#watch out for the spiral its inescapable

[phagodyke]

doing the classic 'trying to open cards ppl sent but I have to keep putting my face in my hands and sobbing snottily bc I don't understand why they were so kind and it scares me so much'

back home and my washing is done and I need to eat lunch and do my ironing and then I've done all the tasks on my list and I can spend the rest of the day having a mental breakdown and then go straight to sleep woohoo

[fcthots]

You’re sitting on the couch of your shared apartment when Jason climbs in through the window, finally done with patrol. His entrance makes you look up from your phone. He reaches up and tugs his helmet off. His hair looks a little funny, but it also made him look good. He didn’t need the ego boost though. You can tell he had an eventful patrol by the smile on his face.

He walks towards you and drops his hand onto your arm. He lets it slide down until his hand rests on yours. He pulls your hand to his lips in greeting. “Hey, princess.” He squeezes your hand before giving it back to you.

“How was patrol?” You watch as he strips off his outer layers of gear. The display never gets old.

“Good.” He laughs. “But I have got to tell you what happened. Red Robin, Tim, smacked into Red Robin, the restaurant. It was completely by accident too. I begged Babs to get me the camera footage. She’s searching as we speak.”

You laugh at his enthusiasm and the way he laughed before he even finished the story. You ask him questions, he answers them. It continues until he goes to take his shower.

You turn back to your phone. This is where it all goes wrong, because you see a post that ruins your day. It reads, “the first time most men receive flowers is at their funeral.”

Evil. Illegal. Unacceptable. Had you really never given Jason flowers before? You swore you did but your memory came up empty. By the time you finished your existential flower crisis, Jason finished showering and called you to bed. He’s exhausted and falls asleep quickly. You, however, stay awake and plan. You will get the love of your life flowers. You will not let the first time he receives flowers to be at his funeral. You fall asleep trying to decide what flowers he would like best.

You wake up before him, getting up as gently as possible. If he wakes up with you, he’ll trap you for cuddles in his huge beefy inescapable arms, so you must be careful. You wouldn’t have been able to do it if you didn’t know Jason as well as you do.

You get ready as silently and as quickly as possible before sliding out the door. The nearest flower shop isn’t too far. You make it there and back in 30 minutes, and most of that time was spent deciding what flowers you wanted to get Jason.

You walk home with a bouquet of simple red roses with some baby’s breath sprinkled in. It’s wrapped in black paper with a read bow, a color combination you’re sure he’ll love.

You walk home a little slower, careful not to disturb the flowers cradled in your arms. The long walk leaves you to your thoughts. You wonder how Jason will react.

And then you get worried. What if he thinks it’s weird? Jason has never called you weird unaffectionately before, but what if this is what does it? Or, even worse, what if he pretends to like them but actually thinks it’s weird? You spiral a little and panic. You eventually walk head first into your door on muscle memory.

You make sure the flowers are okay before opening the door. You hide the bouquet behind your back. To your surprise, Jason is awake and in the kitchen. His morning voice greets you with a smile. “Did you just walk into the door?”

Your worry begins to fade and a smile crawls its way onto your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs and the sound makes you blush. You love him. “You did!”

“And to think I was out getting you a present.” You shake your head.

“You got me a present?” He looks a like an excited puppy.

“I got my loving boyfriend a present. Let me know if you see him.” You pretend as if you’re about to walk out.

Jason rushes over to you smiling. “Wait, no! He’s right here! Please! I want my present!”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you thrust the flowers at him. He takes them from you, his smile softening. “Do you like them?”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “What are these for? They’re beautiful. I love them.” You watch him feel the petals with a gentle smile that he can’t seem to help.

You tell him about the post you saw, and how you couldn’t let the first time he got flowers be at his funeral. He pauses. “Babe. I really love the flowers. Seriously. Best gift ever. But um. The first time I got flowers was at my funeral.” He watches your face.

You lift a hand and cover your mouth. “Oh my god.” He laughs and uses one had to hug to you to his chest.

“I really love the sentiment! It means a lot! I love them so much!” He smiles into your hair as you wrap your arms around him.

“That’s why I remember buying you flowers before but couldn’t remember giving them to you. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t. This was so sweet, seriously. If it wasn’t the ass crack of dawn, I would cry.”

You laugh. “It’s past noon.”

He huffs. “Same thing. We were up until like 4.”

“This is true,” you say. “I still feel so bad though. I can’t believe I forgot you had a funeral already.”

He laughs and you can feel it in his chest. “The idea was really sweet, princess. I love the flowers. You just made my day. Nay, my week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you running into the door really sealed the deal.”

You push on his chest. “I hate you.”

[cowboybeepboop]

i’ve never made a request/idea before so i thought i’d try !!

i keep thinking about the reader being there the day the tornado took up kate’s friends !! like the reader walking home from work because her car stopped working, not knowing what to do when the tornado comes, so kate and her friends help her go to the underpass. with her, javi, and kate being the only survivors.

and because of this, kate ask the reader to come with her to help javi because the reader is the only one who can understand how kate feels. maybe the reader is from a small town in texas, and she stands out with storm parr in her cute little jean shorts and cowboy boots that spike tyler’s attention 😏

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut, angsty and romantic 

Word count: 5.6k 

Warnings: [TW: deep scarring, talking about the scar, etc.] unprotected sex, p in v, handjob, soft Tyler, kind of angsty.

a/n: I kinda wanted there to be angst in this so I tried to incorporate it, I really don’t know atp 😣 I also did not proofread this one so 😭 ALSO I JUST SAW THE TEXAS PART MY BAD

The winds picked up, sending debris spiraling through the air like a malevolent kaleidoscope, as the ominous rumble grew louder. Your heart raced as you sprinted down the desolate street, each step echoing the chaos that was fast approaching. The sky darkened to a shade of green you had only seen in your worst nightmares, the clouds swirling into a frenetic maelstrom that stretched from horizon to horizon. In the midst of this cataclysmic dance, you caught sight of a vehicle swerving off the road.

Without a moment's hesitation, you dashed towards the car as it skidded to a halt, the doors flying open. Kate and her friends, their eyes wide with terror, clambered out. "Over here!" she shouted, pointing at the sturdy overpass looming ahead. You didn't need further prompting. The group sprinted through the storm, the deafening roar of the tornado now a constant, terrifying soundtrack to your desperate flight. As you reached the concrete shelter, the fury of the winds grew more intense, snatching at your clothes and hair. 

Kate's grip on your hand tightened as she let out a blood-curdling scream, her eyes searching the swirling chaos for any sign of her boyfriend. A heartbeat later, you saw him, a mere silhouette in the howling wind, being mercilessly dragged away by the tornado's inescapable pull. The world around you seemed to slow as you watched him disappear into the gaping maw of the storm. You both screamed in unison, raw and visceral, as fear and grief clutched at your chests. Yet amidst the horror, you felt her hand tremble, and instinctively, you squeezed back, grounding her to the present. 

As the tornado's fury began to wane, its retreating roar sounded like a mournful cry echoing through the ravaged landscape. The air grew eerily still, yet the chaos around you seemed to pulse with a life of its own. You felt a sudden jolt, a violent tug at your body, and for a terrifying moment, you were almost ripped away from Kate's grasp. 

