut. Fuck fuck fuck—

Marius threw himself to the side, hiding further beneath the wall, just in time—just in time before a series of raining bullets holed through the wooden wall and the staircase banister, which was soon followed by another round of rapid firing. Marius shook his head as he waited for it to stop.

With one arm protecting his head, Marius leaned slightly against the safer side of the house. Deep down he cursed and cursed the sheer agony of having to prop himself like that against the wall, right after he had dived into the floor like it was some massive pool of water. “Goddamn,” he cursed quietly, and however could he not? His once neatly painted Victorian walls that probably cost some other person’s soul were now ripped into shreds, the wood falling off, their deadly splinters scattered around. There were holes all over, both small and wide, and Marius took a little peek.

There he is.

Vyn Richter, Stellis’ most esteemed psychiatrist: well-mannered, elegant, so fucking pretty. Marius was in awe even when the doctor, who still wore his pearl, white coat, carried two massive rifles in both of his hands. Fucking assault rifles. Just where the fuck did you keep those in our fucking house, Vyn?

A sly smirk curved the doctor’s lips. Vyn caught a glimpse of his husband peeking through the small holes and asked, a little too seductively for Marius’ taste, “Darling, you are still alive?”

Dammit!

Vyn held back a scowl when he heard nothing. Marius used to surprise Vyn whenever he came home from work, so it was not impossible the young CEO had already switched hiding places. And so Vyn, as silently as he could, made his way down the stairs—

“Still am, baby.”

Vyn dived down the stairs instinctively,  hissing out small, foreign curses as he landed—crashed—on the floor. He helped himself up with animalistic speed and grabbed his weapons, dashing towards the room opposite the wall where Marius continued to fire his silencer gun.

The doctor clutched his side and winced. Two minutes in and he already got himself a bruise.

“Stupid brat,” he muttered sharply as he reloaded his rifle. “Whatever crossed my mind? I should have killed him that fucking night.”

==

Two nights ago.

Vyn—in his white Mercedes—took a sharp turn round the bend of his English garden, leading out of the mansion gates. He was running, no, driving away from Marius. Why? Nothing much, really. Just that after six years of marriage Marius found out that aside from being a psychiatrist, his dear husband actually worked as an assassin. Learned that Vyn was a killer from another agency, which unfortunately for Marius was PAX’s worst rival with… well, dirty work.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Marius was an experienced killer, too, a secret even the best psychiatrist in the country must have somehow missed.

So… shit.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date. Vyn came home earlier than usual (he had to call off his assassination schedule that night) so he could cook his husband’s favorite dinner. The ever-so-loving Vyn Richter even lit candles on the table, did some last-minute flower arrangements, all so they’d have a good time (He even had half a mind to light candles and scatter rose petals across their bedroom, for a change). It had been a while since the last time he’d eaten a proper meal with Marius, anyway.

But there was something amiss, and Vyn was upset. Upset with the fact that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Or what could possibly go wrong.

Although he was quite certain it involved his husband. And involved he was indeed because Marius was all but suspicious that whole evening, asking this and that, inquiries Vyn himself often utilized whenever he questioned a target or a client. And he wouldn’t have been a renowned psychiatrist if his husband’s dubious actions went unnoticed. Marius. I did not know he would be this daft.

Until the bottle of wine Marius was holding suddenly slipped from his grasp, and Vyn—who was seated, his back turned away, his attention wholly fixated on anything other than Marius and his wine—caught the bottle swiftly with one hand.

It was then he realized he’d made a grave mistake, because if anything his husband’s grip was always firm, and not in this life would Marius von Hagen let a million-stellin wine slip from his hands.

Marius let it slip on purpose.

And now Vyn drove his Mercedes the way a lunatic would their car, ramming on the trash bins and fences and even some of the patches of roses from his beloved garden, all to escape from his husband. Because apparently, his dirty secret’s out, and Marius is out to get him (perhaps).

The car screeched as he took a sharp turn, finally out from their mansion. Was he a free man, now? Not exactly—Marius von Hagen suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, running. Vyn muttered under his breath. Goddammit. He took the shortcut. I forgot about the shortcut—

A bang sounded, and the next thing Vyn knew, there was a crack on the windshield. The car halted abruptly.

Vyn scrutinized the crack. A bullet.

“Did…” he mused—hissed, rather—as his eyes trailed to where Marius was knelt on the ground, slowly helping himself up. “Did this bastard just try to shoot me?”

Marius almost flinched when Vyn, just a meter or two from him, slammed his hands on the car horn repeatedly. If it wasn’t his pretty little husband Marius would’ve just shot the car until the tires go off and the driver dead; but then again it was Vyn inside that car, and—

And the windshield… has a crack. And I have a gun. And I…

Marius swallowed. And he must’ve accidentally pulled the trigger when he hopped out of the bushes from the sidewalk and tripped. And now Vyn thinks he tried to shoot him.

“Baby, accident.” Marius now stood in front of the car, and the sight of his husband—who looked angry as hell—could be seen clearly from his line of vision. He hoisted both arms, the way a cornered, guilty criminal would, and repeated his words gently, “Baby, accident. Accident.”

Marius gestured to his gun. “I tripped. Accident,” he shouted. Marius didn’t really give a damn anymore whether or not the neighbors would hear him. “Baby, accident—no, stop!”

Marius inhaled sharply as he heard the engine rev—and it revved loud, as if a warning, more than enough to tell Marius if he didn’t step out of the way at that very moment Vyn would drag him to death by way of a hit and run.

And he did not hesitate.

“No, stop! Wait!” Marius waved his arms frantically, almost throwing away his gun just so he could show Vyn he wouldn’t dare hurt him. However it was his mistake that he pondered it at all, because Vyn Richter was the pettiest man alive, petty enough to actually hit the gas and hurl the vehicle towards Marius.

Oh, shit. Is this my end?

The car steered forward, its speed almost inescapable (for anyone in Marius’ situation). Marius gathered all his weight and lunged at the car, and Vyn then piloted the steering wheel in a rapid pace, left and right, in an attempt to haul his husband—probably ex-husband soon—out of the car, but to no avail. “Get off my fucking car!” he yelled irritably. “Marius von Hagen!”

Marius even managed to smirk as he held onto the side of the car (for dear life). “Stop the car—” he shouted back, his face almost hitting the windshield. “Vilhelm von Hagen!”

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

“Saturday, if I have not killed you yet by then.”

“Sweet.” Marius took advantage of Vyn getting carried away by their banter—Vyn could only hiss out in frustration as Marius broke the passenger seat window with the handle of his gun. It didn’t take long before he was halfway inside the vehicle, and Vyn was fumbling with his seatbelt.

But Marius was a second too late. The moment he’d gotten inside entirely, Vyn had already thrown himself out of the vehicle, and the Mercedes, along with Marius, was heading straight to the dark woods.

“Fuck you,” Vyn spat, still lying on the asphalt, catching his breath. He had wounds and scratches all over his skin—so much for all his skin routines—but that did not matter at the time. He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Good evening,” he greeted rather blandly. “Yes. Please fetch me, and bring something sweet. I need my sugar levels to spiral.”

==

Present times.

And so they are here, trying to shoot one another’s head. Marius had initially come to gather his hidden weapons, only to find them gone. Vyn must’ve found out. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, returned home and got his guns ready. Heck, Marius even considered the great possibility of his husband setting up traps within the house.

Now we can tell who loves who more.

Yeah. That would be me, Marius would say. I love this sick fuck more than he loves me.

He peeked at the stairs. Marius caught Vyn claiming the opposite wall as his barricade, swore to god heard his muse wince at what could’ve been new bruises. He chewed on his lower lip as he crouched and stalked along the hallway with confident precision—he moved the way shadows would devour the night, utterly soundless as he coursed towards their dining area, which was also a connecting room to their massive kitchen.

To Vyn’s kitchen, his mind noted, almost like an instinct. His beloved had always been the one to cook all their meals, bake mouthwatering desserts and mix their cocktails and most times they’d end up hot that Vyn would find himself bent over the counter with Marius railing him from behind. Sometimes atop that long table, where Marius would feast on his husband the way he would his favorite meal; in return, Vyn knelt on the carpet under the table and sucked Marius’ hard cock until he moaned and screamed his name and squirted his cum on Vyn’s crystalline smooth face.

Marius was never in the kitchen, that sacred place. Sacred to his husband, at least, but when he did go there, it was always to admire Vyn while he prepped their meals.

He let out a bitter chuckle as he entered the dimmed space. Good old days.

Marius scanned the room, one he was most familiar with, before he proceeded to check under the table and chairs, ran his hands along the wall, removed the exquisitely-framed portraits hanging on them as a precaution. He knew Vyn couldn’t have been here for long; he wouldn’t have ample enough time to set up his baits within the house, but just in case.

He’d learned well not to underestimate Vyn. Vyn Richter, of all people.

Keeping his steady stance, Marius trod towards the high archway that led to the kitchen hall. He moved with a spy’s practiced grace and quiet, walking about the area as he quickly drafted a plan in his head. It was safer here, he thought, for almost little to no lights were switched on, and none of them would dare, since the lights could only be opened with two claps or a snap. Even without Marius’ careful movements, Vyn won’t be able to locate him that quickly. Especially since their house was a goddamn mansion.

No, screw that. A goddamn castle. If Vyn had not declined his husband’s initial offer with regard to housing, their residence would have looked like Buckingham Palace, except it was in Stellis.

Well great. How nice would it be to reminisce while your husband’s lurking in the same house, trying to kill you? Marius blew a sigh through his nose, frustrated. Couldn’t this be resolved with yet another delftware imported from France—

Marius went cold. “Fuck.”

He went cold because somehow, he’d forgotten that he didn’t really own this kitchen. That even though he’d been here a lot of times to fuck his husband on that table and over that counter, he wasn’t there enough to fully know and memorize each tile, each wall, each delftware that perched on display. Because somehow, Marius had focused on the possible threats that he’d missed the most unsuspecting yet lethal ones: Vyn’s decorative collection of teacups and teapots and plates.

And perhaps the odds were not in his favor tonight, because Marius accidentally bumped into one, and the teapot—even though he had caught it with his hand at first—proceeded to take its fall and break itself into hundreds of tiny shards. Marius stilled, his blood thrumming in alarm.

At first, there was silence. The eerie kind.

And then rained a series of bullets from the dining room entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck—”

Marius dived into floor, clutching his silencer. He crawled swiftly under the long table until he reached the archway to the kitchen. He stood on his feet and snatched his other pistol from its belt holster, scanning the kitchen—a fucking enormous kitchen—for efficient shields, weapons, or if the heavens somehow favored him again, a possible way out. An escape from his deranged husband.

He’s too beautiful for someone demented, though.

He heard footsteps. Slow and steady, its familiar, elegant cadence enough a warning for Marius to keep his guard, his guns hoisted and at the ready. In one stride, he took refuge beside the fridge, the opposite side of it facing the entrance.

And then there was a distant, honeyed voice. “You dare break my delftware.”

“You fired because of a fucking teapot?” Marius sneered, but cackled all the same. “You’re crazy.”

“Your fault for marrying me.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

Vyn pulled the trigger and fired, the bullet merely grazing past the fridge. A warning. “I gathered. Seeing how you are out almost every other night, only to a foolish spouse will that go unnoticed,” Vyn uttered, his voice laced with venom—bitterness. “Tell me, darling. How many ladies have you fucked while you were gone?”

Marius resisted the urge to step out of his hiding spot and confront his husband head-on. “Fucking stop it, Vyn. Are you serious? This again?” he complained, the grip around his silencer tightening in his simmering anger. “I never cheated on you, godammit. I told you—I was out for business. How many times do I have to drill that into your head?”

“Ah, yes. Business. And what exactly is your business, Marius?”

Marius chuckled. “I could ask you the same, baby,” he said in his smoothest, sweetest voice, then strode out from his refuge, aiming his silencer at Vyn. In those few, shared seconds of conversation he’d noted where his husband stood, where he was facing, the appliances which surrounded them—Vyn won’t be able to duck anywhere, and could not possibly sprint too fast to shield himself from Marius’ attack.

But then again—he shouldn’t have underestimated.

Because when he’d stepped out, Vyn was not there.

He was already behind him.

“Shit—”

He did the most possible, most horrible thing he could think of: as he swiveled round to Vyn’s direction, Marius hooked his fingers under the fridge’s recessed handle, pulled it open, then slammed its massive steal door against Vyn.

“Scheisse.” The fridge door rammed against him face-first—Vyn’s nose throbbed with a nasty pain, and he sensed hot liquid leaking from it, tasted the coppery tang of blood when it drifted further into his mouth. “Fucking. Swine.”

He knew the fridge door would be a serviceable shield, knew the bullets he’d fire would protect Marius no matter what and doing so would only be a disadvantage. However Vyn blasted back that instinct, that knowledge, and proceeded to rain yet another series of bullets towards Marius (or the fridge, actually), all because of sheer aggravation. How dare he slam that door into his face—was he not his muse, his darling? Was he not this ethereal man Marius had always drawn and sketched and painted on his canvases for he wished to preserve his beauty?

Goddammit—the curse looped inside Vyn’s head, his nose flaring with rage. His nose fucking hurt.

And Vyn screamed along his firing, both weapons aimed toward the fridge. The kitchen was dimmed, with no lights on and so all he could see were the blazing yellows and oranges and reds, could only hear the all-too-familiar bangs and booms as the shots blasted through the metal.

He stopped attacking. Vyn wept the blood from his face with the sleeve of his once immaculate, white coat, wincing as he did. His nose stung so much and it rendered him so very, very furious. “Marius von Hagen,” he said. Hissed.

A low chuckle. “Vilhelm von Hagen. Or would your surname be back to Richter now?”

And there was silence, utter silence, before Vyn’s life flashed before his eyes.

The psychiatrist could only slide back as the fridge—which was a whole lot bigger than him in all aspects possible, completely towering over him—started slanting from above and down to crush him. It was too swift that he could only clumsily stumble back, almost slipping on the tiles and making a fool out of himself.

Marius heard Vyn curse in a vague, foreign language—German, no, Svartian, probably—as he scurried to save himself and dodge his husband’s pretty little trick. Actually, screw that, Marius thought. Pushing this goddamn fridge might very well be his disadvantage: one, it was too heavy it took a lot of effort and energy, and two—the kitchen was a spacious room and he threw his only barricade away.

No matter. He will just have to remedy that, in whatever way he can.

Like taking advantage of his disoriented, recuperating rose by means of taking their electric stove and throwing it in Vyn’s direction.

He’d turned away before that stove hit his husband.

No. He didn’t want to see that.

Didn’t want to see his husband hurt.

He released a sharp breath and looked skyward, then blinked his eyes repeatedly, well-aware of the stinging tears threatening to flow. He ran to the exit all the same, his only goal to escape—he didn’t wish a violent shoot-out with his love, inside their home, no less, but he needed to return the act lest he got killed.

All this—the thought of killing Vyn would kill Marius just the same, anyway.

Heh. He didn’t seem to hesitate shooting me, was what roved in his mind as he made his quick escape. God. That hurt. That fucking hurts.

And he was now well on his way out, finally, with only a step before the archway when Marius peered over his shoulder—then regretted it shortly after.

A kitchen knife had grazed past his ear, the tip of its blade hitting the wall with a dull, slicing thud.