Your arm burned with pain, and you realized it was sliced open, blood seeping through your trembling fingers. Despite the horror, Kate's grip remained firm, her eyes locked on yours, filled with a fierce determination that mirrored the dwindling storm's intensity. She screamed, her voice piercing the calm, as the world around you swirled with debris. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end, and held onto her hand with every ounce of strength you had left. Together, you waited for the tempest to pass, hearts racing in rhythm with the fading thunder.

You shake the memories as you glance in the front seat at your two best friends the storm brought to you. You were the only person Kate kept contact with, you both moved out to New York, sharing an apartment. So when Javi reached out to Kate she agreed to join the team as long as you came with. 

Shaking off the chilling recollections of that fateful day, you cast a sideways glance at Kate and Javi, who are now your inseparable companions, riding shotgun in the car. The tornado had been a terrifying twist of fate that bound you together, but it was the friendship that grew from the aftermath that truly defined your lives. 

Kate, ever the pragmatic one, had insisted on staying in touch after the ordeal, and when she made the life-altering decision to move to New York, you were the first person she called. The Big Apple's allure had always sparkled in your eyes, and with Kate's offer to share an apartment, it was an opportunity you couldn't refuse. 

When Javi reached out to Kate to ask her to join his team, she had one condition: you had to come with. You agreed without hesitation. The storm had brought you to them, but it was the shared experiences, the laughter, and the unspoken understanding that turned acquaintances into family.

Javi pulls into a rest stop where the rest of the storm par team was waiting for your arrival, you hop out of the truck stretching your arms while following behind Javi. Kate steps out of the car with you, her mind racing back to the events that had started this journey of yours. Her eyes drift over to you, her gaze holding a mix of gratitude and melancholy. Despite the years passed, she can't help but feel a slight pang as she thinks about what cost this new life came with.

She tries to shake off the thought as she looks around, her eyes settling on the rest of the team standing nearby. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before nodding in greeting.

You cross your arms over your waist, not really paying attention as Javi introduces the team. You wander off to the side, eyes trained on the sky as you take in a deep breath. 

Javi glances over to you as you make your way to the side, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he continues introducing the team to Kate. 

Once he's done, he walks over to where you're standing, his hands shoved in his pockets. He stands beside you, silent for a moment before he speaks. "You alright?"

“It’s just a little odd,” you glance over to him. “Being back.” He gives you a soft nod. The loud noise of music fills your ears as a red truck comes pulling into the lot, catching your eye. 

Javi's demeanor changes the moment he sees Tyler's truck pull into the lot. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He scowls, his eyes darkening as the truck parks. 

He crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Tyler get out of his truck. “Who’s that?” You nod in Tyler’s direction as he greets his fans, noticing the way Javi reacts to him. 

Javi's eyes narrow, a slight sneer appearing on his face. 

"That's Tyler Owens," he mutters, his voice laced with disdain. "He's a big shot storm chaser, thinks he's the king of chasing storms." 

You nod as he speaks, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you should get back to Kate. Better find out if she’s found your storm.” He gives you a small smile as you continue to watch the sky. 

Tyler's eyes linger on yours as you keep your face up to the sky. He smirks, making his way over to you. 

"Now that's a good view." He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. Glancing over your shoulder you notice his grin. 

“And what do you mean by that?” You raise an eyebrow at his comment, arms crossed under your chest. 

Tyler's smirk only widens as he takes a step closer to you. “I think you know exactly what I mean, sugar.” His piercing blue eyes rake over you, taking in your jean shorts and green long sleeve shirt.

You turn to face him, running a hand through your hair. Your lips press into a firm line as you take in his appearance.

Tyler stands inches away from you, towering over you. His eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips for a moment before meeting your gaze. 

“You're not from around here, are you?” He asks, his deep southern accent rolling like the thunder outside.

“What makes you think that?” You give him a soft smile. 

Tyler's eyes rake over you again, his gaze lingering on your long sleeves in the heat of the day. "Most of the locals know better than to wear long sleeves in this weather," he points out, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

You stiffen as he mentions the long sleeves, he unknowingly hit a soft spot since you always keep your arms covered due to the dark scar that covers your left arm.

You subconsciously grip the arm, “Yeah, guess that gives me away huh?” Tyler's observant eyes catch the subtle shift in your body language. He notices the way you subconsciously grip your arm when he comments on your sleeves. He tilts his head, his gaze fixed on your arm.

"Yeah, it kinda does," he replies, his tone softer now. There's a slight pang of curiosity in his eyes as he glances down at your arm. You give him a soft smile as you walk past, heading back to the storm par team. 

________

Over the past few weeks, Tyler had been relentless with his flirting, always seeking an opportunity to be near you. Despite your secretiveness, he had become completely infatuated with you, drawn in by your enigmatic nature. Even with  your best efforts to keep him at a distance, he can't help but be drawn to you. He can't explain why, but he's determined to get closer to you.

Tyler, the renowned “Tornado Wrangler,” seems to captivate you with his carefree attitude towards chasing storms that bring destruction. There's a morbid fascination in the way he seeks thrills amidst chaos. He leaves you questioning his intentions, torn between curiosity and concern. What drives him to pursue these dangerous pursuits? Is it merely for the adrenaline rush, or does he have a deeper purpose? You can't help but feel a mix of intrigue and confusion as your thoughts dance in the whirlwind he seems to have conjured.

As Javi pulls into the motel parking lot you notice the familiar red truck, parked with Tyler in the bed, fixing something that broke during the earlier chase. 

You exit the vehicle, arms wrapping around Kate’s shoulders as you lean into her body. She laughs softly at your familiar clinginess, listening to you whine about how hot you are. Something about the heat of today has left you fully exhausted, you're sweaty and unbelievably hot. 

Tyler can't help but let his eyes wander down to your bare legs, revealing quite the view, given your shorts were already rather short. 

He watches with a smirk as Javi teases you, offering to carry you. Tyler crosses his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms straining against the fabric.

“Hey city girl.” Tyler’s voice rings out, capturing your attention instantly. You give him a dazed smile, the intense heat leaving you drained and dizzy. 

“Hey Cowboy.” Tyler couldn’t help but smile at your dazed expression, the heat clearly taking a toll on you. 

“Looks like the heat’s got you all dizzy,” he chuckles, leaning against his truck. “You doing alright?” The concerned look in his eyes betrays his usual cocky demeanor.

“Mhm,” you murmur, “doing just fine.” Kate keeps walking, bringing your tired form with her toward the stairs. He can see how tired you are, the heat clearly taking its toll on your body. 

He pushes off from his truck, following after you and Kate. "You sure about that, sugar? You look ready to fall over."

You let go of Kate, holding the railing as you try to pull yourself together with a few steadying breaths. You’re exhausted from being outside in the heat all day as you usually spend your days inside at a desk. 

Tyler's eyes are fixed on you, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together. He steps closer to you, reaching out a hand to steady you. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Let me carry you up to your room.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it..” you sigh, straightening up as you regain your composure. “Just not used to this,” your voice is a soft murmur as you give him a reassuring grin. 

He crosses his arms, his muscles straining against the fabric again. He shakes his head at your stubbornness. "You're not used to the heat, but you're a storm chaser?” he teases, his southern accent rolling like thunder.

“Mm, not much of a chaser.” You respond, taking a few steps up the stairs. 

Tyler's eyebrows furrow in confusion as he follows you up the stairs. "What do you mean? You're not much of a chaser?" 