Marius stood there for a while, utterly shocked. Vyn hurled the blade too skillfully that blood trickled down his ear—only a slight brush with the knife, truly, and there was only a minor sting—and Marius recalled it again and again, the way that knife went past him so swiftly, almost like a soft winter’s breeze.

Maybe he deserved it. He’d broken not only Vyn’s delftware but his nose, too.

“Just to remind you, my darling.” Vyn stood steady far across him, his gun hanging by his side, his other arm still held forth after throwing the knife like a sports dart. He was bleeding, his nose and his arm, yet his poise was much like a prince’s, still, as if he hadn’t partaken in this chaos of an indoor shoot-out.

Oh and despite himself, Marius swooned when Vyn had addressed him darling.

“That you destroyed my fridge.” He leveled his gun, his aim at Marius’ direction. “And inside that fridge were all the pastries I had worked so hard for this goddamn week—more particularly that matcha cake.”

Ah, Marius thought, almost nodding unconsciously. I’m thoroughly fucked, then.

The psychiatrist fired another time, only once, but close enough to shoot off Marius’ ear.

Thoroughly, completely, perfectly fucked.

If that bullet blasted a few inches down Marius was sure he’d only have one serviceable ear left. Fuck it. Vyn’s aim was as good as his so thank the heavens the odds somehow favored him tonight because if they didn’t, his head would be pounding with a static burn at this very moment for he got his ear blown off to oblivion.

Marius sprinted. Not out, because the hallway was narrow and with how accurate Vyn’s aim is, he was certain he’d get shot at some point. So instead he darted to the side at lightspeed. “Goddammit, Vyn!” he shouted as Vyn fired constantly, following his every stride; thank goodness there were no kitchen lights and Vyn couldn’t see clearly even with those ugly glasses. “You’re really going to blow off my ear? How am I to hear your needy moans then?”

“You will not hear them again.”

“Not of pleasure,” said Marius as he slid behind the mid counter, hiding away from Vyn. He tugged open the small cabinet and swiftly made a slice on the gas hose before he slithered away like a madman and out to the archway. It would be nasty with that leaking gas and Vyn’s shotgun.

Wow, thank god we weren’t all into electric shit.

When Vyn fired, the kitchen exploded in flames.

Vyn threw himself back, and he crashed into the wooden floor, breaking his glasses in the process. Every part of him ached, and his head pounded; his vision was obscured without his glasses, the narrow hallway a distant horizon he was not sure he’d reach because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

His thighs burned, a hot, searing pain pulsating within his loins, and it was only then that he realized he was on fire. Like it was his second nature the doctor halted thrashing and crawled to the nearest open space, that area near the archway, and rolled himself across, exhausting the flames on his person.

He wouldn’t dare glance at his burns. He couldn’t stomach them for sure.

Not because they were gruesome, no, but because he cared greatly for his vanity, and now his efforts had been all in vain. So much for face and body value.

He snatched his gun, then, and hastened out of the burning kitchen and into the dining area.

Vyn didn’t mind the burn, the throbbing, the pain that wished to devour him. Not when his adrenaline was spiraling and begging to be put to fucking use. His instinct—an assassin’s or a husband’s, he couldn’t discern—led him out and around the lobby, up the stairs, to that one, distinctive chamber his husband treasured most.

The Atelier.

The memories rushed in with each step, every soundless stride. He’d designed that room with Marius, had decorated it day and night with him. Had baked cookies and delivered them there, so Marius would have something to eat as he worked on his new opuses; had stayed by his side as he recounted stories with his paint.

Had taken off his silken robe as he perched on the chaise, naked, looking so ethereal as Marius painted him, brought his beauty to canvas.

The reward? Marius had fucked him silly all through the night, on that very same couch.

Vyn took deep breaths. He acknowledged those memories, accepted them. Then locked them all away.

He hoisted his gun, and tiptoed close, closer. No signs told him Marius was inside, but Vyn steered forward, trusting his gut as it churned at his intuition—he is here. I do not know why, but I know he is here.

He ticked that box with a check.

As he entered the room a silencer shot, hitting just behind him. Marius stood by the opened windows, his weapon in hand; a thick cable wrapped around the atelier’s metal handle and it fell outside, down to Vyn’s precious garden. He was escaping.

“Heh.” Vyn aimed his gun at Marius, the smirk on his face menacing. “Planning for escape?”

Marius threw him an annoyed glance. “You put the house on a fucking lockdown.”

Vyn shrugged his shoulders. “You were able to open that window,” he said. “Whatever happened to the alarms?”

“Switched them off first.”

“And the window?” No one was supposed to open any part of the house when it is on lockdown.

“I know shit on this house that you don’t know of.”

“Ah. Well, that does not matter.” Vyn trod forward, careful. The weapons were still aimed at one another as he neared a small, circular table where Marius’ rarest pigments sat in glass bell jars. “What matters is… oh, look. These are your pigments.”

“Vyn.”

“Such rare pigments,” mused Vyn, eyeing the expensive, imported, rare set of paints atop the table.

Marius took a cautionary step forward. His hand reached towards his husband, the gesture as if attempting to halt whatever deranged thing Vyn framed out to do. “Vyn—”

“Imported from Italy, yes?” The older man trailed, his finger brushing against the glass. “Ah. And this one was from our Grand Tour—France, if I remember correctly. From Louvre.”

“Don’t shoot it.” Marius’ voice shook. “Don’t fucking shoot it.”

Vyn stopped. He chuckled—then looked up at Marius. “All right,” he said with an innocent smile, “I won’t.”

Then struck the table’s legs so it tumbled down, onto the floor, the special paints now mere, vibrant stains that tarnished the wooden tiles.

Vyn sneered at Marius. “Screw you.”

And proceeded to fire not to his husband, but everything inside the atelier: the canvases, both empty and brimming with colors, the vases and the chairs and stools, the portraits on the wall, the unfinished sketches and all the works in progress—the Seti Falls among other brilliant landscapes of their travels in Skadi, in and around Stellis, all the way to Europe.

Marius seethed, and one may even argue he was about to breathe out flames. “You fucking fiend—”

Vyn halted his advances when his aim pointed to an unfinished portrait of him.

Gods, he looked beautiful in it. Like the image of a prince, one of which a hopeful maiden would see only in the fairytales she reads, wondering if she’d ever snag a man as handsome as him. His lips were curved into a half-smile, all so lucious, and Vyn felt that familiar, rancid guilt tug at him—only a little, he wanted to deny it—as he wondered the many hours Marius had worked to capture him as beautifully as he could. Not that it was a hard task, for Vyn had always been a most spectacular muse, but still…

He lowered his gun and spared that portrait from his rage—saved himself from his own, unfettered violence.

But soon enough, Dr. Richter would realize that only portrait Vyn had been granted salvation.

Vyn nonchalantly aimed at his husband another time, did not hesitate, even a sliver, as he pulled the trigger toward Marius. But Marius dodged and rolled to his back, deftly until he tumbled against the wall under the window, and with a terrifyingly calm expression poised himself to kneel on the tiles.

Vyn reloaded his gun. “What are you doing, kneeling there?” he seethed. “Have you given up, darling?”

“No,” said Marius, a chuckle rumbling down his body. His amethyst eyes had darkened, and Vyn tensed, feeling gooseflesh all over his skin as Marius took something out of his person—a hand grenade.

“You know what,” the young von Hagen began, his voice low and cold, “I shouldn’t have tended your garden during the days you weren’t here.”

“You are to stop this instant.”

“What do you say? Fuck off and say adiós to your precious little garden.” It only took a split of a second as Marius pulled the pin with his mouth, and tossed it behind him, the grenade hurtling over his husband’s precious sanctuary of roses and lilies.

Only a split second before Vyn Richter’s garden exploded into a thousand, splendid fireworks.

And if it weren’t for his unmitigated, passionate fury thrumming with each breath, each step, and every thunder of his heart transcending over the harrowing, golden flames burning in the dead of night, of which singed the beloved flowers he’d tended to for years, Vyn would’ve fallen to his knees onto the wooden tiles, and cried his heart out in heavy grief.

But Vyn stood there, not moving an inch, as he watched the scorching fire. The flares flickered in his eyes, round and round the deepest trenches of those golden hues, until all he could see and feel was…

Well, nothing. As if unbothered.

However his mind, his brilliant mind toiled clearly—too vivid, the thoughts smooth-sailing in his ocean of schemes.

“Dieser verdammte Marius,” he muttered—that goddamn Marius—as he strode near the doorway, opened an emergency cabinet, and pulled the heavy, metal handle, activating the manor’s fire sprinklers.

Wet chemicals erupted from the ceilings, all over the house. Vyn navigated the halls and the rooms with precision, checking the bedroom, the lounge, the bar, in a search for a certain von Hagen.

He hoisted his gun as he trod to each chamber, each corridor. Vyn went down the stairs and proceeded, with much caution, to the main living room—

When a click sounded behind him.

“Let’s stop this now, Vyn,” Marius said quietly as he drew closer, his silencer only a meter or two away from his husband’s back.

“Unlock the house, and we can separate in peace—”

Vyn swung around, pivoting on his heel, and knocked Marius’ weapon out of his grasp.

Marius stumbled to the side, but maintained his balance almost as instantly. “What the—”

“You are naive to think that after all this, I would let you out.” Now it was his time to brandish his gun, leveling the weapon slowly to Marius, who now had both hands raised in surrender. He was on the farthest corner of the room, trapped; his only escape was the very path Vyn stood on, getting in his way out, deliberately so. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Your loving husband.”

Vyn’s brow raised, and his features scrunched into disdain. “I would not say that—”

He was cut off by Marius pouncing onto him with all his weight, Marius’ hands wrapped around his own, restricting him and the gun. And before Vyn could even try to get away Marius sent him to the ground—Marius had forcefully slid his leg against Vyn’s, and when his husband lost his balance, the two of them plunged into the floor.

At the impact, Vyn’s grip loosened, and Marius kicked the gun away from them as he helped himself up.

Oh, zounds. Why did I kick it away? I should’ve taken it—

A flower vase came hurtling toward him, and Marius shielded his face from the glass, letting it break into tiny shards as it fell to the floor. And his jaw might’ve been broken, too, for Vyn had suddenly appeared in front of him, and threw Marius the best jaw-breaking punch he had ever received.

“Fuck—”

It was painful, to be sure, but he had no time for such. He caught Vyn rushing to the doorway.

What’s he doing?

Marius’ face scrunched and he winced, the pain in his jaw utterly excruciating.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s going for the gun.

“No way in hell.”

Marius the nearest object he could find—a mini coffee table—and hurled it in Vyn’s direction.

He stood on his feet and sprinted to the doorway. The table had hit Vyn’s torso, the impact heavy on his waist, and he dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

But before Marius could reach for the gun himself, Vyn held him by the leg.

He landed face-forward. His arms, thank goodness, saved him from rendering his handsome face wretched. Marius rolled onto his back, only for Vyn to lunge at him.

Vyn first threw a punch to his jaw yet again, but Marius caught his wrists. With a mighty force Marius was able to toss Vyn to the side—he was the stronger one, after all—and Vyn ended up with his back against the couch.

Vyn was still recuperating when Marius came to wrap his hands around Vyn’s neck, restricting his breathing. His hands went instinctively around Marius’, punching and pulling and desperate to get away. At last Vyn gathered enough strength to move away from the chaise and to the side, bringing Marius with him; Marius who, despite his strength, admitted to struggling with Vyn’s futile attempts to escape.

But the next thing Marius knew, he was throwing his husband across the room.

Vyn flew directly to the massive grandfather’s clock, the glass shattering and raining over him.

Blood now stained the doctor’s face, his body. But at that very minute he wouldn’t feel any wound, any injury. Just the unfaltering will to fight to death with his husband.

He felt betrayed.

He was scared. He was so scared he would lose him—to a woman, to PAX, to this. Add the five consecutive nights he’d prepared dinner for them and Marius never came home.

He’d rather end the marriage here than in court.

Marius dashed towards him, ready to pounce. Vyn caught sight of the expensive wine bottles on the table beside him.

And so he snatched two of the wine bottles and smashed them on either side of Marius’ head. The bottles crashed, and Marius bellowed in pain. Crimson leaked in his skin, his clothes—was it the wine? His blood? Vyn swallowed as took in the sight of his husband, hands on his head, moaning in deep pain; he looked away immediately and strode out from Marius’ reach.

Marius chuckled. “Of course you’ll go for the gun.”

“Do you not think it the easiest way out?” Vyn merely said, his voice higher, obviously vexed. Yet the way he spat those words was honeyed, still. “I shoot you, I win.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Marius staggered, but pressed onward. “Then you’re not getting that gun.”

In quick strides Marius threw himself at Vyn, but the older man rolled himself easily over the couch. Marius pushed the chaise to the side with one swift move, and only the oval glass-lined coffee table separated them.

Like that table’s gonna do shit.

And it all began with footwork. In his fighting stance, Marius assessed his husband, the two of them circling around the table slowly, vigilantly. Waiting for the other to hint at their weakness, to give away their hidden cards—neither knew the other’s tricks, having only found out their secret careers this evening.

But goddammit, Marius cursed inwardly as he observed his muse with that perfect sparring form, however his bearing elegant, still. The lock of his shoulders, the way his forearms were bent to his elbows, his knees curved just right; that determined face, his brimming confidence—goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Perfect.

He’s perfect.

I love him.

“Well fuck me. You always made me carry your heavy stuff, but now you look like you’re ready to carry me to my grave.”

Vyn smirked—then pushed the table with his foot.

The force was too strong that Marius knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it on his own, and that he’d only hurt whatever part of him that met the table’s edge. The table slid forward, launching straight at Marius, and all he could do was leap on top of the table.

It was small, that table. Marius lost his balance and fell face-forward to the marble tiles.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, his elbows stinging. “I fucking hate you—”

Vyn gripped his shoulder and swung him around, his back now on the floor. “Hello, my love,” he purred as he pinned both Marius’ hands atop his head, then straddled him. “Do you like this?”

Marius smirked. “You on top? Hell yeah.”

Vyn’s fist went flying to his face.

“FUCK—” Marius groaned, his nose stinging. He could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your shit around when you can punch this hard.”

“You betrayed me.” Vyn landed another punch. “You are a liar! You lied to me!”

“Look who’s fucking talking!”

“Go to hell.”

With his weakening grip on Marius, the young von Hagen was able to snatch his arms and finally turn the goddamn tables. He wrapped his legs around Vyn’s torso and flung themselves to the side.

Vyn gasped. Marius now sat on top of him, towering over him. His grip on Vyn’s wrists was too tight they could’ve been red with the mark of his fingers, or a nasty purple because of bruising—god, they could’ve been a pale blue for that grip might as well halt the blood from coursing through.

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Marius pinned his lover’s wrists on the floor. He noted the slightly frantic tussling, Vyn’s… sexy labored breathing. “I think I like this better,” he whispered. “Me on top of you.”

And Vyn could only gasp as Marius grappled his throat. Not to kill him—to weaken him, somehow. To make him lose consciousness. And then he’ll decide from there.

“Hck—” Vyn’s choking filled his ears and, even when he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “M-Marius—”

Stop it. You’re hurting him.

His grip did not weaken.

“Hck… P-Please—”

Don’t say it. Don’t.

Say it. Vyn hurt you. You’re just returning the favor.

I can’t...

“Look at you. I love choking you like this,” Marius spat, his eyes dark and wicked. I’m going to hell for this—I’m sure of it. “If only this were a different circumstance.”