His gaze is fixed on your legs as you take each step, your legs looking damn gorgeous in those short shorts.

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s a long story,” his hand moves to your lower back as he comes up behind you. 

Tyler's hand on your lower back sends a subtle shiver down your spine. He can feel the tension in your body and the exhaustion that's weighing on you.

"Long story, huh?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "I've got time." He guides you up the stairs to your room, Kate giving you a suggestive smile as she says goodnight.

“I’m not much of a talker, cowboy.” You open your door, stepping inside the cool room. You let out a soft moan at the change of temperature, thankful to finally be in cold air. 

Tyler follows you into your room, his gaze following your every movement. He takes in the moan that escapes your lips as the cool air hits your skin.

A soft smirk appears on his face at the sound, his eyes rake over your body as you revel in the coolness of the room. 

"Maybe I can change that, sugar," he teases, leaning against the doorframe.

“Is that so?” You plop down on your bed, slipping out of your shoes. “And how do you think you’ll accomplish that?” 

Tyler's smirk deepens as he watches you kick off your shoes and flop onto the bed. His eyes roam over your body, lingering on your legs before meeting your gaze. 

He pushes off from the doorframe, strolling over to the bed and sitting down beside you, his body radiating heat from being outside in the hot sun all day. 

"Oh, I have my ways," he responds, his voice dripping with an underlying hint of desire. 

“Yeah?” You glance over at him, laying on your side, eyes tracing his body. Tyler's smirk never falters as your gaze scans over his body. He can see the desire in your eyes, and it only fuels his own. 

He leans back on his hands, his torso flexing slightly as he does. He turns his head to meet your gaze, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of cockiness and desire. 

"That's right, sugar," he murmurs. "I know how to make you talk." You reach out, fingertips brushing over his ribs softly. 

“I have a feeling you’re wanting something more than just a talk..” you reply, eyes tracing his face. 

As your fingertips graze his ribs, Tyler can feel a shiver run through his body. He watches you intently, the feeling of your touch fueling the desire in his eyes. 

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You're a perceptive one, aren't you, sugar?" His muscles ripple under your touch, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You could say that.” You move to straddle his hips, hands pressed against his chest as you gaze down at him. 

Tyler's eyes widen for a moment as you move to straddle his hips, his hands instinctively reaching out to grip your thighs. 

He looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and desire, his breath hitching at the feel of your body on top of his. He grips your thighs, his hands moving up just slightly to rest on your hips as he pulls you closer to him. 

"You're full of surprises, city girl," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with lust.

“Enough talking.” You mutter, pressing your lips to his is a gentle kiss. Tyler responds to your kiss instantly, his lips moving against yours with hunger. He lets out a low moan, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he pulls you down against him. 

He breaks from the kiss, his eyes locking with yours as he breathes out in a soft tone, "Yes, ma'am." He captures your lips in another forceful kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, desperate to taste more of you.

With surprising gentleness, Tyler flips you both over so that you're lying on your back, the mattress cool and welcoming against your overheated skin. His kisses become more urgent as his hands deftly unbutton your shorts, sliding them down your legs and revealing the lacy underwear beneath. 

The fabric whispers against your skin as he peels away your bottoms, exposing your nakedness to the air-conditioned room. His eyes are filled with a raw hunger that mirrors the previous storm, sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. 

His hands trace the lines of your curves, memorizing every inch of your body as if it's the first time he's ever seen a woman, and his touch sets your skin alight with passion.

As Tyler kisses your neck, his calloused fingers gently tug at the hem of your shirt, raising it inch by inch. You gasp at the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in their wake. 

His hands skim over your stomach, pausing briefly at your navel before continuing their ascent, revealing the lacy bra that matches your discarded underwear.

“N-no..” you push his hands away, desperate to keep your shirt on. As you pushed his hands away, a confused look washed over his face. 

"No?" he questions, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and confusion. 

He props himself up on his forearms, hovering over you as he looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He glances down at your hands, which are gripped tightly to your shirt.

“Leave the shirt,” you murmur, hands going to his belt. Tyler's eyes darkened with desire at the sound of your voice, his body thrumming with anticipation as you go for his belt. 

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks in a gravelly tone. "As you wish, ma'am." He lets you remove his belt, his gaze fixated on your face, trying to discern the reason behind your request. You pull his jeans away, legs wrapping around his waist pulling him close. 

Tyler lets his jeans fall to the floor, his attention now solely on you. He groans as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The feel of your body against his ignites a fire within him. 

He plants his hands on either side of your head, his body hovering over yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and curiosity.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you breathe out, cupping his face, pulling his lips to meet yours. Tyler responds to the kiss immediately, his lips moving against yours with a fierce hunger. He lets out a low moan, the sound rumbling in his chest. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. He lets out a soft chuckle, “Can’t help it, sugar, you look like a damn dream under me like this.” 

His hands slide under your shirt, roaming over your covered breasts. His hips rock into yours with a steady pace, soft moans escaping your lips as his clothed erection pushes into you. 

You pull Tyler's boxers down, revealing his rigid length. His hands glide under your shirt, finally feeling the softness of your skin, as his lips trace a path down your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses. 

He groans against your skin as you guide him to the edge of your wetness, the anticipation making him ache with need. With a gentle push, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, and with one swift movement, he sinks into you, filling you completely. 

His eyes fly open as he watches your face contort with pleasure, your grip on his shoulders tightening as he starts to move inside you with a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. 

His name is a whispered chant on your lips as you rock against him, the coolness of the room forgotten in the heat of the moment. Each thrust and moan is a silent declaration of desire that neither of you can resist.

As Tyler's mouth finds your breast, kissing and teasing the sensitive skin, his hand cups the other, his thumb brushing over the nipple beneath the fabric. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making your toes curl and your back arch. 

You gasp into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he continues to explore your body with a hunger that's only grown more intense since you first met. 

His hips move in a steady rhythm, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that has you moaning and writhing beneath him. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. 

With a need to feel him completely, you tug at Tyler's shirt, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over his head. His muscular chest is now bare, the heat from his body only adding to the blaze between your legs. 

As his bare skin meets yours, you can't help but let out a soft whimper, the contact sending a fresh wave of desire through you. His eyes darken further as he watches you, his breaths coming in ragged pants as he continues to rock into you. 

The friction is delicious, his hardness sliding against your slickness with every movement, and you can feel yourself inching closer to the edge of something incredible. Your nails dig into his back as you urge him deeper, the world outside forgotten as the only storm that matters is the one raging in this room.

The climax crashes through you like a wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. Tyler's pace falters as he follows you over the edge, his body tense and shuddering with his own release. 

He collapses against you, his weight a comforting warmth as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone. 

Your heartbeats synchronize, the rapid beating slowly returning to a steady rhythm as you both revel in the aftermath of your shared passion. The room is filled with the sweet scent of sweat and desire, the air thick with the electricity that still crackles between you.

“Let me see you,” he whispers, hands sliding up your shirt. “All of you..” you gasp softly at his movements. 

Tyler's body is a mixture of fire and sweat, his eyes filled with a soft, almost pleading look. His breaths come in ragged pants, but his voice is steady and firm. 

"Please," he murmurs, his hands gently pushing your shirt up to reveal your bare chest. A soft gasp escapes his lips at the sight of you, and he lets his eyes roam over your body for a long moment. 