He caught Vyn’s arm flailing to his sides, and Marius wondered why he’d suddenly stopped grasping the hands that throttled him—until Vyn seized something and smashed it to his head, sending him backward.

A lampshade this time. From yet another small desk drawer just beside them.

Well, Marius thought. I should’ve seen that coming.

Vyn was, however, still frail from Marius’ attempt to strangle him. His breathing was strained, his face breaking out in cold sweat.

And hot tears rolled down his pale, bloodied cheeks.

However his adrenaline pumped again, and again, and even when his head pounded a fire burned from within, and he tried to go on all fours, a futile attempt to stand.

Marius now stood, albeit unsteadily due to the impact of the lampshade on his temple. “Come on, honey,” he managed to say despite himself, imitating a sparring stance, “come to daddy.”

Vyn inhaled a sharp breath.

He turned on his back, then, and used all his remaining strength to kick his husband’s groin.

“Fucking fiend—” Marius moaned in agony as he fell to his knees.

“Heh,” Vyn chuckled darkly. “Who’s your daddy now?”

“Ahahaha,” Marius managed a laugh. For some reason, it did not sound even the least sarcastic. In fact, it sounded so… genuine. “That’d still be me, Vyn,” he breathed, “still me.”

Then he rolled to the side, Vyn the other way around.

When they got up to their feet, nimble as men who were yet to be injured and beaten up, Vyn and Marius found themselves in a rather precarious situation:

Their guns on each other’s heads.

Blood coated their faces. Some trickled down, some already dried from earlier’s violence, the crimson-brown marking their skin as if pinpointing just where they had tried to inflict pain on one another. Desperate breaths filled the thrashed room, heaving in attempts to ease the thumping hearts, seemingly beating for something other than the desire to kill—perhaps beating for love, still.

The room had now quieted. No more crashing and shattering and heavy thuds brought about by relentless kicking and punching and hurling. The once catastrophic space was now but a peaceful one, at least in terms of sound and every other external force of nature.

“Let us end this here.”

Vyn’s tone never wavered. It was still as honeyed, elegant. But neither had the strength to actually ask, is that what you really want?

“Baby.”

“Stop,” he said, or rather breathed, as if Vyn had drained all capacity to speak, and Marius almost didn’t hear it, but he did. He always did. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Okay.” Marius nodded. His gaze remained fixated on Vyn, who so determinedly held out his gun, although Marius wondered why his finger was a little far off from the trigger. He took that as a good sign—something to hold onto. “So,” he began, his silencer still aimed towards his husband, “what now?”

I do not know, he had the urge to say. But he wouldn’t say it. Not in this life.

“Are we to stay like this the entire night, Vyn?”

“No, of course not.”

“Should I worry now?”

“As you should.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Vyn’s eyes snapped to him, meeting those eyes of dark amethyst, and Vyn realized he hadn’t been looking at Marius this whole time, only to a random part of his face so it would seem like he was strong enough to take this head-on. But when their eyes met he felt his breath catch, and gods did Vyn want to whip everything back in time just so this didn’t happen. Just so he would have him back.

It is still him, he told himself. This youthful man, so willingly returning his gaze even though Vyn bore some brutal promise, always the man who could see him, who chooses to see through him and accepts what sought refuge beneath the facade—still Marius.

My Marius.

Vyn gasped, more loudly than he’d intended, when the silencer dropped to the floor.

His line of sight panned up to Marius. “What are you doing?” he hissed with unmistakable, rising fury. “Pick it up.”

Marius raised his arms, slowly, in surrender. “I don’t want to.”

“Pick up the gun.”

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply that the air could cut his throat, which was painfully drying, his heartbeat starting to race another time as he attempted to persuade him, “Pick it up, Marius! Pick the fucking gun—”

“No,” Marius said, shaking his head in regret.

“FIGHT. FAIR. THIS IS NOT FAIR.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Believe me.”

He was pleading, and Vyn knew that. Not pleading for his life, but pleading his love.

Until Vyn asked, “Why did you do it?”

His eyes lit up. It didn’t matter whether Vyn would accept his answer, he didn’t even care if he would believe him, but he was so damn happy Vyn was at least interested to know. And he deserved the truth—he ought to grant his husband that.

“I’m…” He breathed in, his line of sight entirely on the floor, trying to find the perfect explanation. “I don’t know. I guess I just love—”

“Killing other people?”

He looked up at Vyn. “Bloodlust—that’s it, yeah?”

Vyn scoffed. “Bloodlust. Are you kidding me?”

“I had killed someone for Giann. Accidentally,” he began, “an act of self-defense, to save myself and him. He was drugged and unconscious and we were alone, and we were kids.

“And I felt like a different person, you know? Stabbing that man to death. Torturing him until he begged that I end his suffering. Instead I got a blunt knife…” He trailed, his voice now dripping with that familiar longing, that familiar tone of satisfaction Vyn so knew about him, “started carving the family insignia deep into his skin while I listened to his pleas, his screaming, and watched the way his blood leaked from his cuts…

“It was, to say the least, a feast to my senses.” Marius chuckled, his voice dark, almost evil. As if Vyn’s kind, youthful husband had gone, had turned into someone unspeakable, someone he didn’t know. Or perhaps, a Marius he has yet to meet. “That was when I realized I let another me live within. He’s someone who loved drawing blood, someone who craved for violence. All of this, Vyn—I do it all for fun. I couldn’t get it out of my system. So, yeah.”

“You could have told me,” whispered Vyn. Marius wanted to believe he saw those golden irises soften, even only for a passing beat. “You could have trusted me.”

“I trust you, baby. But no,” he said resolutely, “I love you, so damn much, and I wanted to be perfect for you.”

Marius took a step forward. Vyn’s grasp tightened around the gun.

But Marius pressed forth. Arms falling heavy on either side he took yet another step, his mouth curving on a slight, sad smile as he walked closer, and closer, dangerously closer to the beautiful man who carried such a hideous promise.

“I want to be the perfect man…” Marius halted, just a few breaths away from the gun aimed directly at him. He crouched a little, leaned forward—

Vyn gasped. His whole body tremored, a sudden chill running all over his skin.

Marius wrapped his long fingers around the gun’s barrel, tugging it towards himself, pressing his chest against the hot muzzle. “The perfect husband for you.”

He observed as Vyn continued to nibble on his lower lip, biting it hard that it reddened with the threat of blood, and Marius’ chest tightened as he saw those golden hues now glossy with emerging tears. Vyn’s breathing had gone from composed to ragged, and soon the hand which held the gun started to shake.

“Vyn,” his husband called softly, “I love you, okay?”

He was surprised to feel hot tears filling his eyes, a stray of it rolling past his bloodied cheek. “Marius…”

“Vyn?”

“I…” he paused, grasping for words, suddenly losing all the vigor to fight. His heart shattered at this, at everything—at himself for being such a petty husband who never truly gave Marius the chance to prove himself, all because of some missed dinners. Who never gave Marius the benefit of the doubt even when Vyn saw in his eyes a flicker of hope.

He was so lost swimming in his ocean of thoughts that he never noticed Marius, who started easing away the gun ever so calmly, and Vyn—exhausted and drained out of his wits—allowed him his weapon to make its descent, down until he himself decided to drop it to the floor.

And he seemed to be in a daze indeed as Marius pressing closer to him went unnoticed, until Vyn realized, only after almost a minute, that Marius had gotten their bodies closer, almost skin to skin…

Marius knew he was quite awake now—from all his little reveries—and while he expected Vyn to land another blow or finish him once and for all, he was surprised when his husband’s gaze flitted from his lips before it settled up to his eyes, his pale, slender hands sliding to his chest as he whispered, “I love you too, Marius.”

Then Vyn was pushed onto the couch.

The doctor gasped, too surprised that it was a pitch higher than usual, and for a moment he was afraid that Marius had gotten the upper hand with his trick and now he ought to strangle him, but his gut believed otherwise, and his gut turned out to be right because Marius leaned down to kiss him—rough and wet, hungry as his tongue lapped in his mouth, a quiet sentiment of how Marius would rather kiss and touch and fuck him instead of sending blazing bullets all over their house.

“Mm—oh, Marius…” he whined as Marius pressed against him, almost straddling him, his hands relishing the softness of Vyn’s face and disregarding the feel of dried blood there, and now making their way towards the back of Vyn’s head, fingers brushing, tangling, pulling on those silver locks.

He felt his pants tighten at the sound of Vyn’s moans, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back, suddenly feeling the lust of tasting Vyn’s exposed neck. Marius leaned down, his mouth pressed against his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along soft skin, tasting blood and hot sweat. He bit lightly at the hollow of his shoulder—

“Ah!” Vyn cried in perhaps both pleasure and pain, his fingers clutching desperately on Marius’ sleeves—sleeves that were rolled all the way up near his elbows and it was so sexy Vyn almost wanted to wave the white flag, in the middle of their shoot-out, just so he could fuck him. So he could kiss him, kneel in front of him, fulfilling his husbandly duty of sucking his cock. “Marius…”

“We literally just started,” Marius said as he looked up to meet Vyn’s eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m about to.”

“Well why don’t you get on with it? Or would you rather waste my—oh, fuck—Marius!”

Vyn could only screw his eyes shut, and Marius could only let out a satisfied groan as he ground his hips against Vyn’s, biting his lip as he felt that hard erection, the proof of his husband’s growing need and oh, how he’d love to satisfy him. “What was that?”

“Will you ever stop talking—”

Marius shut him up with another kiss on the mouth. Vyn tasted sweet, as usual, however Marius made out the metallic flavor of blood, but it’s not like he would mind. It’s his husband’s blood, anyway, and he’d be most willing to take a sip of it, drink it, chug it until it sank down his throat the way he would his chocolate drink.

Ah, but Marius loved it more when it was Vyn who did that with his cum.

As he kissed Vyn he continued moving, grinding his hips until all he could hear were the melodies of Vyn’s whines and sighs, and gods was he so distracted Marius failed to notice Vyn already taking the matter into his own hands unbuttoning Marius’ shirt, and with fervent speed at that.

He suppressed a laugh as he bowed his head, watching in awe as Vyn fumbled with the buttons of his black shirt, breathing so hard and sensually as if he could wait no longer. In fact it felt like Vyn would be very much happy to just tear his shirt apart—not that his husband would mind, either.

“You were so determined to kill me earlier,” Marius said as Vyn unbuttoned the very last one, “but now you’re so hot and horny for me. I told you I did like your mood swings—hmph!”

He was cut off by Vyn’s mouth claiming his own—much to his delight—and soon he found himself hooking his arms under Vyn’s spine and the back of his legs, his feet then making way to their bedroom on the second floor. Vyn wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck instinctively, even pulling him closer as if he needed more, plenty more of him, and Marius loved the way his husband craved for his kisses that it must have given him some omniscient power to navigate the halls and the stairs in the dark so precisely.

In a minute a heavy thud reverberated, echoing across the massive bedroom as Marius opened the door—or rather twisted the knob then kicked the door—and went towards the bed with much haste. He’d licked, bitten, lapped at Vyn’s mouth one last time before he dropped him to the king-sized bed, covered in midnight-lacquered sheets, and proceeded to take off his shirt—

“Wait,” Vyn protested, but before his husband could respond he hooked his two fingers round the belt loop of Marius’ pants, and tugged him closer. It was so damn hot Marius’ cock twitched.

Suddenly he wanted to grab a fistful of Vyn’s hair and make him suck his dick. He’d fuck Vyn’s mouth so well with his hard cock the man would be a beautiful, crying mess the moment he swallowed his cum.

“I…” Vyn turned a little red. “I want to suck you.”

Marius swallowed as he hurried to comply, feeling a certain heat within him intensify. Vyn was already kneeling on the bed, making quick work unbuckling Marius’ belt and letting his cock spring free and fuck, Marius’ cock was heavy and warm and slick with precum, and Vyn felt his own twitch against the fabric of his pants.

He did not waste time. Vyn wrapped his long, slender fingers around his husband’s cock, feeling Marius throb against his palm, his cold fingers. He had sucked Marius dry since god knows when, but suddenly he felt like this was all new, that he was nervous and shy again, and it was as if he was taken back to their first night as two married men. That first night after Vyn said Yes, I do, I shall marry you, and Marius beamed and Vyn thought his husband could rival the sun. Funny what some husband quarrel and house violence could do to you—

“Just so you know, Vyn.” A low, impatient voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m this close to shoving your face down my cock, if you don’t mind.”

Vyn bit his lip as he saw yet again that massive, hard cock staring right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. God, his husband’s cock was so beautiful, thick and velvety soft that his breath caught. And realizing once again that someone was getting impatient, Vyn leaned in and licked gently under the crown of Marius’ dick.

“Fuck.” Marius’ head dipped back, feeling his cock twitch against Vyn’s tongue. “Please—”

He rasped as Vyn complied, letting his mouth close around the head of his husband’s rock-hard cock—

“Fffuck,” Marius breathed, panting as Vyn made swirling motions with his tongue as he slid halfway down his length, “Fuck, Vyn!”

His eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching onto Vyn’s silver locks, and moaned out a broken cry as Vyn sucked his whole length, deep throating him, his wet, warm lips touching his Marius’ hot skin. “Fuck, Jesus.”

Vyn moaned around his cock, and as Marius felt it vibrate around him he dipped his head back again, seeing the goddamn stars. Vyn’s moaning didn’t stop even as he sucked his husband’s dick, Marius’ cock moving in and out of his mouth. Marius tasted so good. Every time Vyn sucked him it seemed he tasted even better and better, as if there were new flavours to his taste of clean sweat, of salty skin, and god even his precum seemed heavenly to Vyn’s tongue, melting like chocolate. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked. God, he would suck this man’s cock forever.

Until Marius tugged Vyn’s head back, “Fuck, wait.” He panted heavily, and as he saw Vyn lick his lips—still glistening wet from his own saliva and Marius’ precum—Marius wanted to plug that pretty little mouth with his dick again. But he held himself together and said, “Wait. I’m… I was about to…”

“I’d swallow everything, Marius.”

“Fuck, stop it. Stop it or you’ll have to choke on my dick the rest of the evening.”

“What is the matter?”

Marius’ cheeks tinged a bit pink. He looked much like a teenager who wanted to try sex with his crush. “I want to… I—”

“Too good?” Vyn smirked.

“Fuck you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Marius caressed Vyn’s hair, as softly as he could. “I want to come inside you.”

Vyn swallowed, his mind once again drawn to their little memories of fucking every night until both their legs had given in, and Marius thought the same. God, he  couldn’t stop staring at his husband. Vyn looked ethereal bathed in the bedroom’s soft orange glow…

However this time it was Marius who was stripped—so quickly—from his reveries as he was pulled, thrown to the bed, with Vyn taking off his shirt, leaving his necktie around. His shirt was hauled off to the floor in a second, and now Vyn looked like some fallen angel as he straddled Marius, untying the silken tie with deft fingers, his wet lips parted in awe…

“What are you gonna do with that, huh?” Marius’ hand slipped round his husband’s waist. We’ve been married for years but goddammit, your waist is so fucking small.

“You’re gonna use that on me?” he added, whispering against the shell of Vyn’s ear, making his husband shudder. God, he loved it when Vyn did that. Loved it when his ministrations, even the smallest ones, had a great effect on him. “And look at you, don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion?”