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he takes in the sight of you above him. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined.."

You pull your shirt the rest of the way off, exposing the thick scar embedded in your arm. 

Tyler's gaze falls to the scar on your arm, his eyes widening slightly. He reaches one of his hands out, gently tracing the outline of the scarred tissue. 

He looks back at you, his expression a mix of concern and surprise. "What happened?" he asks softly, his touch on your scar still as light as a feather.

“It’s a long story..” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw.

Tyler lets out a soft sigh as you press a kiss to his jaw. His grip on your hip tightens slightly, as if he's anchoring himself to you. 

He can sense the hesitation in your voice, the hint of something unsaid. But he doesn't press, not wanting to ruin the moment between you. 

"I'm a patient man, sugar," he murmurs, his voice deep and rough. You slide off of his body, snuggling into his side as you press your cheek to his chest. 

As you settle into his side, Tyler drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. He takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of you snuggled against him, relishing the intimate moment.

He can feel the warmth of your cheek against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. Tyler gently rubs his thumb back and forth along the soft skin of your shoulder, a comforting motion that speaks volumes without words.

His comforting movements give you all the reassurance you need, “It happened when I was visiting Oklahoma last..” your voice is soft as you begin to explain the scar. Tyler's rhythmic rubbing pauses for a moment at your words, but he quickly resumes his soothing motions, encouraging you to continue with a soft hum.

His blue eyes, filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern, remain fixed on you, silently urging you to share more of your story.

“There was this huge tornado, I normally wouldn't have been anywhere near it. But I went out on a run and I got lost.” you sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut as the memories flood back over you.

“It’s how I met Kate, she saved me. We hid under an overpass and I almost got ripped away.” your voice breaks, heart rate picking up. Tyler's hand stills on your shoulder once again as he listens intently to your words. His free hand slips into yours, his strong grip holding yours tenderly, giving you a silent, supportive squeeze. 

His expression turns somber as he senses your shift in mood, concern deepening in his gaze. His gruff voice is soft as he murmurs, "Take your time, sugar."

“A huge piece of metal came out of nowhere and it ripped through my arm. The pain. It was so bad, I thought I was dying.” your nose brushes against his skin as you press your face closer into him. 

Tyler's arm around your shoulders tightens, pulling you even closer to his chest. He holds you firmly yet gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand, the one he's holding. His heartbeat thumps steadily under your ear as he listens to your story.

His voice is low and steady as he murmurs, "But you survived. You're here now." you nod, eyes finally raising to meet his gaze. 

When you finally raise your eyes to meet his gaze, Tyler's expression is a mixture of worry and admiration. He can see the pain and fear you experienced in your eyes, but there's also a hint of strength and resilience. He holds your gaze for a few moments, the silence between you filled only with the steady beating of his heart beneath your ear.

He breaks the silence with a soft question, his thumb still tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand, "Does it hurt?"

“Not so much anymore,” you shake your head, Tyler's strong hands guide you back onto him, positioning you so that you're straddling his hips once again. His gaze never leaves you, his eyes raking over your body with a mixture of desire and concern. He keeps his hold on your hips, his fingers gently digging into your soft flesh.

His rough, calloused thumbs brush over the scar on your arm, his touch tender yet firm. "Can I ask you somethin' else?"

“Mhm, ask away.” your hands brush over the contours of his abs, relishing in the feeling of his muscles under your fingers. 

Tyler can't help but shiver slightly under your touch, his muscles flexing reflexively at the feel of your fingers tracing over them. His eyes darken with want, watching intently as you explore his body, but he stays firm, his expression serious.

His thumbs continue to rub gently over the scar on your arm as he asks his question, his deep, gravelly voice almost a rumble, "How come you always wear long sleeves?"

You take a second to think of the right wording, “I just..” you look down at his expression. “I don’t like how people stare, like the scar is all I am. I hate seeing the pity in their eyes..” 

Tyler listens intently to your words, his expression turning thoughtful as he takes in your explanation. His eyes soften as he witnesses the vulnerability in your gaze, and his grip on your hips loosens slightly.

He gives your hip a gentle squeeze as he responds, "Trust me, sugar, that's not all you are. You're beautiful, strong, and I can tell you're a pain in the ass." He chuckles softly before continuing, his tone serious once more, "I ain't lookin' at you with pity."

You grin at him, “No, you’re not.” you press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Looks more like lust,” you whisper into his ear, lips moving against his jaw. 

Tyler lets out a low growl at your words, the gravelly sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers flex on your hips, gripping you tighter as he leans into your kiss.

He turns his head to murmur in your ear, his voice a rough whisper, "You're damn right, sugar. I can't keep my eyes off you." He presses another kiss to your jawline, then pulls away enough to look into your eyes, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "And trust me, it ain't just lust."

“Yeah?” you cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “What else is it then?” 

Tyler’s expression softens as you cup his face in your hands, your touch bringing a sense of calm and tenderness to his usually rough exterior. He lifts his hand to cover one of yours, holding it against his face.

He lets out a soft exhale, his warm breath brushing over your skin. “It’s more than that, sugar.” he mutters, his eyes searching yours. “It’s this intense, pull toward you that I can’t explain. You’ve got me tangled up somethin’ fierce.” 

You kiss his lips hungrily, enjoying his softness and honesty, something about this feels like a stronger connection than just lust and you both know it. Tyler groans against your lips, responding to your hungry kiss with equal intensity. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest, craving the feeling of your body against his. 

The heat and passion between you is tangible, but there's a depth to it that goes beyond lust. As your lips meet again and again, you both feel the pull, the connection growing with each shared touch. He lets out a guttural groan, his hands sliding up your back to fist in your hair.

“Ty..” you sigh out his name, body shuddering at his touch. Tyler shivers as you whisper his name, the sound of it on your lips sending a jolt through his entire body. He breaks the kiss for a second to look at you, his eyes darker now, filled with lust and desire.

He gently tugs at your hair, pulling your head back to give him access to your neck. Tyler's lips find your pulse point, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His voice is barely more than a growl as he murmurs against your skin, "I like the way you're sayin' my name, sugar."

You gasp at his lips on your skin, eyes closing as you reach back, hand grasping his erection. Tyler groans loudly at your touch, his hands clenching involuntarily around your hips. He moans, his head falling back against the pillow.

His breathing is ragged and uneven as he gasps out your name, "Mmmf- fuck." His hand that's not on your hip grips the bedsheet, the fabric crumpling under his strong grip, "Jesus, sugar..  that's not fair." he mutters, his voice strained.

As you grip Tyler's erection firmly, you feel his desperation pulsing beneath your hand. His hips buck into your touch, seeking more friction, more movement. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he tries to hold back the groan that builds in his throat. 

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck as your hand works him in a slow, torturous rhythm that's driving him wild. His breathing hitches, his body tensing as you whisper his name, your voice a sweet torment that sends shivers down his spine. Tyler's fingers dig into the mattress, his body arching off the bed as you continue to pleasure him with a masterful touch that seems to know exactly what he craves. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable, his muscles tightening and releasing in a silent dance of passion. "Tease," Tyler groaned, his eyes snapping open to lock onto yours, filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He could feel the tension coiling in his core, begging for release, but you seemed to have other plans. 

Your hand remained a steady pressure, moving in a deliberate, agonizingly slow motion along his length, making him rock his hips up to meet your touch. "Fuck, sugar," he ground out, his voice thick with desire, "You're killin' me." 

You knew you had him wrapped around your finger, and the power was intoxicating. But the storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing within the confines of this room, the thunder of his voice matching the rumble of his need. With a quick flick of your wrist, you increased the tempo of your strokes, his hips rising to meet you, seeking more. 

The friction grew, the pressure building, and with each stroke, you could feel him getting closer to the edge. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. His hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing and kneading, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples. 

The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure through you, making your grip on him tighten. Tyler's groan grew louder, his body tensing as he approached climax. With one final, firm stroke, Tyler's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a loud moan, his grip on the sheets turned to a clutch at your hips. 

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 7)

part 1 TW: obsessive behavior

The days that followed were strange. Simon barely left her side, as if her attempt to escape had ignited a deeper need to keep her close. He wasn’t cruel, but his presence was inescapable.

She tested the boundaries whenever she could. Small acts of rebellion became her way of clawing back some sense of control. She refused to eat the meals he cooked, even when her stomach growled in protest. She ignored his attempts at conversation, retreating into silence. Once, she even threw a book he had brought her, the loud thud against the wall startling them both.

Simon didn’t respond with anger. Instead, his patience seemed endless, and that infuriated her more. When she lashed out, he remained calm, his quiet composure only fueling her frustration.

Despite herself, she began to notice the subtle signs of his vigilance. The way he checked the locks on the doors and windows multiple times a day. The way his gaze would dart to the shadows outside, his body tensing at the slightest noise. He was always on edge, always watching.

And yet, in the quiet moments, when his guard was down, she caught glimpses of something else. The way his hands lingered on hers when he passed her a cup of tea. The way he looked at her, as if she were the center of his universe. It was maddening, this strange, twisted tenderness.

Her own feelings confused her. She hated him, didn’t she? She hated what he had done, how he had taken her freedom. But there were moments when she felt something else. Something she shouldn't.

The dreams returned, more vivid than ever. The monster cradled her again, its touch both comforting and possessive. And when she woke, gasping, she found Simon sitting by her bedside, his expression filled with concern.

“Bad dream?” he asked, his voice soft.

She didn’t answer, her throat tight. Instead, she turned away, pulling the blanket up to her chin. But even as she tried to ignore him, she felt the warmth of his hand resting gently on her shoulder, grounding her in a way she didn’t want to admit.

The days bled into each other, and through it all, one question lingered in her mind:

What was she going to do next?

-

Neither of them mentioned the kiss in the woods. It lingered in the background, unspoken but impossible to ignore. She tried not to think about it, but it kept creeping back into her thoughts no matter how hard she tried.

The moment replayed itself incessantly, her thoughts spiraling into places she had no business going. The press of his lips on hers, the way his hands had held her as though she might slip away—it was maddening. She hated the way her skin prickled at the memory, the way her lips tingled as though still marked by his touch.

Worse, she began to imagine it—his mouth on hers again, softer this time, slower, exploring. In her mind, the kiss was different. Not an act of domination but something gentler. Her face burned whenever these thoughts crept in.

Simon, for his part, acted as though nothing had happened. But she caught him watching her, his gaze heavy, lingering on her lips when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

And then there was that moment.

It had been an ordinary evening—or as ordinary as life could be in this twisted captivity. She was seated on the couch, a book open in her lap, though she hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes. She was too aware of him, sitting in the chair across the room.

Suddenly, Simon stood abruptly, crossing the room towards her. Her pulse quickened, as he stopped in front of her, towering above her where she sat.

Her heart raced as he reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek before his fingers ghosted over her lips. The touch was feather-light, as though he wasn’t sure he had the right to linger. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Simon…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable, but there was something raw in his expression. His thumb hovered over her bottom lip for the briefest of moments before he pulled back, his hand dropping to his side like it had been burned.

“I—” he started, his voice rough, but he stopped himself.

She watched, stunned, as he turned on his heel and left the room without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with her thundering heartbeat and the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin.

In the silence that followed, she pressed her fingers to her lips, her thoughts a chaotic mess. He’d left so suddenly, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had stayed…

No. She shook her head, closing her book with trembling hands. Whatever this was—whatever was happening between them—she couldn’t let it take root.

But as the hours dragged on, and the house grew quieter, she found herself imagining it again: Simon’s lips on hers, his hands cradling her face, and the aching intensity in his gaze when he touched her.

And for the first time, she wondered if she would stop him if it happened again.

-

She didn't stop him.

Her mind couldn’t stop returning to that kiss, to the way it had twisted everything, pulling her in when she least expected it.

She tried to focus, to ignore the way her thoughts kept drifting to him, to his presence, but every time she looked at him, she couldn’t help but feel the pull. It was maddening. She was trapped in her own mind, and Simon had a way of getting under her skin, making it impossible to think clearly.

That evening, she found herself sitting across from him in the living room. The silence stretched out before them, but she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding it.

“The people after me,” she began, breaking the stillness. “Why are they doing this? What do they want?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as if considering the question. His gaze never left her face.

“Hmm. Information like that comes with a price, love.”

Her patience was already thin, and his teasing tone only made her frustration bubble up. “Simon, this isn’t a game—”

“But it can be,” he interrupted, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Why don’t we play one? For every question you ask, I get something in return.”

Her eyes narrowed, but curiosity gnawed at her. “Like what?”

“Anything I want,” he replied. “Nothing unreasonable, of course. Just… incentives to keep me honest.”

She weighed his words, trying to decide whether to play along or not. There was something about his demeanor, the way he spoke with such confidence, that made it hard to refuse.

“Fine,” she said, her voice steady despite her unease. “How about this: tell me who they are. Who wants me dead?”

“It’s not just about who they are, sweetheart. It’s about what you know. You’ve seen things, learned things that weren’t meant for your eyes. Things that could bring everything down if the wrong people found out. You’re dangerous to them.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “But that’s only part of it.”

She eyed him, wary but unwilling to back down now. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Sit next to me,” he smiled, his voice soft, but the command was clear.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s your request?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I need to be closer to you, love. I can’t work with this distance between us.”

With a sigh, her eyes flickered toward the empty space next to him. She stood slowly and moved to sit beside him, her body tense as she settled beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his presence.

Simon’s hand rested casually on the back of her cushion, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. He didn’t move them away, but kept them there, a silent claim. His eyes stayed locked on hers, as if waiting for her next move.

She sat stiffly next to him, trying to ignore the way his proximity seemed to affect her, how his hand behind her was a constant reminder that he was still there, close enough to touch.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to focus, her voice steady despite the tension. “Why do they care so much about what I know?”

Simon’s gaze never left her, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he took his time, as if weighing his answer carefully. “It’s not just about what you know,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “It’s about what you saw. During a mission a few months ago, you witnessed something. Information that could ruin careers, take down entire operations. You know what I'm talking about.”

He paused, letting that sink in, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’re a liability, sweetheart. But they don’t know what you’ve told anyone. They think you might spill it. And they can’t risk that.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing with the implications of his words.

Her voice was a little shaky as she spoke, but she pressed on. “And if I can’t get away from them, what do you plan on doing?”