“I—ah—”

His cock twitched again that it almost hurt, as if begging to be hilted inside Vyn’s ass. Vyn had the sexy habit of whining and making those kinds of sounds whenever he’s surprised or caught unawares, like that very moment when Marius stripped him off his vest with one go, the buttons clinking on the floor in unison. Marius didn’t waste a second and gripped the sleeves of his doctor’s coat, tugging it off him.

Until Vyn caught his wrists and said, “Let me.”

The muse started taking off his vest—slowly, tantalizingly. He knew all too well this act was a feast for his husband’s eyes, for his cock. The slutty bottom that he was, Vyn removed his clothing alongside his heavy, sexy breathing, his mouth slightly ajar, with some stray, silver strands falling over his eyes.

The vest went abandoned. Thrown to the floor just like all else. The shirt followed, Vyn making sure the sounds he made were heard, acknowledged—oh acknowledged indeed, what with his husband’s erection poking against his leg—and he couldn’t help but suppress a smile knowing Marius was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

When everything was unbuttoned, Vyn let the right sleeve slide down his arm, revealing some skin on his chest, his collarbone, his shoulder. Marius had seen it all, but still he thought he looked so ethereal, and so hot all the same that he was torn between treating him right—sweetly, gently—and fucking him so rough and so hard he won’t be able to walk the next day.

By instinct, Marius looked away. He bit his lip as he did, setting his sights away as he was suddenly so overwhelmed, so doubtful—do I even deserve this, he asked himself, realizing that it had been his fault why the shoot-out occurred in the first place: he missed a lot of dinners with Vyn. He was always out for his business of killing other people. He hurt him in all ways possible, especially tonight.

But then, “Marius.”

His gaze returned to Vyn. “Darling?”

“Do not look away.” Vyn’s hands, soft and cold, reached to caress his face. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice like that of an angel’s, “this is all yours—all of me. I am yours.”

Marius made sure that shirt was off his husband immediately.

He’d kissed him again, a mix of love and dominance, of lust and longing. Arms tight around Vyn’s waist he pulled his muse close to him, skin to skin, but he wanted them to be closer. He wanted to be inside him—to own him, body and soul.

He loved Vyn. Marius wouldn’t know who he is without him.

“I love you,” he grunted as Vyn ground against his erection, “I love you.” His hands wandered up his spine and down his ass, squeezing it, eliciting a moan from Vyn. “I love you.”

But it wasn’t long until Marius took his black, silken tie, staring intently, lustfully at Vyn before he hoisted it in between them, “May I?”

Vyn raised his wrists in answer. “And my tie?”

“For your eyes,” Marius said, his eyes darkening. “I was thinking your mouth, but I love hearing your noises.

“I love hearing your moans. Your whines. I love it when you scream my name.”

Marius licked his lips, and his chest swelled with triumph as he saw Vyn shiver again, turned on by a few words. Vyn gasped in surprise as Marius finished tying his wrists, pulling on the knot a bit harshly than he’d intended.

“Now,” Marius said as he worked on Vyn’s red tie, “you love the dark, don’t you darling?”

A whine escaped his lips as he was pushed to the bed. He couldn’t even recall how Marius looped and that red, silken tie around his eyes. All he knew now was he’s on the bed, on his back, his hands tied in front of him. “Ah, Marius…”

“What was that?”

Vyn could only nibble on his lower lip. “Please… oh!”

He moaned as he felt his husband’s mouth, warm and wet, close around his nipple. His toes curled at the sensation, especially at how Marius knew just how to kiss, lick, and suck his nipple and make him cry and moan so loud. His body moved frantically, the pleasure almost maddening now that his vision was obscured, and not knowing what Marius was gonna do next was killing him.

However soon he felt large hands grip his thighs, hoisting them, and Vyn most willingly submitted by wrapping his legs around Marius’ hips. He was now on top of him, could feel his hot, ragged breaths against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” Marius whispered as he kissed Vyn’s beauty mark, that one on his collarbone, “I just love fucking you so much,” he said, before unbuttoning Vyn’s pants and sliding his hand down under, wrapping his fingers around Vyn’s length.

“Oh! Marius, ah—”

“Yes, just like that…”

“Please!”

“You like that? Damn, you’re actually making this harder for me… let me just…”

Marius stopped, his hurrying hands fumbling on Vyn’s pants, in much haste to get inside him. Oh how badly he wanted to fuck his husband when he all but looked like a willing captive, writhing underneath him—he let his fingers travel down under, lingering on Vyn’s back, then trailing further south, massaging his arse, lifting Vyn a little in the process.

Marius did not waste any more time and took the head of his own cock, moving his hard-on closer until it rubbed softly, carefully over Vyn’s hole. He rasped as he did a little push inside. “Shit.”

“M-Marius…”

Marius took that as his signal to push further, letting out a small grunt as he moved another inch, then another, and he took satisfaction witnessing Vyn’s mouth parting as he whined, silver brows furrowed in pleasure. “Ohh, Marius—”

Marius gripped on his husband’s waist and hilted his entire cock inside him.

Vyn whined again, so loud Marius wondered if his voice reached the outside, even with their windows closed. Vyn cried as Marius moved inside him, his thick, warm cock fitting perfectly in his ass, hilting deeper and deeper with each thrust that Vyn couldn’t stop muttering curses and Marius, Marius didn’t have any words for it—just sounds, low and needy. Just grunts, and moans, and whines and cries.

Marius thrust again. Harder, deeper—

“Ohh, just like that!”

“Yeah?”

“Mm—ohh, f-faster please—!”

Marius nodded frantically, and he thought how much Vyn had an effect on him that, despite Vyn being the one tied up and writhing underneath him, Marius was actually the one in his mercy.

Good. Deservedly so. Vyn Richter was his Saving Grace and he’d worship the man forever.

“Ah—fuck! Marius…!” moaned the older man, biting his lip as he welcomed the familiar pain—and pleasure—down his nether part. It was only then Marius realized he had been too excited to claim Vyn that the thought of using a lubricant or even covering his dick with saliva never crossed his mind.

“Fuck, Vyn. Does it hurt?” he asked, but never stopped moving, pulling and pushing back in.

“N-no! It feels good. You feel good…” he moaned as he shook his head, “I’d rather you—ah!—fucked me hard.”

And it was enough to make Marius pin his husband’s hands atop his head, cursing as he thrust in, and out, so hard and so deep tears started rolling down Vyn’s pale cheeks. “Faster?”

“Y-yes!”

Marius gripped hard around Vyn’s wrists, railing the man as hard as he could, making Vyn cry with each powerful thrust. The sounds of wet, forceful squelching echoed across the room and, partnered with Vyn Richter’s needy moans, Marius thought damn, I should’ve brought a recorder.

Well, it’s not like he couldn’t do that soon. Pretty sure Vyn would be most willing to film all their blasphemous activities together. “I’m close.”

“M-me too…” Vyn bit his lip, his back arching in ecstasy brought about by their bodies, skin to skin. Marius pounded faster. It felt like fire, really, and he felt his stomach surging and ebbing and surging again and again with pleasure. They moved in sync now, Vyn’s hips thrusting to match his husband’s pace, and he knew he was close when he felt that electric sensation zipping through his veins, his loins, his cock. “M-Marius…!”

His balls drew up tight as Marius slammed into him, again and again. Vyn could only let out a broken cry as he sensed Marius’ hand grasping his cock, jerking it as fast and as hard, perfectly matched with the way Marius pumped his dick inside him in a relentless rhythm.

Vyn came. Loud, majestic, his hot cum spurting on Marius’ stomach and making a beautiful mess there, much like the way he was one. His head was fucking spinning and he thanked Marius for it. And he kept on crying out even as Marius came, his fresh seed filling Vyn up like he was always meant to.

He kept on going. Grinding in him so deep, so sensual, thrusting again and again and letting his very hard cock feel inside Vyn, helping both of them through the very last of their orgasms. Again, then again. One last time, until Vyn croaked weakly, and Marius grunted as he fell on the empty space on the bed, beside his husband.

Despite the exhaustion, he shifted to his side. Took the blindfold off his husband. Vyn’s eyes fluttered open immediately, albeit blearily, the fringe of his long, silver lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He gave Marius a weak smile. “That was…”

Marius let out a soft laugh, feeling the last bits of his energy dripping away. “I want to fuck you again.” He relaxed, but felt himself stiffen at the sight of his husband: ethereal. Beautiful with his cheeks flushed and mouth parted, his neck and chest gleaming in sweat. Vyn Richter, once again, in the afterglow of mindblowing sex.

“I love you,” he whispered, though he was not sure if Vyn heard. His eyes were already closed, and he looked like he was fast asleep. Marius smiled and snuggled close to him, with Vyn’s soft breathing lulling him to slumber.

==

Sometime around his dream, if he ever truly dreamed, he heard a silken voice say, “I love you, too.” Felt a gentle kiss on his forehead once, twice. Then another, “I will love you forever.”

When he awoke in the middle of the night, the quiet surrounding them, he saw Vyn was sound asleep. He rested his head against the hollow of Vyn’s neck, inhaling his sweet scent, and wrapped his arms around him. “Vyn,” he whispered, “I’ll love you forever, too,” before he kissed him on the cheek.

Somehow, Marius knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

==

Vyn awoke three hours earlier than usual, his eyes bleary, almost blind as he stared at the digital clock which blinked 5:58 AM. He wouldn’t be up this early, but his phone rang so alarmingly in the distance—atop that couch beside their bed where Marius fucked him the whole night—and with a ringtone he wouldn’t dare not pick up, lest he received yet another lecture. An hour or two of it, even if that lecture came from his, well… not his superior, because he was the superior.

He sighed—it was his junior calling. “Good morning, my rose.”

“DON’T ‘MY ROSE’ ME, RICHTER-VON HAGEN!” came his beloved junior’s rather sweet response, and Vyn instinctively pulled his phone away from his ear, unless he wanted his hearing damaged forever. “WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“Language, beloved.”

“VYN!” Ah, there it was. He knew she was suppressing those sobs. It was conspicuous she had been pulling back tears the moment Vyn answered the call, the moment she’d heard his voice and confirmed he was alive, although not much well. “I was so, so worried about you… I thought… I thought you were—” she paused to take a light sniff, “dead. The squad is on their way. What happened?”

“I… I cannot tell you right now. I am sorry, dear,” he said, his gaze drifting to his husband who was still snoring in his sleep, and gods did Vyn thought Marius looked ethereal even during his most vulnerable moments. He fucked me so well last night…

“And please, Rosa,” he said, “tell the squad to halt their mission. I am all right—harmed, but I am faring well. And so is my husband.”

“Oh, my god. Mr. von Hagen was a witness?”

“Sort of. I shall tell you all about it when we meet.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his fingers running across the bare skin of his chest, wincing at the hurt from where Marius bit him. “You are in charge for now. Make certain the HQ is still up and about,” he said, “you are my second-in-command, so do what you must in my stead. Meet me tomorrow, same place.”

“Oh, uh—tomorrow, you said?”

“Yes. Is something the matter, dear?”

“Er, well…” she trailed, and Vyn’s brow arched in curiosity. He tried to rewind their past conversations, see if she’d mentioned anything she ought to accomplish tomorrow. There was nothing in particular, and Vyn was about to tell her twice until she cleared her throat and answered, “I actually… have a date tomorrow, Vyn.”

Ah. Understandable.

However, “I have taught you of the risks which comes along with our line of work. I hope you do keep your emotions out of your job—”

“What a hypocrite,” Marius muttered beside him. Was this idiot fake-sleeping the whole time?

“Never you mind. I am not against your relationships. I will meet you in two days, then,” Vyn continued—not without glaring at his husband first and foremost in the morning—and added, “but of course, what is this lucky lad’s name? Age, hair colour—”

“Luke Pearce, thirty years old. Coral eyes, chestnut blonde, and very cute.”

“Make certain you put up his records in the office. That aside—please enjoy your date, Rosa.”

Vyn pressed on the end button. He was thinking whether to check up on his husband or do a background check on Luke Pearce first, but he heard another phone call—this time from Marius’ phone—and even though he never truly meant to listen… well, however could he not?

“Hey, Luke?”

Vyn’s ears perked at the sound of his name. Luke.

“Yeah, sure. Wait, you can’t tomorrow?” Marius asked through the phone, his voice getting inaudible as he yawned, “oh, man. Congrats on bagging your first date—oh, wait a minute. Is this girl Rosa you’re going out with?”

“Who is that?” Vyn mouthed to him with those piercing golden eyes. My junior, his husband mouthed back, shrugging his shoulders. It’s not like I can hide it anymore from you.

Well, Luke was not his junior since Luke was older by a few years, but Marius had been an assassin earlier than him. And, well… he was Luke’s boss.

Vyn didn’t need to do a background check. He’d have to pester Marius for it. Just great, what are the odds that their juniors were going on a date?

The first thing Marius did when he ended the phone call was tackle Vyn into a hug, which the older man reciprocated much lovingly (despite his grumpy morning face). He was still scowling, but it was a contrast to the warmth which he gave Marius in return, and the eagerness emanating from him as he pressed closer against Marius’ exposed chest. It wasn’t very soon that Vyn had started nuzzling his face against his husband’s cheeks, like a cat trying to be sweet.

“Vyn.”

“I thought you addressed me as darling or love or baby, but I suppose we—”

“Really, Vyn? This early in the morning?” Marius laughed as he cuddled him more. “You know, I was just gonna ask you something…”

“You want to fuck me again?”

And there it was, that familiar pout and puppy eyes, all too powerful even for Vyn that he knew immediately he wouldn’t be able to deny him. Well, it’s not like he’d decline some more good fucking. “Don’t you want me to?” Marius said, his pout much guilt-enducing now.

But not until Vyn pushed the sheets down until it reached his thighs, revealing his now bulging erection, his sudden craving for Marius. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

“Fuck. You sure know how to—”

Another phone call.

Vyn sighed and took the phone. His eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, upon seeing the caller ID.

“Please tell me you’ll ignore that.”

“Unfortunately for us—” he slid a finger down the green button, “we cannot decline this one.

“Good morning, Captain Morgan.”

“This is Artem,” came that deep, familiar baritone, and Vyn felt himself shiver from the way Artem sounded in the mornings. The senior lawyer had always been a morning person, but there were times too wherein he was too lazy to get up for work—can you actually believe that?—so Vyn had to do all sorts of things to get him moving. His voice during those moments hadn’t changed at all: deep and husky, almost seductive.

“Artem,” he repeated, and the name seemed to capture Marius’ attention, too. “Good morning. Why are you calling this early in the morning? And why are you using Captain Morgan’s phone?”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Darius forgot to bring his phone,” he answered. “I called to let you know he’s coming, along with his squad. Too many noise complaints last night. They’re going to investigate.”

“Just so you know, Wing—my house is an estate. I am quite certain no one was bound to hear us…” Oh, shit. Marius threw a grenade in my garden.

He shot Marius a glare before he returned, “Tell Captain Morgan to go home.”

“I kept telling him that,” he replied, quite vexed now. “It was supposed to be our day off, Vyn. Our only day off, and you just had to ruin it.”

“It is not my fault you cannot persuade your boyfriend to stay in bed with you.”

“Are we—”

“Hello there, Artem.” Marius had snagged the phone away from Vyn, having felt that impending argument that would probably last hours—he wouldn’t admit that he was only jealous because Artem was Vyn’s only ex-boyfriend, almost husband—and had taken matters into his own hands. “We’ll meet Captain Morgan when he gets here, all right? I’ll tell him to go home, so let’s have peace, yeah? Bye!”