Simon’s lips curled into a grim smile. His eyes darkened, the heat of his stare intensifying. “I’ll kill them all,” he said, his voice steady, almost too calm for the words. “Every single one of them, for even thinking about harming you. No one touches what’s mine. Not while I’m breathing.”

She looked at him, unable to find any trace of hesitation in his face. It was as though he meant every word with absolute certainty.

“And if I don’t play along?” she asked, her tone more challenging now.

Simon’s smirk never wavered. “You’ll play. Because I always get what I want.”

Then, as if the question had already been answered, he slid closer, his hand brushing against hers, pulling her into his orbit even more. She barely had a moment to process his last statement before he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Move a little closer,” he said. “Just a bit. I want to feel you next to me. That’s all.”

She stared at him for a moment, the command in his voice sending a jolt of electricity through her. She hesitated, but the pull of his presence was undeniable. Reluctantly, she shifted in her seat, inching closer to him. The movement felt like a surrender, but she refused to let him see how much it affected her. Her body was betraying her, and she couldn’t seem to stop it.

Her mind raced with a million thoughts, but one question burned brighter than the rest. The way he’d always been there, watching her from the shadows, the way he seemed to know her every move—there was something deeply unsettling about it.

“You never answered me. Why me? Why have you been stalking me all this time?”

Simon’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer at all. But then his lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

“You remember the first time you smiled at me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low, almost nostalgic.

Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpectedness of his response. “What are you talking about?”

“That day,” he continued, ignoring her confusion. “Back on the base. You passed me in the hall, and you gave me that smile. Not like you smile at anyone else. It wasn’t fake, or polite. It was genuine. And in that moment, I knew—I was hooked.”

She blinked, the memory surfacing hazily in her mind. It was a small thing, something insignificant she had never given much thought to. A smile, a fleeting gesture in the midst of a hundred others. But to Simon, it seemed to have meant something far more profound.

“I’ve never been able to forget it,” he continued, his tone becoming almost tender. “That smile… it told me everything. You’re different from everyone else, and I needed to know why. That’s why I’ve watched you. That’s why I’m here.”

Her pulse quickened, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether to feel repelled or intrigued.

Before she could respond, Simon’s voice cut through her thoughts again, smooth as ever. “Now, for my request,” he said, his eyes gleaming with that familiar hunger. “I want you on my lap.”

Her eyes widened at the boldness of his words. “What?”

“I want you close,” he said simply, his voice unwavering. “You’re not going to make me ask twice, are you love?”

She hesitated, caught between the desire to argue and the strange pull she felt toward him. There was no way to ignore the way his words made her body react, the heat building between them with every passing second.

“You’ve asked for a lot already,” she said, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

Simon’s smile was slow, almost predatory, as he reached out, fingers brushing the side of her arm. “I know,” he murmured. “But this is the one I want the most.”

She stared at him, and, despite every instinct telling her to pull away, she couldn’t stop herself. She slid from her seat and settled onto his lap slowly.

Simon let out a satisfied breath as she settled against him, his hands immediately finding their place around her waist, pulling her closer. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, but she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the unspoken promise of what was yet to come.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered against her ear, his voice thick with something entirely possessive.

She clenched her jaw, trying to maintain control, but it was getting harder to ignore the fact that, in this moment, she was entirely his.

She was on his lap, close to him in a way that made every nerve in her body buzz with tension. His hands were warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming, and she knew, deep down, that there was no escaping this. Not now. Not anymore.

Her thoughts swirled, and she found herself staring at him, trying to steady the rapid beating of her heart. It was as if she were standing on the edge of something, teetering between fear and fascination, between wanting to push him away and wanting to stay.

Finally, she managed to steady her voice, though it came out barely more than a whisper. “Are you ever going to let me go?”

Simon’s gaze darkened, his hands tightening on her waist as if she were already his. There was no hesitation in his answer.

“No,” he said simply, his voice low and final. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Her breath hitched at the intensity in his eyes, and before she could react, his lips crashed down onto hers. The kiss was nothing like the one in the woods, no, this was fierce, consuming, like he was claiming her in a way that left no room for doubt.

He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, his hands threading into her hair, as if afraid she might slip away. His mouth moved against hers with an intensity that matched the storm of emotions raging inside her. She could feel the hunger, the obsession, and a part of her, despite everything, couldn’t pull away.

This was it. There was no going back now.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Her thoughts scattered, her world narrowed to the sensation of Simon’s lips on hers, his body against hers, his hands pressing her closer, possessively. She couldn’t think straight anymore. There was only the heat and the overwhelming pull of him.

Her hands, pressed against his chest in resistance, now moved up to his shoulders, her fingers curling into his shirt as if trying to anchor herself. Every inch of her body seemed to hum with electricity, her mind screaming to pull away, to push him off, but her body betrayed her.

He tasted like fire, like something dangerous, and she couldn’t help but kiss him back, her lips responding in a way that made her stomach tighten with desire. She hated that she wanted this, that her body was betraying her own anger.

Simon's hand slid down her back, pulling her closer, his grip tightening, and she gasped, suddenly aware of how close they were. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Simon pulled back, his lips brushing against her forehead, his breath coming in short bursts. She was breathless, dizzy from the kiss, from everything that was happening. Her pulse raced, and she realized that she was clinging to him as much as he was holding onto her.

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek in a way that felt almost tender, but she could still sense the fire beneath it.

"You’re not getting away from me," he murmured.

She tried to push away, but he held her firmly, his hand at the small of her back, making it impossible to break free.

“I’m never letting you go,” he repeated.

Her heart was pounding, her mind a mess. She hated how vulnerable she felt in his arms, how his touch made her question everything. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but every time she looked at him, her mind betrayed her, her body aching with a longing she couldn’t explain.

He leaned in again, pressing his forehead to hers, and for a moment, there was silence, before he spoke again.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he said, his voice raw with need.

Her breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She hated that part of her wanted to say yes, to admit that, despite everything, she couldn’t deny the pull. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Go to hell,” she muttered, even as her body responded to his proximity.

Simon's lips curled into a smirk, as if he knew exactly what she was trying to hide. “I’ll take that as a yes, sweetheart.”

And with that, he kissed her again, sealing any hope she had of escaping the storm that had already taken hold of her.

PART 8

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

so...what do we think?

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn @bimboghostface @kylies-love-letter

[bluebirdinhissky]

A best friend’s duty is to love you.

Hyunjin x reader

Bird note: Here it is!!! Expect something else soon. Hope you like it.

[Masterlist]

She was leaving.

He stood in the doorway, heart pounding as he watched her pack her suitcase. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just smooth, deliberate movements, as if she had rehearsed this moment a thousand times before. He tried to speak, to ask why, to beg her to stay, but his voice wouldn’t come out. His throat burned, his chest ached, and the air around him felt heavy, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t escape.

She didn’t look at him. Not once. And then she was gone. Hyunjin ran after her, but his legs wouldn’t move fast enough, the world stretching and shifting. She disappeared into the crowded streets of Seoul, the waves of her hair vanishing into the blur of strangers, and no matter how loud he screamed her name she didn’t turn back.

She wasn’t coming back.

She was gone.

The grief hit him like a tidal wave, crushing, inescapable. His breath caught in his throat, his chest heaved, and he was drowning, falling into the abyss of his own fear…

Then…

A gentle touch on his shoulder, fingers brushing against his damp skin.