“I could have handled that, Marius,” Vyn spat, but not before Marius hopped out of bed and went to browse through his cabinet. He got himself a clean set of sleepwear in pastel green, Vyn’s most adored colour, and threw the shirt in Vyn’s direction. “Give me the pants as well.”

“No,” said Marius, already in the process of wearing it, “you take the shirt, I take the pants. It’s too long for you, anyway.”

Vyn crossed his legs, folded his arms. “What are you planning?”

“We’re gonna give ‘em a show.”

==

When Vyn opened the front door to their house, he was met with the rather hot welcome of flashing lights, towering video cameras, fully-dressed reporters and papparazzis in all black. He could make out the faint sirens coming from the police cars parked outside the estate, and he only hoped no one was able to round the bend leading to his recently-bombed garden.

“Vyn Richter, is it true there was a shoot-out here last night?”

“Vyn, did you have a quarrel with Mr. von Hagen?”

“Vyn, the people are curious—is divorce on the table yet?”

“Are you and Mr. von Hagen are going to be available in the marriage market again?”

“Vyn, rumors say that you and Mr. von Hagen are involved in matters of Mafia and secret services. Is that true?”

“Vyn, are you pregnant?”

His eyed widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“VYN!”

If he really ought to be true to his role of being a… babygirl who would pretend to be lightheaded or unwell after coming across crazy reporters with no sense of privacy, he would’ve done it after a few more moments or so. However Vyn truly was made unwell by said blinding lights and mad interviewers, and by instinct he pressed a palm against his temple and leaned against the doorframe, suddenly dizzy at the commotion. “Please…”

“Give him space, everyone. Move, move!”

Oh, dear. Thank goodness for Captain Morgan, he thought as Darius practically shoved the reporters out of the way as he reached for Vyn. A strong hand gripped him by the arm, enough to steady his slowly unstable body. “You okay, Richter?”

“von Hagen,” he corrected. “And not quite, Captain.”

“You can hold onto me,” he said, then faced the crowd of reporters again, “stop it with the cameras. If I see another shot I’ll have you all arrested—”

“You better listen to him.” Marius stepped beside Vyn, and in a heartbeat slipped his arm around his huband’s slender waist. Vyn felt his cheeks grow warm at the feeling of Marius’ hand holding him around the waist, in front of all these people—not to mention he was only wearing a green button top and Marius only in his pajamas. Thank god the cameras had stopped—courtesy by Darius who threatened an arrest—because those dark red hickeys and bite marks were clearer than the clearest of blue skies.

This man, Vyn thought as he leaned against Marius’ chest, he really likes to show off, doesn’t he?

He tried to hide a chuckle. It was true Marius loved to show off, but he loved it most when Marius showed him off for everyone to see, for everyone to know who owned him. At this moment, the message was pretty clear. Even the most senseless person would make sense what Marius wanted to say—that Vyn was his, and Marius was Vyn’s. It was written all over the young von Hagen: from the smirk on his lips, the red marks on his exposed chest. The top which covered Vyn’s probably hickey-filled body.

And so Vyn acted the part, pretending to be nauseous as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder this time, and hooking his arm around Marius’. “I am not feeling very well…”

Marius squeezed his waist gently. “I’ll get you inside,” he said, and Vyn nodded faintly. Marius then turned to Captain Morgan, who was staring at them rather incredulously. It was conspicuous he never wanted to be here, to witness all this—he’d rather spend the day fucking Artem. “Sorry, Cap. I’ll give you a call and help you fix our mess. For now…” he paused and gestured to an exhausted Vyn, “my husband needs rest. You’ll handle this for now, yeah?”

Darius sighed, massaging his temples. “Yes. I’ll also let Artem know.”

“You better go home to him. He was pretty pissed with us this morning.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. von Hagen?”

“Ehh ~” Marius pouted, but before he could say another word Darius asked, “What am I going to report? There were a lot of noise complaints. Some said it sounded like a grenade.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” Marius winked. “You see, this is what happens when you’re away for work too long. You tend to really, really miss your husband…”

Darius wanted to roll his eyes—no, he wanted to punch Marius. Does this brat really expect me to write ‘very loud, earth-shattering sex’ as the reason for those noise complaints?

Whatever could he do, though? He couldn’t possibly deny the Marius von Hagen of all people. Besides, he was not anointed as the newest NXX member for him to report Marius and Vyn just like that. Fine—he was going to write that unreasonable reason.

Marius seemed to know Darius was not going to deny him, and so the captain was met with the von Hagen’s signature, youthful grin that seemed to say: Hehe, you can’t deny me, can you?

Darius eyed Vyn one more time. He didn’t seem as sick as he appeared, but Darius knew he was indeed exhausted. However he wondered, as he waved the couple goodbye and ordered the reporters and paparazzis to keep out lest they get arrested, how can Richter—er, von Hagen—be this radiant after that violent shoot-out?

The moment Marius closed the door, Vyn muttered:

“Tell Vincent to arrange you an appointment with me,” he said, almost half-moaned, “based on my findings last evening, you need psychiatric help.”

… This hypocrite!

[ladyculebras]

hello! i'm a big fan of your fics, and was wondering if you had any particular inspirations for you dexter/harrison fics, specifically 'carnivore incarnate'. it's so fascinating! also, forever hoping you'll write more for this fandom ❣

anon, this is incredibly flattering, and I really hope you're still around to read this response. I'm sorry it took me a while. I wanted to really be...comprehensive in my thoughts and this ended up pretty rambly. In some ways, this is an excuse for me to write about my process for my very rare pair, which is self-indulgent, but I hope it'll be of interest to some people at least.

Stoker and Raw are, in general, two inspirations for me that I keep in mind while writing Dexter/Harrison fic. Stoker, because the way I write Harrison, it's always a coming of age story vis-a-vis serial killing. For carnivore incarnate, I specifically drew on Raw for some of the visuals and violence. Both of those films are coming of age stories with incestous vibes and murder, and that's the vibe I want for my fic.

As far as carnivore incarnate goes, well, there's the quote the title is from, which is the Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber, a short story collection; the quote is specifically from The Company of Wolves in it; but I wasn't really drawing on the short story in particular, I just like the quote a lot and I kept hearing it in my head while writing it.

In terms of the vampire mythology, I made it up xD There's absolutely shades of Being Human UK (blood drinking as addiction, daywalking vampires) and The Lost Boys (half-vampirism) and even a bit of The Coldest Girl in Coldtown (not-fully transitioned vampires drinking vampire blood), but I constructed the mythology based on what I needed to make the story work. I needed Dexter to walk in daylight, or else he doesn't work as a Miami blood-spatter analysis, so I decided daylight doesn't have an effect, or it has minimal effect. I needed Dexter to age, so he looks Dad-aged to Harrison, not like Season 1 era Dexter, so I decided blood keeps him young and if he doesn't drink, he'll age at a normal rate. I needed Harrison to be in some half-vampire state where he knows he is not Normal but plausibly think his issues are all psychological, and not that he's a vampire, so I decided he doesn't get his fangs until he makes a kill.

I am writing more for this fandom! The problem is, all my ideas are huge, so it takes forever for me to finish something, and I also get distracted by other projects, because I get easily frustrated if I spend too long on one thing. I sort of can't talk about what I'm currently writing, because it's for an exchange (hopefully) and I need to stay anonymous until I post it, but it should hopefully be done...in a month? I think it needs a month's more of work. I have multiple Dexter/Harrison ideas that I've already started, and I'm writing one Harrison/Brian idea that's about...30k at the moment, but again, slowest writer alive.

I am also really deeply inspired by music; I can write without it, but it always helps. If i'm a low mood, music can help pick me up and put me in a better mood for writing. Certain songs evoke the right feelings or emotions for a scene, or a character, or a specific event, and help me with the imagery or mood. This is the most self-indulgent thing but I make a playlist for most things I write. I don't have a specific carnivore incarnate playlist, but I do have a Dexter/Harrison playlist I made for you gave me my very first gun that I've just been adding to it as I write and turned into a catch-all Dexter/Harrison mix:

you gave me my very first gun

I also have these two other writing mixes that I use for writing Dexter/Harrison, or other Dexter-related or Dexter adjacent content:

monsters are always hungry

no blood for you will ever be enough

I've been listening to that third one a lot while writing. There's a lot of overlap between mixes, and I guess if I had to pick 5 songs that inspire my Dexter/Harrison feelings for writing, I'd go with

patron saint hunter - timber timbre

evil - interpol

alligator blood - nicole dollanganger

glycerine - bush

you want it darker - leonard cohen (thank you, bones and all, for bringing this to my attention)

Thank you for asking! I'm glad you're enjoying the fics. There's such a small audience for this, so I really treasure any level of engagement I get <3

[lucyshypemaster]

some of my favourite quotes from The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell

(for self-indulgence lol)

"Consider yourself warned. My story is not one that ends with a happily-ever-after." - The Evil Queen

"Right now, we're living in an ugly chapter of our lives, but books always get better!" - John Bailey

"Sometimes we forget about our own advantages because we focus on what we don't have." - John Bailey

"Have you really come to eat me? I thought you'd have learned your lesson by now. I bite back." - Goldilocks

'I fell in love. I fell into a love so deep it was unlike anything I've ever known. I never thought this kind of love was real. It's as if I am no longer living for myself anymore, but for her. So, I must find a way back. I must find a way to see her again.' - John Bailey

"I'd rather die trying than live the rest of life wondering if I could have done it." - John Bailey

"Some annoying little girl told me once that optimism always pays off, and she's usually right about things." - Conner Bailey

"It doesn't matter what life you're living, life never has a solution. No matter how hard the struggles are that you leave behind, new struggles always take their place." - Cinderella

"No matter what you do, you can never please anyone. And that was the hardest lesson to learn." - Cinderella

"If I had to be enslaved for life with someone, I'm glad it's her." - Conner Bailey

"Would you rather die in your cell or die trying to get back the life they stole from you?" - Alex Bailey

"Well, I know what it feels like to think the whole world is against you." - Alex Bailey

"I keep the spindle as a reminder that even the worst curses cast by the most powerful enchantresses can eventually be overcome." - Sleeping Beauty

'The fairy tale had always romanticized the bravery of the young prince and the horror of the curse that had been cast upon the land, but it had failed to mention what a strong and brave woman the sleeping beauty truly was.'

"Try giving 𝘮𝘦 a poisoned apple, and I'll shove it down your throat." - Goldilocks

"Courage is one thing that no one can ever take away from you." - Goldilocks (obviously i had to include this infamous quote)

"I've done many terrible things in my time, but many terrible things have been done to me over time as well. So, as far as I'm concerned, the world and I are even." - The Evil Queen

"I think what I've learned from all of this is that 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 are mostly just people villainized by circumstance." - Alex Bailey

'By sunrise, they would be the most wanted fugitives in the world, but, at last, they were in each other's arms.'

"It doesn't matter how greatly you've been hurt or how much you're hurting, it's what you do with the pain that counts." - Froggy

[tracingpatternswrites]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @theresthesnitch! This looks like the perfect distraction right now.

Username: TracingPatterns

1. How many works do you have on A03?

122 works across all fandoms.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

1,021,394

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Harry Potter, mostly Marauders.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Playing with Fire

Of Quiet Hearts and Thundering Dreams

Wilder than Mountain Thyme

Countdown

Hungry Moon

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try! It might take me a while but I do always try to respond to all comments that I get.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh dear, this was actually a pretty difficult choice. Many of my fics are quite angsty now that I think about it, but if we disregard the canon stuff, I think I'd say As The Tide Pulls.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have a lot of fics with happy endings too. I'd say that most of my long fics end happily, but I think I would pick Wilder than Mountain Thyme just because I feel like it ends with hope and possibility.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes, but really not all that much. I did once have someone write a whole 'clapback fic' (their own words) based on one of my fics though so that was... interesting.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Er, yes? I mean. Absolutely yes. All kinds? Seriously, I mostly write M/M sprinkled in with some M/M/M. I love to write kink so I do that a lot, but there's some 'vanilla' stuff in there too.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, never.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Someone once told me that one of my fics had been copied onto Wattpad as part of some sort of collection but by the time I went to look at it, it seemed to be gone. So. Maybe?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! I've written wonderful things together with my friends and I love, love, love co-writing. It's so much fun!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I think I have to say Wolfstar just because it's the one I keep coming back to again and again and again. However, I do have a very soft spot for a lot of other ships as well.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have so many ideas and my absolute aim is to finish most of them. However, I think the one I'm furthest away from completing is the one I started for the candyheart challenge last year.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't know. Smut maybe 😅 I feel like other people can answer this question better. I think I'm pretty good at working out plot holes. Most of the time that's a good thing, but sometimes it makes me get stuck on silly details. I'm good at angst too, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing scenes with more than two people is a constant struggle for me. I think humour is another weakness, crack fic is not my thing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think that's fine, and I've definitely done it, but I'm quite picky with how to use it. Also, always ask for help from a native speaking. Google Translate is not your friend.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Lord of the Rings (but those are looooooong gone, I can tell you that much).

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This is an impossible question and I honestly don't know. I am honestly proud of a lot of fics that I've written. But alright, to be honest I think it might be a tie.

Wilder than Mountain Thyme because it's the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. I poured my heart into that fic, and I'm really proud of the world building and the characters.

over blackened water because I think this is one of the best things I've written and I keep making myself cry whenever I re-read it.

Open tag - if you want to do this then please do! But I'm also passing on a no-pressure tag to @heartofspells, @puuvillaa, @mundrakan and @soloorganaas. I'm sorry if any of you have already done this and I've missed it!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

I nEvEr GeT aSk GaMe StUfF

✨🦋🌿🎀💝💥💎💌

Geee, alright already! 🤣🤣🤣

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

Okay, first things first, I'm pretty satisfied with how all of my fics have been perceived so far, so I can't really complain. 

That being said: Someone who cares is doing significantly less good than Hic sunt dracones, statistics-wise. It is my own emotional support fic and incredibly close to my heart, so I really am delighted about every positive comment I get about it. 

🦋what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

Erm, everything? Can I say everything? 🤣

I'm literally a nervous wreck after posting, anxiously hitting F5 and waiting for feedback, mind in a constant loop of self-doubt.

What if my characterization is off?

What if the premise sucks?

What if my readers don't like the direction I'm taking the story? 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!! 

🌿how does creating make you feel?

So many things!!! 

For one thing, it scratches the brain itch. I’ve always had to create things, as far back as I remember. When I was a kid, my parents could stick me in a corner with some paper and scissors and crayons and glue and wouldn’t hear from me for hours. 

Even during the 15 years that I didn’t write, I always had to be doing something creative. Knitting, painting, drawing, photographing, you name it. It’s an urge that I need to fulfill and I get crabby if I can’t. 

Seeing the end results makes me feel insanely proud and accomplished. It may not be perfect, but I made that! I sunk my teeth into it and saw it through and made this wonderful thing that I love. 

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

How dare you make me say nice things about myself?! 

Okay … I guess my writing does something to other people that makes them want to create their own stuff. People have repeatedly told me that reading my fics kickstarted their own imagination into creating stories or art of their own. And every time that happens, I get so incredibly happy because that is like a god-tier compliment right there! That somebody found my writing so engaging that it made their brain spin off on a tangent and they created something out of it! 

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Dragons! Dragons dragons dragons dragoooooons!!!! 

The feedback I am getting for this fic just won’t stop blowing my mind, seriously, and every time I think it’s done, you guys hit me in right in the feels again with your gorgeous comments and rec lists mentions and fucking FANART! I am incredibly happy and humbled and awed that people are loving it so much! 

💥find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

That would be Someone like you, which is a little bonus story to Someone who cares. It's a purely self-indulgent little one-shot featuring married Steddie and a baby. This universe is my emotional support AU and I loved visiting the boys again. 💕

💎why is writing important to you?

Wow, where to start? 

Because it's incredibly fun and allows me to completely immerse myself in the story I'm creating. Because I get to be self-indulgent and spoil myself and make the story exactly like I want it to be. 

And because I have met so many amazing, creative, lovely ppl through it over the past few months, who bring me joy and make me smile every single day.

I honestly don't know how I could ever go without it for so long! 

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Okay, so I'm still firmly stuck on the demon!Eddie brainworm and fully planning on turning it into a chaptered fic. I'm still figuring out a lot of the specifics, but I've already got some nice twists and details planned. There'll be demon besties Eddie and Chrissy, a nice side of Buckingham, lots of smutty goodness, Dustin running a mystery YouTube channel and so much more, it will be glorious! 

[pesterloglog]

Vriska Serket, Meenah Peixes

Act 6, page 6747-6749

VRISKA: To 8e honest, I don't even want to hear any more.

VRISKA: Next time you have an upd8 on what my ancestor has 8een up to, please just keep it to yourself.

MEENAH: you sure

VRISKA: It's em8arrassing!

VRISKA: I cringe every time I think a8out her self-indulgent exploits.

MEENAH: mhm

VRISKA: Doesn't she realize this sort of thing never works?

VRISKA: You don't just go and insert yourself into the middle of all the action in the most hamfisted way possi8le just 8ecause you can't stand another second 8eing out of the spotlight.

VRISKA: That always goes horri8ly for everyone.

VRISKA: Even worse, it ends up making you look like an idiot.

VRISKA: And even MORE worse, it's making ME look like an idiot 8y associ8tion!

VRISKA: Why couldn't she have thought this through a little more?

VRISKA: Why couldn't she have at least TOLD us first?

MEENAH: shruggin ma shoulders yo

VRISKA: How is it that I understand this and she doesn't?

VRISKA: She's HOW much older than me?

VRISKA: Like a 8ajillion dream 8u88le sweeps or something?

VRISKA: All that experience and wisdom, and she's out there floundering around like fucking noo8.

MEENAH: (floundering)

VRISKA: It's so disheartening. She wants to 8e like Marquise so much, just like I used to.

VRISKA: 8ut she is NOTHING like her!

VRISKA: You kind of need to have a fuck ton of experience doing, you know... a lot of ruthless pir8tey shit 8efore you can pull that off?

VRISKA: You can't just 8e a 8ookish dwee8 all your life, then suddenly decide to flip the 8adass switch and expect people to take you seriously.

VRISKA: Also, to truly pull that off, it MIGHT help to actually 8e a goddamned adult.

VRISKA: I know, I must 8e totally off my swaychair for suggesting it. 8ut may8e, just MAY8E, there are certain roles and 8ehaviors which are 8est left to fully developed, grown ass people!

VRISKA: Not to sound like a wet 8lanket, 8ut my ancestor's journal contained some EXTREMELY mature content!

VRISKA: So now we have yet another stupid kid trying to fill the 8oots of a legendary pir8 queen, and it's amateur hour all over again.

VRISKA: All I can see in her is me when I used to........

VRISKA: And it makes me want to........

VRISKA: UGHHHHHHHH!

MEENAH: stop movin around all angry

MEENAH: you fuckin me up here

VRISKA: Sorry.

VRISKA: I'm just dismayed 8y some of the implic8tions of her actions.

VRISKA: Is this really how I came off when I used to pull this sort of shit?

MEENAH: dunno wasnt there

VRISKA: I have a sickening feeling it was just like this.

VRISKA: No wonder no8ody could stand me.

VRISKA: And here I am, 8itching at my ancestor like I know 8etter, like I've evolved 8eyond all that.

VRISKA: 8ut........

VRISKA: Have I really?

VRISKA: Do I go around thinking I'm smarter than I used to 8e, 8ut end up repeating all the same old patterns without even realizing it?

VRISKA: Was the plan to find this treasure and 8uild an army just a rest8tement of my immature, egomaniacal 8ullshit disguised as a more "strategically sensi8le" plan?

VRISKA: If I can apparently keep kidding myself a8out this crap forever, then how would I know the difference?

VRISKA: I guess the thing I h8 most a8out her stunt isn't that it's a dum8 plan, or that we weren't included.

VRISKA: It's that it's making me wonder if I can trust any of my own judgments, even after all this time.

MEENAH: thats some baller inward reflection serk

VRISKA: I don't know a8out that.

VRISKA: If it's so 8aller, why is it making me feel like shit?

MEENAH: thats what its supposed to do i think

MEENAH: but like

MEENAH: tempurarily?

VRISKA: I guess.

VRISKA: What a8out you?

VRISKA: Does any of this reson8 at all?

VRISKA: I know you used to stir up shit with your friends.

VRISKA: You must have done some outrageous things which you thought were necessary for the good of the team. When you look 8ack, do you ever wonder what you were thinking? Or if you ever truly evolved?

MEENAH: na

VRISKA: Oh, come on.

VRISKA: Don't leave me hanging in self dou8t lim8o here.

VRISKA: Gimme SOMETHING, Peixes.

MEENAH: haha

MEENAH: i dont know maybe??

MEENAH: sea my thing is

MEENAH: i dont verbally torture my cray schemes like all the serket girls

MEENAH: and that works ok for me

MEENAH: guess i made some mistakes but who really gives a flip

VRISKA: You don't care if you make mistakes?

MEENAH: not like you and she do

MEENAH: araneas deal is

MEENAH: what shes doin now isnt much different from how she always did stuff

MEENAH: the stuff she does is never about the things shes actually doing

MEENAH: its about what those things M-EAN and makin sure everyone KNOWS what they mean

MEENAH: and above all makin sure everyone understands how important she is cause shes obviously the source of all that critical M-EANING without which all action would be pointless right?

MEENAH: but thats not how i rolled

MEENAH: i just

MEENAH: did shit

MEENAH: and the shit i did

MEENAH: meant only the things the shit accomplished

MEENAH: and if that shit accomplished a dumb thing that sucked

MEENAH: then i guess thats what you call a mistake and oh fuckin well

MEENAH: mistakes aint make me feel too bad since i dont really connect results with my shelf worth

MEENAH: ya feel me

VRISKA: YES.

VRISKA: That is so right on.

VRISKA: If you asked me a long time ago, I'm sure I would have insisted that's exactly how I felt a8out everything I did too.

VRISKA: 8ut I don't know if that's true anymore.

VRISKA: In fact, I'm sure that WASN'T true.

VRISKA: I was always invested as hell in the consequences of everything I did, and how it made me look.

VRISKA: And how it made me feel a8out myself especially.

MEENAH: ok i will admit

MEENAH: i always felt hella bad about decisions leavin me with less gold

MEENAH: glub damn

MEENAH: feel a tide a shame wash over me just thinkin about going broke

VRISKA: Well of course.

VRISKA: Who the fuck wants to 8e poor?

VRISKA: That's for losers.

MEENAH: word

VRISKA: Anyway, I have no idea what to do now.

VRISKA: Her ill-advised power play has ruined everything.

MEENAH: well

MEENAH: we still have this treasure here

MEENAH: why dont we just do the shit without her

MEENAH: you could whip up another ghost army

MEENAH: march it strait to english and start beatin him down

VRISKA: I don't think so.

MEENAH: why not

VRISKA: If you want to know the truth........

VRISKA: When we were manipul8ting all those ghosts, Aranea was doing most of the work.

VRISKA: Her a8ilities are a lot more advanced than mine. I guess 8ecause she's 8een around for so long?

VRISKA: I was kind of riding her coattails, making it seem like it was a true colla8oration 8etween us.

VRISKA: It was actually very nice of her to allow people to get that impression. She didn't have to.

VRISKA: I should have just told every8ody that. I guess I wanted to 8elieve it too. Like we were equal partners in crime. Ancestor and descendant united at last, and working gr8 together.

VRISKA: I hope you don't think that makes me a huge phony.

MEENAH: why would i give a fish about that

VRISKA: Yeah.

VRISKA: You're right, you wouldn't.

VRISKA: I shouldn't 8e saying needy shit like that.

VRISKA: I'm just a 8it depressed, 8ecause it feels like I'm running out of friends all over again.

MEENAH: i hear you

MEENAH: she ditched me too

MEENAH: cant blame her i guess

MEENAH: what can i say girl loves her piratesona

MEENAH: she wanna be dat pirate chick so bad

MEENAH: who am i to fault ambition

MEENAH: she cast her lure into the lake of cute but dumbass dreams

MEENAH: i think her mindfang ideal is ridic to be lochness with you

MEENAH: that journal man

MEENAH: tales from the pirate who wont shut up

MEENAH: but then

MEENAH: im not one to talk about hero worship

MEENAH: i think my adult self happens to be the best best greatest most perfect beautiful woman -----EV-----ER an if you axed me if i wanted a crack at her job id be like glub yes put me down for T)(AT

MEENAH: so i legit hope it works out for her

MEENAH: but yeah

MEENAH: that dont mean i didnt get ditched

MEENAH: and that just

MEENAH: 38(

MEENAH: makes me reel sad

VRISKA: Same.

MEENAH: you sure we cant salvage the plan without her

VRISKA: I don't know.

VRISKA: Possi8ly?

VRISKA: The way I was picturing it, a major feature of the original three pronged approach was to use the army to lead a first wave assault against him.

VRISKA: Then while he was preoccupied 8y all those ghosts swamping him, I would go in for the kill with the secret weapon.

VRISKA: So without an army, I guess we'd need to get close enough to him to use it 8efore he killed us.

MEENAH: like uh

MEENAH: sneak up on him?

VRISKA: I guess.

VRISKA: 8ut I get the feeling Lord English is not the kind of guy you can just sneak up on.

MEENAH: kay what if

MEENAH: i found some way to teleport over to him

MEENAH: and i beat the shit out of him with my wrestling moves

MEENAH: then you bust out the weapon

VRISKA: Hahahaha.

VRISKA: That would 8e awesome, if somewhat implausi8le.

VRISKA: I guess we can think it over.

VRISKA: 8ut if we're getting real here, this has all made me feel pretty lukewarm on the plan.

VRISKA: Aranea checking the fuck out. And me recoiling at her hu8ris, which is o8viously just........

VRISKA: My OWN 8ullshit, getting thrown 8ack in my face?

VRISKA: It's a 8it much.

VRISKA: You have to 8e a8le to trust your own judgment to make good plans, right?

VRISKA: I don't know if I do anymore.

VRISKA: I certainly don't right now.

VRISKA: Remem8er when our crew started re8elling against me in that cave, and I was kind of lashing out?

VRISKA: I think I might have 8een forcing it a little?

VRISKA: Like that whole dramatic speech I gave when I jumped into the flaming pit.

VRISKA: Was that really a genuine thing, or like, a desper8te last attempt to 8e who I think I should 8e?

MEENAH: that was badass though

MEENAH: i mean yeah you were chewin the scenery an being hammy as fuck but i thought it was cool and kinda funny

VRISKA: It wasn't supposed to 8e funny though!!!!!!!!

MEENAH: oh

VRISKA: Ah man.

VRISKA: I really don't know what to do.

VRISKA: I'm too depressed to think proactively a8out any of this.

VRISKA: May8e the truth is I don't even care all that much if anyone stops Lord English.

VRISKA: I think all I really cared a8out was getting to do it myself.

MEENAH: thats a good enough reason if you ask me

MEENAH: but hey if you aint feelin it you aint feelin it

VRISKA: What if we just........

VRISKA: Gave up on the mission?

MEENAH: gave up

VRISKA: Yeah.

VRISKA: What do you think.

MEENAH: um

MEENAH: sure

VRISKA: Sure?

VRISKA: You don't think that would 8e a wussy move?

MEENAH: well yeah

MEENAH: it would be

MEENAH: if a couple of cowards did it

MEENAH: but that aint us

MEENAH: so we cool to do whatev

VRISKA: That's a very good point.

MEENAH: nofin wrong with stickin a fork in a shit idea that just makes you miserable

MEENAH: hell the best choice i ever made involved givin up

MEENAH: one day i said

MEENAH: fuck da throne

MEENAH: ran off to the moon

MEENAH: thats how this whole crazy mess kicked off

MEENAH: and if i didnt do that

MEENAH: i wouldnt of met you 38)

VRISKA:

VRISKA: ::::)

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Check part one for warnings 💔

Part 2.

Namjoon stared at his mother, her words registering but not quite sinking in. He blinked, a couple of times and swallowed dryly, trying to gather his wits that felt like they'd been scattered to the four winds. There was a dull ringing in his ear, a feeling of impending horror and he had to fight to bring himself back to the present.

"She is...?" He couldn't even say it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised the irony of it. It wasn't supposed to makes him feel that way. The reason he had taken her to bed was for this : a heir to take over the duties of the head alpha after him. And yet, he knew that he couldn't just ignore all the things that would come with having a pregnant mate. All the added responsibility.

At the heart of it , Namjoon was exhausted.

He had been trained for this position but it didn't make it any easier. His wolf yearned for solitude and serenity, peaceful quiet where he could contemplate life and all its mysteries but the duties and responsibilities kept piling up. He had no time to indulge in such whimsical fantasies. From daybreak to sundown, he drowned in problems that demanded solutions, issues that required his intervention and he was always giving so much of himself to so many.

It was as taking a toll.

And now here was the promise of another new soul. A pup. Fully dependant on him for survival. It was hard to be ecstatic.

" Why do you look so surprised? Have you not been sleeping with her?" She frowned, moving closer to the small wooden bench in the corner of the room. She sat down, primly adjusting the large swathes of her skirt. Even at her age, she was a beauty and despite being a widow, she was treated with great respect by all the wolves in the clan.

" I have... Of course...I just didn't expect her to ...so soon. " He muttered hesitantly. He made a quick calculation, Conceived at the end of autumn meant the child would be born at the end of summer. Rains and more rains. He would have to commission the weavers to make a lot of warm blankets and thick bedding for the babe. And make sure that all the birthing huts had their roofs mended. He felt an ache in his chest. He knew he had to have a heir. It was part of what he was responsible for. But he wasn't ready to be a father yet. Especially not with someone like her.

" You haven't been very subtle in your disdain for her, Joon. It makes me wonder of perhaps I have failed in teaching you the ways of a husband." His mother's sharp voice made him wince.

His parents had been deeply in love with each other. His mother had been an equal contributor in running the clan, his father's most trusted confidante. He couldn't imagine having something like that with the woman he had rather recklessly chained himself to for life. But he couldn't be openly defiant in front of his mother.

So he bowed.

" I've tried to talk to her mother. She looks at me like I'm some marauding villain."

Lady Kim scoffed.

" Because, for all she knows, you may as well be one. Think of who she is, how she was raised. Her mother died when she was eight and she has been keeping house for her father since then. It Is a miracle she knows how to read a few words and to write her own name. Old man Gong is unkind and cruel and I've only ever watched him treat her like an unruly dog that needed discipline and never like his own flesh and blood. She knows men to be cruel and powerful and capable of doing her great harm. Add to it your status as the head of the clan, of course she thinks you're dangerous. "

" am I to be blamed for her childhood now?"