“Hyunjin?” Her voice was soft, filled with sleep, but laced with concern.

He jolted awake with a sharp inhale, his entire body shuddering. His room dimly lit by morning light filtering through the curtains, but his vision was blurred, the nightmare still clinging to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake off.

She was here.

Not gone. Not leaving.

Without thinking, he reached for her, his hands desperate, searching, needing to feel her, to confirm that she was actually there. His fingers found her arm first, then her waist, pulling her into him with a force that was desperate. His face buried against her shoulder, body trembling.

“You’re here,” he whispered, voice hoarse, filled with emotion.

“Of course, I’m here,” she murmured, still sleepy but now fully awake from his distress. Her hands instinctively moved to him, running through his hair, down his back, comforting. “Hyunjin, what’s wrong?”

But he couldn’t answer.

His throat was tight, clogged with the weight of unshed tears. He clung to her like she was his lifeline, his entire body shaking as if he had just been pulled out of an icy ocean. He didn’t want to cry, but the fear was still lodged deep in his chest, raw and real, and he couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched or the way his shoulders shook against her. A choked sound escaped him, barely audible, but she felt it. Her hands, her warmth, her presence, it grounded him, but it wasn’t enough.

“I… I thought you left,” he finally forced out, voice breaking. “I saw you leave. You weren’t coming back. You…” His breath stuttered, a quiet sob escaping before he could stop it. “You were gone, and I couldn’t…”

She held him tighter. “Hyunjin, I’m not gone. I’m here. It was a dream.”

But to him, it hadn’t been just a dream. It had been a glimpse into his worst fear, the possibility of losing her.

“I…” His voice cracked again as he tightened his hold on her, pressing himself closer as if he could melt into her and never be apart. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

She exhaled softly, her fingers running through his hair again, soothing the way she always did when she knew he needed comfort. “I’m not leaving”

“But you could.” His voice was almost childlike in its vulnerability, muffled against her skin. “One day, you could decide that here isn’t home, that I…” He couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Hyunjin.”

Her tone was firmer now, pulling him from the spiral of his thoughts. She shifted slightly, enough to tilt his chin up so he had to look at her. Even in the dim light, he could see the softness in her gaze, the sincerity in her expression.

“I’m not leaving,” she repeated, slow and certain. “Never.”

His lower lip trembled. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Something inside him cracked at that, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, streaking silently down his cheeks. He let himself be vulnerable, let himself break in her arms, because she was the only person he could be this way with without shame.

She didn’t rush him. Didn’t tell him to stop crying. She just held him, letting him soak in the reality that she was still there, that she wasn’t going anywhere. His breathing was still uneven when he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t some grand confession. It just slipped out, raw and unfiltered, straight from the depths of his heart.

He felt her tense slightly in his arms, her breath catching, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t let go. His hands curled into the fabric of her shirt, afraid for even a second that she might slip through his fingers, that saying it out loud might make her realize she didn’t feel the same.

But then, her arms tightened around him. Her lips pressed softly against his hair.

And she whispered back, “I love you too.”

Hyunjin let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. The fear was still there, the remnants of the nightmare still lingering, but it no longer consumed him. Because she was here. Because she loved him too, and for the first time since waking up, he let himself believe in that promise.

With her fingers back in his hair, and the sound of her beating heart he drifted to sleep again.

*A couple of hours later*

Hyunjin woke up to warmth. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face buried against soft fabric, the scent of her still lingering on his skin. His body felt heavy, the remnants of sleep still pulling at him, but there was something else that gave him the will to fully wake. She was still here.

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her. His arms were still loosely wrapped around her, their legs tangled under the sheets, and as his eyes fluttered open, he saw her face, peaceful, soft, slightly lit up by morning light seeping through the curtains.

His heart clenched. Early morning hadn’t been a dream. The nightmare, the tears, the way he had held onto her like she was his last lifeline, it had all been real. Too real. And then he remembered…

The confession.

His breath hitched.

“I love you.”

He had said it. Not in a fleeting, friendly way. Not in the way he had told her before, when their friendship had been built on laughter and comfort and shameless playful flirting. No, he had said it with everything. With the weight of sleepless nights and stolen glances, with the ache of wanting her in ways he couldn’t explain.

And then…

“I love you too.”

His heart pounded just remembering it. But now, uncertainty crept in. They had said those words to each other countless times before. I love you, bestie. I love you, loser. Love you, see you later.

Was it different last night? Or had his heart made it into something more than it was?. He swallowed, his fingers twitching where they rested against the curve of her waist. She had held him tighter. She had kissed his hair. She had whispered those words back.

But did she mean them the way he did?

Hyunjin let out a slow, shaky breath, his gaze tracing the relaxed features of her sleeping face. He wanted to believe it. Needed to believe it. Because the truth was he wasn’t willing to just continuing to pretend his love was just love for his best friend.

He was in love with her.

He had been for longer than he wanted to admit. And even when he admitted it to himself, he always tried to ignore it. But it soon became more difficult to stand it. Maybe from the first time he caught himself staring at her for no reason, or when he started craving her presence like a necessity rather than a choice.

Hyunjin swallowed hard.

He had to tell her.

He couldn’t pretend anymore, couldn’t push it aside, couldn’t act like I love you meant the same thing it did before. It was different now. It had to be.

A soft sigh pulled him from his thoughts. She was waking up. He watched as her brows furrowed slightly, her lips parting with a quiet breath before her eyes slowly blinked open. She looked drowsy, her lashes fluttering as she adjusted to the light, and when her gaze found his, she smiled, sleepy, warm, effortless.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice still filled with sleep.

Hyunjin’s heart nearly stopped.

How is she so effortlessly beautiful?

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to respond, his voice softer than usual. “Morning.”

She stretched slightly, her body shifting against his, and that was when she seemed to realize how close they still were. Instead of pulling away, she simply relaxed again, letting herself sink back into the warmth of their shared space. Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, trying to fight back the nervous energy creeping up his spine. Now. Just say it now.

But instead, his fingers hesitantly brushed over her wrist, tracing slow, mindless patterns.

“…Did you sleep okay?”

She hummed, nodding slightly. “Yeah. You?”

He hesitated, then nodded too. “Better than I thought I would.”

She must’ve remembered then, because her gaze softened, and her fingers found his, pressing against his hand in silent reassurance. “You scared me earlier,” she admitted quietly.

Hyunjin swallowed. “I scared myself.”

A pause. Then…

“I meant it.”

She blinked. “…Huh?”

He inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of courage in his body. His fingers curled around hers, gripping her hand as if that alone would keep him steady.

“When I said I love you,” he clarified, voice trembling slightly. “I meant it. Not the way we used to say it before.” He forced himself to meet her eyes, even as his pulse thundered in his ears. “I meant it in the only way I’ve ever really meant it.”

She stared at him, silent. Hyunjin’s heart was pounding.

“I… I don’t know when it happened,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it was when I realized that just being near you makes everything feel lighter. Or maybe it was when I started thinking about you at night and wondering if you were thinking about me too. Or maybe it was when I realized I need you here with me in my room because this is where you belong.” His breath shuddered. “I love you,” he whispered again, this time with no hesitation, no fear. “Not like a best friend. Not like someone I can live without. I love you like you’re the most beautiful thing in my life, and the idea of losing you terrifies me.”