" Don't be obtuse. That is not what I'm saying. I just want you to consider her upbringing, before you write her off as dramatic or hysterical. "

Namjoon sighed deeply.

" Alright, mother. I'll try to talk to her again. "

And he knew that he had to. If he wanted some semblance of peace in his life, he would have to make an effort with his wife.

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

Jiah sat by the haybale near the barn, cross-legged on the dirty floor as she watched Misu and Loshim, two of the stable boys tend to the horses. She stared at the careful way they brushed the large beasts, their tone gentle and soothing as they murmured reassurance to the agitated animals. She found it fascinating, how even an animal that powerful could feel fear and anxiety. It made her feel better about her own shortcomings.

From a very young age, she had known of her flaws. She was jittery, prone to cold sweats and breathing problems, easily frightened and absolutely terrified of confrontation of any kind. Her parents had been, to put it lightly, unkind. They had seen her as a burden, as something broken and useless and cumbersome and that had done nothing for her self esteem.

To make matters worse, they didn't let her attend lessons with the other omega girls, her education limited to scribbled writing on granite with chalk when her father was feeling bored or charitable. She could read a few words with difficulty . Could write her name out if you gave her some time and patience.

At first, her ignorance had been embarassing but over time she realised her education wouldn't serve her much purpose.

She thought of herself as something temporary and fleeting. Not meant to leave any lasting impression on the world. So it was alright if she didn't know what every other girl her age did. She was going to live and die in that hut near the boundary walls..... She would have no use for fancy words or exotic dances.

Or so she hd always believed.

So when the head alpha had asked for her hand in marriage, she had nearly passed out from her heart giving out.

Namjoon was seven years older, almost thirty winters old and she had only ever caught glimpses of him when he came to check on her father's watchpost occasionally. He was a tall man, strapping and intimidating with dragon eyes that glowed red. And one evening he had stopped by her side when she had been tending the beets and potatoes in the small vegetable garden out back.

He had stared at her for a few long minutes while she had sweated in nervousness and then he had promptly asked for her father. When the man had Stepped in and told her father that he was looking to make her his bride, the old man had been jubilant while Jiah had been confounded.

She hadn't wanted to say yes but she had been too much of a coward to say no. Besides, she didn't know if saying no would have any repurcussions....she didn't want to risk offending the literal head of the entire clan. What if they banished her? What would become of her then?

And so she had said yes. And here she was.

Mated to the man for life, her wolf connected to his and his mark on her neck and now....his child in her womb.

She felt the familiar stirring of panic, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself .

Jiah had long come to terms with the fact that her mind was not her friend. It sometimes tried to attack her , tried to make her feel irrational things. It convinced her that she was a bother, that she was useless, that she was a burden. It also tried to tell her that she was in danger, that she had to run and avoid and get away, even when she was perfectly safe.

When she had first come here as the head Alphas new wife, her brain had wrecked havoc on her senses. Had made her feel like a hunted animal, always cowering and hiding and trying to disappear . Namjoon had tried to be friendly, tried to be courteous and all she had done was hide and recoil, skin ice cold and words practically non existent. She hadn't said a word to him those first few days and even the bedding had been a nightmare, her entire body stiff as a board and she knew that he had probably felt like he was making love to a corpse.

She regretted it. Deeply. But there was not much she could do about it now. Besides she wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was obvious her husband's affections lay elsewhere. She had seen the way he looked at that courtesan. Had seen him sneak out for walks with her, had seen them huddled together in the room with all the scrolls and leather bound books.

Jisoo was a beautiful omega, well read and trained in musical arts. She played the gayageum and the flute, knew how to entertain guests with a perfect ceremonial dance and she was always at the helm of every festivity, dressed in vibrant fabrics and full of life.

She was also madly in love with Namjoon.

Jiah sighed, watching the horses paw at the dirty stable floor. She wanted to get to know her husband, yes. But she knew that even if she did, he would only find her wanting and inadequate in all ways.

And that was just not acceptable .

She maybe self aware when it came to her short comings but she also had her pride.

She would rather live like this. Tucked away like an embarassment, hidden like a dirty secret because then there would be no piercing gaze weighing her against her peers and declaring her broken.

Yes.

Pregnant or not, she wanted nothing to do with her husband.

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

" Are you feeling well now?" Namjoon's voice startled her, eyes going wide as she looked around the resting quarters , gaze finally falling on the man standing near the large table on the side. Namjoon was bent over the rough oak surface , papers spread out in front of him, an oil lamp burning bright nearby, casting a sepia shadow on the man himself and she hesitated, debating the pros and cons of excusing herself to go see his mother instead. Maybe claiming a headache?

In the end she did neither, resolving to at least make an effort with this.

" I'm well, alpha. " She swallowed the lump in her throat. " I'm sorry for inconveniencing you. "

He straightened, turning around to look at her finally.

" Do you wish to move into another room?" He said briskly and she startled.

" Another room?"

" Now that you are with pup, there's no reason for us to keep sleeping together. I prefer having my own space. "

Jiah felt the blood rush through her ears. This shouldn't hurt but it did and she could feel the self loathing flood her senses. She stared down at herself, the lack of beauty and the utter lack of any kind of elegant upbringing. Of course he didn't want to stay with her any longer. What had she been thinking , agreeing to this farce of a mating?

" I... Alright. "

Namjoon turned away from her.

" Good. I've already arranged for all your things to be moved to the west wing , next to the gardens."

Far away from his rooms, Jiah thought bitterly. The sudden realization that Namjoon had been looking for some sort of brood mare and not a mate hit her . And it suddenly made sense that he hd picked her.

Someone easy to boss around.

Someone who wouldn't demand anything from him, loyalty or affection or attention .

And it irked her for some reason.

Why did he get to treat her that way? Why must she put up with it?

But she stayed quiet because she wasn't sure what to say.

" You can leave now, Jiah. " He said dismissively and she hesitated before stepping out of the room.

And she wondered if with her departure, someone else would be taking her place in his bed.

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

Authors Note : would you guys like first person narrative or should I continue in third person? 👀

[mandoalorian]

Perfect To Me [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Author's note: This is so self indulgent. I've been having a bad night and this just, kinda happened. I have a really bad relationship with my body image n stuff and so writing this sorta helped me vent out my feelings. Maxwell is like my fave character and I love him so much so ofcourseeee I wrote it with him. Anyways I want you to know that your favourite character loves you so much even when you feel like you're not worth it or in the moments you don't love yourself. I mean it, they love you.

Warnings: body dysmorphia, disordered thinking of a self conscious reader. And also. A little self conscious Maxwell.

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: PG-13

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gif by @santigarcia

You hated it. You hated everything about it. You didn't understand, when you had tried it on in the store just a few hours ago, you loved it. It fit you beautifully. But now, it wasn't the same. It was like something had drastically changed but you couldn't place your finger on what exactly it was. 

"Honey we're going to be late!" you heard Maxwell call from downstairs. Anxiety filled your body knowing that you had to be at the gala in— you checked the time— twenty minutes. "The carpool is waiting!" he called again. You could hear the stress in his voice. He hated being late, especially for events.

"Just a minute!" you shouted back but the words left your lips as a croak, breaking at the end. You scrunched your nose up in disdain and hoped that Maxwell hadn't heard the change in your voice.

You couldn't do this; your blood running cold as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You wanted to rip the dress off, climb under the blankets of your enormous bed and cry. You looked disgusting, embarassing… you didn't look like someone who should be dating Maxwell Lord. Tears pricked your eyes as you imagined the way everyone would be looking at you if you attended the gala wearing that monstrosity. You believed that the dress would be beautiful on every single other person; just not you.

You didn't know what to do. Quickly, you ran to your walk in closet and angrily began to pull out all the dresses that had been neatly organised and hung up. They fell in messy pools on the floor. You wanted to scream in anger, desperately trying to find a dress you could quickly change into. The anxiety only got worse when you could hear Maxwell downstairs making small talk with his driver. You knew they were waiting for you in the lobby. You didn't have time.

You picked up a red number that you had wore last year at the Christmas office party. You tried to weigh up if it would be appropriate for tonight's events, holding it against your body. You threw it to one side, screaming in frustration when you decided it probably wouldn't fit you anymore. You couldn't go. You'd embarrass yourself, and you'd embarrass Maxwell, and his company. 

You clutched onto the edges of your dresser, knuckles turning white as you forced yourself to look at your appearance in the mirror. The kohl black eyeliner was smudged from your tears and your foundation had begun to separate from the anxious sweat you had broken into. He would just have to leave without you.

"I'll go check on her," you heard Maxwell tell the driver. "I'm sure she's just deciding on a pair of shoes." you thought his voice sounded apologetic. You imagined him marching into your shared bedroom, angry that you were taking so long. You imagined his face burning with red rage when he saw you sitting on the edge of his bed, a complete and utter mess. Maybe you deserved it. You heard his footsteps get louder and louder as he went up the stairs and you figured there wasn't anything you could do now. Thoughts raced your mind as you wondered how you could possibly explain this to him.

"Sweetheart, I know what you say about being fashionably late but—” Maxwell stopped and froze up when he entered the bedroom, his eyes blinking between you and the pile of your dresses on the floor. You watched him, feeling ashamed, as his appearance turned from confused to concerned.

He slowly walked further into the bedroom, looking around. He glanced over all your cosmetics and hair products that were scattered across the dresser and examined the mountain pile of clothes on the floor, trailing from the closet to where you were sitting. He moved the red dress you had considered from the bed and sat next to you in silence.

Maxwell turned to face you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. He placed a finger under your chin and turned your head so he could get a good look of your face. He swiped his thumb under your eye, trying to clean up your messy eyeliner, and cupped your cheek. The familiar coolness of his rings pressed against your skin eased you slightly, but you still felt an anxiety. He eventually spoke.

"Darling… what happened?" his voice was gentle and cautious. You tried to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and looked down at the carpeted floor. You didn't answer him. He waited a few moments, and then he said your name.

"I made a mess." you gulped, looking around the bedroom. His gaze followed your eyes and he sighed.

"I can see that," he shrugged. "But I mean… you've been crying?" You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up in shame. "Why?" he asked.

You sniffed. You could think of a thousand excuses less embarrassing than the truth. But he was your boyfriend, and this was a big problem in your life. You figured that he should know what was really going on with you. It was still scary. He was Maxwell Lord— feared by everyone. And there was a reason for that. While he had shown you nothing but love and care during the course of the relationship, you imagined the worst. You imagined him laughing at you or belittling you. Something you've had to deal with from plenty of people before. You rubbed your sore and glossy eyes before taking a deep breath.

"I hate the way this dress looks on me." you said, and Maxwell frowned, crinkles forming in between your eyebrows.

"I don't understand." there was an air of bewilderment in his voice, like he couldn't comprehend what you were telling him. It was a simple fact to you, but your opinion seemed lost on him.

Feeling frustrated, you stood up and flattened the dress down, standing before him. His jaw dropped slightly and his eyes widened as he drunk in the sight of you. The dress fit your body perfectly. He could swear that it was made for you and only you.

"If I go to the gala dressed like this, I'll embarrass you," you sniffed, scrunching up your face in disgust and immediately feeling even more self conscious as you stood in front of your boyfriend. "People will state, and laugh. They will write about me in the tabloids and-"

"Write about how beautiful you look in that dress? Damn sure." Maxwell mumbled, reaching out and taking your hand. "You're wrong. You're so wrong." he pulled you close to him and settled his hands on your waist as he continued to admire you.

"Please don't touch me," you shook your head, pushing his hands away from you. "I feel disgusting. I look disgusting. I am disgusting. Max… you should know that this isn't just a one off thing. I feel like this often, and I don't know why."

"You were obsessed with the dress when you tried it on for me earlier." Maxwell raised an eyebrow, brushing his lower lip with his finger as he processed what was going on.

"I know. I loved it. But now? I hate it. I'm sorry, you probably think this is so stupid."

Maxwell stood up and shook his head quickly. "No! No. Don't apologise. Don't ever apologise, okay? You're not stupid. I understand. I understand completely." 

"No, you don't." you sighed, holding your face in your palms. Maxwell stiffened up and shuffled uncomfortably. You pulled your face away from your hands and pulled on his wrist, reading the time on his gold wristwatch. "Max, just go. This is your big event and you don't want to be late." 

"No." he told you, loosening his bowtie and shuffling out of his suit jacket. He threw it to the floor, amongst the pile of your dresses. He kicked off his Armani shoes and folded his arms over his chest.

"If this is you being stubborn because you're upset with me for not getting dressed…" you trailed off and Maxwell looked at you. He looked hurt that you had made such a suggestion.

"You really don't think I understand how you feel?" He quizzed, and you didn't reply. He was confident, he exuded charm and charisma. He was a television star, he had done speeches in the White House and spoken to the most influential people in the world. You looked at him, waiting for him to continue. He stuck a finger into his belly. "I hate this."

You gulped. "Your tummy?"

He nodded. "I never used to have a tummy… when I was younger, I mean," he revealed, although it meant nothing to you. "But in recent years, you know. I drink a little more, have more steak dinners and don't exercise. So…"

"You're in great shape," you spluttered in disbelief. "And I love your tummy."

"Wouldn't you rather I had an eight pack?" he asked and the thought made you burst into a fit of giggles. The smile he made when he saw that he had made you laugh was unmatched.

"No, not at all!" you chuckled, nudging him playfully.

"So, I do understand," he told you. "I say I hate my tummy, you say you love it. You say you hate the way that dress fits you, and I say it's the most beautiful thing I've seen you in. Although, I think you get more beautiful everyday," he blushed and you beamed at his kind words. It was rare Maxwell would tell you something like that. "I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you. But your feelings? I'm so glad you told me. We can get through it together. I promise." he reached back to hold your hand and gave you a comforting squeeze.

"I still don't want to go to the gala." you bit your lip and he nodded understandably.

Maxwell leaned over to the phone that was on his bedside table and called down to the lobby where his driver was waiting for you both. He cleared his throat. "Yes, it's Maxwell. Take the night off. Myself and Y/N have decided we will not be attending the gala tonight."

"But sir-" the driver began and Maxwell abruptly cut him off.

"Do I pay you to question me? Hurry along now." He said before putting the phone back down on the hook. He sighed before turning back to you and smiling.

"What- what do you mean you're not attending the gala? Max, it's your gala. You have to go." 

"You think I could stand schmoozing with those slimy CEOs without you by my side? I couldn't be productive knowing that my beautiful girlfriend was at home, alone, probably watching some sad movie when her boyfriend should be with her and comforting her."

Your eyes were bright and your lips curled into a grin at his sentiment. You swung your hands around him and cuddled him tight, taking in the scent of his luxury fragrance and resting your head into his soft shirt. "I love you Maxie." you whispered, and he slung an arm around you, pushing you further into his lap.

"I love you too darling," he confessed, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. "Cmon, let's get you out of your dress and into some cozy pyjamas."

You smiled, tugging on the collar of his shirt and pulling him into another kiss, this time on the lips. It was soft and brisk yet passionate. He pulled away slowly and you took in his dark lust blown eyes. "I wanna wear your shirt," you whined, beginning to unbutton it.

"Okay." he replied simply, leaning back and letting you pull his white button up shirt from his body.

"I love your tummy." you reminded him and he smiled, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes and a dimple in the left of his cheek.

"Dress off, shirt on." He told you and you nodded, getting up from the bed and getting changed. Maxwell unbuttoned his belt and pulled down his tailored pants, throwing them to the floor. He took off his socks and clambered under the bed sheets, his arms out, waiting for you to join him. "I love seeing you wear my shirt." he told you as you curled up into him.

You hummed in contentment as he played with your hair. He said your name, in an almost questioning tone.

"Yes?" you replied. 

"No matter what, you'll always be perfect to me."

Permanent taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!): @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal

[s3n0rl3x1]

Nothing to do

Okay so I'm not the most active person in the world. In fact I'm kind of lazy. I'm not proud to admit it but I also do nothing to change it...

I don't know what it is, I just don't like what I call "getting out of my spot" I find myself often calling on my boyfriend to do miniscule tasks like grabbing my phone from across the room, or getting me something to eat from the kitchen. And for no other reason than that damned "getting up from my spot".

Sometimes I wonder if working from home has upped my laziness? I mean I spend all day at home, most of the time glued to my chair following a daily routine of only running down to grab a drink before coming to sit on my ass again...

Odd, how over time we almost get afraid to do anything strenuous otherwise we might hurt our little butts haha..

But I'm feeling antsy, it feels wrong to not do anything all day long, on to turn around and do nothing all evening. Watching the days on the calendar fly by, day after day. I think about my mortality more often than I'd like to. Daily, sitting there counting the hours until I can call another day done. And what then, if I were to die now? Would I be happy with the things that I have done? The way I spent my time on this Earth?

Morbid I know, sorry about that. But this is who I am, these are things I think we all should consider if I'm to be honest. But alas, I'll continue my dramatic self-indulgent tale of sorts because that's also who I am.

'Course, I've always thought this way, always have been in my mind about life and the things that come with it. And just like those thoughts, I've also had this feeling inside... like an itchiness.

Yes, I have anxiety, I mean come on, don't we all? But this was different, it was a real physical feeling. In my chest, not like the crazy flurry of thoughts and shaky hands that anxiety gives me. Not the wanting to hide, or cry or maybe even run away. No, no this feeling was different.

It makes me want to SCREAM and call all eyes on me! WATCH watch as I run. watch as I sing, watch as I dance! Watch as I don't give a fuck who's around me. Watch as I LIVE.

Yes... yes, dramatic indeed. I warned you. But it's true! That is truly how it makes me feel. It makes me feel like though I don't have infinite time I can do and be who and what I want until my time is up!

I'm getting excited as I finally am...acknowledging that feeling. Curious at first but now I am ready to fully accept this feeling. I mentioned before that it started as this itch, in the back of my head. a curious little thought that I paid no mind to, then? Well then it began to be uncomfortable, it annoyed me. "I'm trying to lay here and watch my videos. Fuck off will you?" And I would turn around and continued on and the feeling would go away. Then.. then it stopped going away. It would linger there humming along to it own toon. The tune of some exciting, passionate rhythm that had me wanted to get up and dance! But I fought it, why? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is I couldn't tell it to shut up anymore so I ignored it best I could... Drowning it in booze.

Well lately that doesn't help either. I am having almost visceral reactions to something I once turned to for comfort. I mean, did I ever have a "good" reaction to the poison?

Back to the itch, lately it has been almost painful to continue to ignore it. I cannot continue to waste my life like this! What am I doing? Nothing at all. I woke up today with the urge to quit everything and run away. Start over and never look back. Why? Why? This I cannot tell is the anxiety or the itch but either way it feels like a battle in my head is going on and one of them ae fighting for their lives, and I know which one I no longer want to win.

But here's the thing... I don't know how to combat it. I've spent so long doing nothing that I no longer have anything to do. Nothing substantial, nothing worth... anything. That's not me being hard on myself, I promise. It's the cold hard truth.

What the fuck to do now?

[thedancingcrab]

This week marks mental health awareness week. I don't know how much a social media post really does.. Maybe nothing at all. But I'd like to start this off in saying that I've become a lot more confident in my body since I let myself gain weight instead of holding onto the idea that I should always be slim to be considered attractive. And let me tell you why.

This past year and probably years and years before that I've had to put so much time and energy into healing. It's been one of the most exhausting processes but also so rewarding at the same time. Because I can tell you this whole heartedly. I now like myself. No. I love myself. I love everything that I am and what I've become. But this wasn't an overnight process. It's been painful, I've had to confront a lot of my wrong doings, mistakes and negative thoughts about myself to get to where I am now. I had to find hobbies. I had to pour my energy into other things than myself. Because honestly. When you die, no one's gonna think about how beautiful you were. They might say it, but they will focus on how you were beautiful in other ways. Maybe how you lit up the room with your smile. How you were so positive and how much they miss your energy.

A hobby I've found in this past year is cycling and going hiking and it's done wonders for my mental health. Because I started worrying less about what my body looks like and more what it can actually do for me. I have legs that allow me to walk up mountains. Not everyone is that lucky. I live somewhere where I get to see some of the most beautiful sights in the world (Wales isn't a shithole trust me there really is incredible places). We hardly ever criticise how nature looks so why do we do it to ourselves? Another thing I've noticed as well is that the only person who really says bad things about my appearance..is me. Nobody really cares. People are so focused on themselves and what they're doing. I used to get told I was ugly in school all the time. Even by girls who were supposed to be my friends. But I refuse to carry the weight of those opinions with me around anymore. Maybe I didn't look the best in school, but it wasn't my focus. I was quirky and I owned that. But I didnt have the self awareness back then that I do now. And the weight of those opinions got on top of me so much, until they became a problem and I found myself with an eating disorder and I stopped eating and increasing the amount of makeup I wore cause I thought that was what happiness felt like. Skinny, glamorous. It didn't get any better.

I convinced myself I was happy whilst I ate sugar free jelly and low calorie ice cream. But it was hell and I'm so glad I know what real ice cream tastes like now. As for my face, it's nice to let it breathe every now and then as well. I'm beautiful with no makeup on and I'm beautiful if I want to wear it. But I don't always feel that way. I still have bad days and there's still that voice somewhere that tells me I'm out of shape and should maybe increase my exercise and eat a bit better. It will probably always be there. When you've struggled with your body perception for years I'm not sure it ever quite goes away. But I also recognise when those thoughts come up now and it's easier to flick them away. Cause I know there is so much more to me than how I look and I get so sad when others don't have that awareness too cause I've been there and I know what it's like to have your appearance consume your mind day in and day out. I think all the women I've compared myself to over the years are dealing with the same thing. Maybe when I was comparing myself to the girl that had the body type I wanted and the face I'd love to have she was also dealing with the same battles of her own. The only person we should be comparing ourselves to is the previous version of ourselves and how much we've grown or will continue to grow. We don't know what others are dealing with at the end of the day. And just because someone looks like you want to look doesn't mean they're better than you in any way shape or form. You don't need to be pretty like somebody else you need to be pretty like you. Cause nothing compares to that. If there's anyone else that I know who is still battling with what feels like a never ending hell of not loving yourself.. Here's some tips I've learned along the way that really help me.

- Try to stop mirror checking. I say try, because I still do now and it's a work in progress. When you find yourself doing it, create some distractions. Think about other things you have to do. I guarantee your washing basket needs sorting out right now. I can guarantee something in your room or anywhere else needs tidying and fixing. Go and sort it. We can't change our bodies in an instant, but we can sort out those mundane tasks we keep putting off and it's way more fulfilling when you do one of those tasks. Trust me I have plenty...

- The next time you go outside, look around at people. Is anyone really focusing on you? Probably not. They're probably focused on themselves. Or their dog if they're out walking them (I'm also trying to focus less on myself and the cute dogs I get to see when I'm out). Another thing.. Acknowledge what you're doing in that moment. We get to use our legs, our legs are allowing us to walk and see daylight. Not everyone is that lucky as I mentioned before. Okay maybe my legs weren't as skinny as they used to be but seriously who cares. There are so many other things I can be focusing on right now and you can too.

- Again another work in progress but seriously I'm working on it and it's getting better. When people compliment you, stop trying to find reasons on why they're wrong. Because if they turned around one day and told you everything you say to yourself on a daily basis it would break your heart. Trust me it would. But the people who love you don't think those things and they never will. Because if you asked them what they like about you the most your appearance won't be one of them. Maybe your partner will say something jokey and sweet about it. But trust me, it's not what they love about you the most. Other things are far more important. And they probably love you because you make their life so much more bearable in some form. We all have our own problems. Think about how much you add to that person's life when they're facing struggles of their own. I guarantee, you will be able to find at least one thing.

- No food is a bad food. We can all have too much of something but that goes for every kind of food. And exercise is amazing for our mental health but it doesn't mean we have to over indulge in it just because we ate 'bad' for a few days and now we feel guilty. Be kind to yourself in those moments. Once again it's another work in progress for me too. I pretty much eat whatever I want when I want now. But there's still that voice in my head. They're a bit annoying at this point I don't know whether I should give her a name.. Maybe Ursula cause she was my least favourite Disney villian. Ursula just needs to piss off sometimes. I went through years of restricting myself and I don't wanna do it anymore.

- Let people take pictures of you. I know. Its terrifying. I still hate it now. But one day all people will have of you is a memory and that picture you hate of yourself so much might be their favourite. In this day and age all we ever get exposed to is picture perfect filtered people who probably shaved off half of their thigh with some editing programme like face tune or whatever it's called. Then someone takes a normal picture of us and we zoom in on it and start criticising ourselves from our face all the way down to our toes. We start asking people to put a filter on us before they take the picture because anything is better than being confronted with our real selves. I just don't wanna live in a world like that anymore. I'm still guilty of doing it myself from time to time, but the less people do it the better. I'd love to start being more of an advocate for that.

When you put your phone down and get into the real world and it's something I've started making more of a cautious effort to do lately, everyone just looks normal!! Everyone has textured skin, everyone's got pores, people have oil, people have spots, people have dry skin. Maybe some are better at hiding it than others. But it's just skin. Thats literally it. Social media has warped our brains into thinking we're not good enough cause we don't look like the person who's completely cellulite, pore and acne free in their gym gear living their best life. But in all honesty, they probably don't look like that either. I'm not saying people can't, but the tiniest bit of editing can go into a photo and we think it's realistic. And they're probably insecure about something as well. Don't compare yourself to images that aren't real life. I know it's hard. Once again I still do it myself. But we can make a cautious effort to realise when we're doing these things and implement little changes on how to stop.

If you got this far and read all of this, then thank you. It means the world. I hope I was able to maybe get you to think about life in a different way and maybe.. Just maybe more positively. If not then thank you for reading anyway! I hope we can all stop being so unkind to ourselves one day. 💚

[twinkboimler]

I’ve got a lot of stuff to ask with that fanfic ask game lol

📚🤔💻💭🍰🖊📥👀😈

📚 Do you read your own fic? If it's been months since posting I do occasionally, but not often! I think I write so many drafts and do so many edits on my writing that I don't have much interest in reading them once they're published because I know exactly what happens.

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic? STARTING. Like, in a perfect world, I'd be writing 1000 words a day. But it's so hard to get myself to focus enough to start writing, even though I love it.

💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done? GOD. The funniest part is this scene got cut so I spent hours researching shit I didn't even use, but initially in Postscript, Postspace there was gonna be a scene in the first few chapters with Mike using a microfilm reader at the library to look at newspaper articles as the way he found out that Joel was on Earth. I've never used one, so I did a lot of reading up on how they work, and then I sorta. realized how unnecessary that scene was. SO, a lot of research I've had to do is on how to use technology that's just a little too old for me to have used it- stuff from the 70s-90s.

I do too much research. But at the same time, the research part is fun! I love planning fics, and that plays into it.

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work? Less of a headcanon and more a fact about my writing: these works (unless listed as a series) are all separate from each other. I emphasize this because, in the case of Mike's parents, I might have multiple fics that have them as characters, but they're not the same people to me (his mom in even a worm will turn is a completely different version of that person than the mom in Postscript, Postspace). Each work is a new, separate try at these characters as I work with new themes and play with new concepts.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave). I assume this means my own work lol. I think Overjoyed is one of the most self-indulgent, "I am projecting so hard" fics I've ever written, but it was something I needed to get out. I don't think it's especially good if you aren't me but I'm still happy with it.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP. From the college AU- a flashback to high school:

It is brutally hot and Mr. Stevenson refuses to let them take a break even though they’ve been learning drill for nearly an hour. Jonah’s throat is parched and his back is killing him, and he wonders which way he would fall if he were to pass out, wonders whether it would hurt less to fall on his back with the tenors still strapped to his chest or to fall onto them, his face planting into the dirt. Either option sounds endlessly appealing as the minutes tick by, the sun beating down on him and the rest of the poor bastards in the band.

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on? even a worm will turn is one of my favorite things that I've ever written and I love hearing people's thoughts on it. like. I let my DAD read it. I'm so proud of that fic.

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about? I mean, yeah- I've got some old fics that will never, ever get posted even though they may be nearly finished or long. I've got like 30k of a TERRIBLE ST:TNG Riker/Troi fic I wrote in 2016 that's going to the grave with me.

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate? love angst, love hurting characters so much. having a lot of ideas for star trek fics right now that are just going to be the most painful, tragic stories- unfulfilled love stories, that type of shit. I LOVE a sad fic.

[wren-of-the-woods]

I’m super curious about the Jaskier With Tourette’s and the Movie Star AU fics! 👀👀

Thank you so much for the ask!! <3

Jaskier With Tourette's is currently a blank Google Doc LOL. I have Tourette's syndrome which only flares up every couple of months (mine's not very bad), but when it does it's irritating and exhausting and I inevitably end up wanting to write a fic about it. I thought it would be really sweet to see Jaskier struggling with his ticcing and Geralt being loving and trying to understand and help and just generally being there for him. I have yet to muster the motivation to actually write it down, though... I swear I will one day! XD

The Movie Star AU is one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written. It's a ficlet which I wrote in about an hour and then forgot about for three or four months. Geralt and Jaskier are both famous separately -- Geralt is an actor and Jaskier is some sort of musician. They've been in a relationship for a long time, but the public doesn't know. Then quarantine happens. Jaskier gives an interview over zoom and it turns out he and Geralt haven't done as good a job of covering up the fact that they live in the same house as they thought. They reveal their relationship. Happily ever after! :D

The plot of the story is basically finished but it's a bit of a mess and I haven't been able to bring myself to look at it without cringing, so I have no idea if it'll ever be posted lol.

Here's an excerpt! Fredrickson is the interviewer. The name is not final.

Jaskier nods with a grin. "I know! It's absolutely incredible. I never expected to get a fanbase like this, but I am so, so grateful for all you wonderful folks out there. I just hope we live up to your expectations!" "I'm sure you will," says Fredrickson. "Oh, and speaking of internet fanbases," --Fredrickson smiles conspiratorially-- "I don't know if you know, but the new album isn't the only reason people are talking about you on the internet." Jaskier tilts his head curiously, almost like a bird. "Go on." "There's been a lot of interest in your relationship with a certain actor who's very popular right now. And so, since this is such a big topic right now, we thought we might invite a special guest onto our meeting." Jaskier sits up, eyes going wide with surprise. "Virtual ladies and gentlemen," says Fredrickson with a grin, "Please welcome our surprise guest, Geralt Rivia!"

My list of WIPs can be found here.