She still hadn’t spoken.

Hyunjin felt his stomach twist. “I…” His voice faltered, suddenly afraid. “I just needed you to know.”

Silence stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken words. And then her fingers tightened around his.

“You really are dramatic,” she murmured, a teasing glint in her still sleepy gaze.

Hyunjin’s lips parted, heat creeping up his neck, panic stirring in his chest, but before he could even think of a response, she pulled him closer, pressed her forehead against his and whispered “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

His entire body froze.

Her fingers lifted to trace his jaw, slow, careful, grounding him as she spoke again, softer this time more certain.

“I’m in love with you too.”

A shaky exhale escaped him, relief crashing over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in warmth and something deeper, something real.

Hyunjin didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

Instead, he closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her and burying himself in the safety of her embrace. She let him, holding him just as tightly, as if neither of them would ever let go.

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunjin felt whole. She had said it back. Not in the way they used to say it, not in the casual, friendly way that had once defined them. No, this time, it had been different. It had been real, soaked in meaning, in truth, in love love.

Hyunjin was still processing it, still wrapping his head around the fact that he wasn’t dreaming, that it had actually happened. But with every inhale, with every soft sound she made beside him, reality settled deeper in his chest.

And then came the fear.

Not fear that she didn’t mean it, he knew she did. But fear of what came next. Because he wanted more. He wanted everything. He wanted to be hers in every possible way, to hear her say his name not just as her best friend, but as her boyfriend. He wanted to hold her hand and know she was his, to kiss her when he couldn’t hold back anymore, to whisper in her ear that she belonged with him.

But he couldn’t, at least not like normal people. He couldn’t take her out on dates without looking over his shoulder for people taking photos. He couldn’t tell the world that she was his. He couldn’t post cheesy couple pictures, or buy matching phone cases (well, maybe this he could do), or even hold her hand in public without it being a risk.

It was unfair.

And yet…

Hyunjin looked at her, eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face. His heart clenched. I don’t care. I want her anyway.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered, voice still husky.

Hyunjin’s throat tightened. God, he was so in love with her.

He didn’t speak right away. He was afraid his voice might crack again, afraid that the emotions swelling inside him might spill out in an incoherent mess. So instead, he reached out to her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She leaned into the touch. And just like that, it was over for him.

Hyunjin inhaled sharply. “Can I ask you something?”

She blinked, still heavy with sleep. “Of course.”

He hesitated. His fingers, still lingering on her face, slid down, brushing against the curve of her jaw before pulling back. He swallowed.

“I… I want you to be mine.” Her eyes widened slightly, breath hitching. Hyunjin pressed on, voice low, urgent. “Not just as my best friend. Not just as someone I love in a way that’s safe.” He exhaled, fingers gripping the sheets. “I want you to be my girl. I want to call you my girlfriend, I want to be the only one you look at like that. I want to wake up next to you like this and know that it means something.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer, more vulnerable “But I know it’s selfish.”

Her brows knit together. “Selfish?”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw. “You know what I am. I can’t date publicly. I can’t give you the things other guys can. No public dates, no soft launches on Instagram, no walking around Seoul without hiding.” His hands curled into fists. “I know that’s unfair to you. I know you deserve someone who can…”

“Stop.”

His breath caught.

She was looking at him now, eyes steady, unwavering. “I don’t care about that, Hyunjin.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest tightening. “You… don’t?”

She shook her head, shifting closer. “Of course I want to do those things with you. But I also know what your life is like. I know what I’d be getting into.” Her hand reached for his, fingers brushing his wrist. “But none of that matters if I have you.”

Hyunjin felt something inside him snap, like the last bit of restraint he had was finally crumbling. His fingers moved instinctively, intertwining with hers. “Then say yes,” he whispered.

She inhaled sharply, her thumb tracing over his knuckles.

And then…

“Yes.”

His heart nearly burst.

Hyunjin let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling against hers, their fingers still locked together. “You’re mine,” he murmured, the words almost reverent, almost unbelieving.

“I’m yours,” she whispered back.

But just as relief started to flood through him, she hesitated, and something flickered across her face, something uncertain. Hyunjin immediately noticed. He pulled back slightly, searching her expression. “What is it?”

She hesitated. “I just…” She bit her lip, glancing away. “Are you sure you want me?”

His chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, voice quieter now. “I mean… I’m older than you. I’m not some insanely gorgeous idol or model. You could be with anyone, Hyunjin. You could have someone that…”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice firm.

She looked up, startled.

Hyunjin shook his head, jaw tightening. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “There is no one else,” he murmured. “There has never been anyone else.” Her lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his. “I don’t care about age,” he continued. “I don’t care about whatever stupid beauty standards you think you don’t meet.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, gaze burning. “I want you. No one else could ever make me feel the way you do. So don’t ever think you’re not enough for me.” He exhaled shakily. “Because you are the only person I’ve ever wanted this much.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, she smiled soft, radiant, breathtaking.

Hyunjin’s stomach flipped.

She squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

A slow, relieved breath left his lips, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting it sink in.

She was his.

His girlfriend. His love. His everything.

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

Michael couldn't stop shaking.

It wasn't from the cold, not anymore. The snow had all melted away, giving way to a jungle verdant with the bright, almost-too unnatural green of the hottest summer day. The wind was warm, tugging on the hair that peeked out from the now-unnecessary beanie on his head. He was sweating beneath his parka, and every muscle felt like it was seizing and trembling out of his control. Every part of him was quaking, even his mind, recoiling in fear and dismay from the impossibilities that surrounded him. Somehow, it felt like he was screaming, even though he was completely silent.

"You have to do this, Michael." Gertrude's face was so serious, more than he'd ever seen before. Compared to him, she was perfectly still and calm despite the chaos around them. "You are the only one who can. Only you can stop this."

"I…" Michael turned back to the strange and horrific sight looming in the valley beneath them. There were so many gaping doorways, so many stairs and arches, like an Escher painting had mutated and spiraled out of control. It was terrifyingly vast and mind-bending to try to track, shifting before his eyes, but it was so…eerily beautiful. It drew his eyes and his mind, inescapable and endlessly fascinating. He could stare at it, terrified, for hours and hours, and never be able to look away.

And Gertrude was asking him to go inside.

"If you don't stop this, the entire world will be swallowed by what you see before you," Gertrude insisted, pressing a large folded paper into his hands. Lines and colors danced across it, shifting before Michael's eyes. "Do what you must. Only you can."

"Are you sure?" Michael whispered weakly. It was all too much, what Gertrude was asking him to do. He wanted to get away and hide from the horrors, but there was no escape. Gertrude's eyes stared into his, so sharp in her wrinkled face, so unlike how she normally looked at him. So deadly sincere. It really was only him who could do it.

Michael nodded. Gertrude nodded back, and let go of his hands, stepping back. Michael turned and faced the awful monstrosity before him, tears slipping down his cheeks as he began his descent towards the structure. Every step grew more difficult than the last, as his legs threatened to collapse under him. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt the inside of his ribs, a headache was blooming across his mind, but he continued forward, driven by his duty and the expectation placed on him. Doors and twisted stairs loomed before him, and Gertrude's ceaseless gaze was on his back. The screaming in his mind reached a peak as he approached a plain yellow door.

Until he stopped.

"Michael?" he heard Gertrude call to him. "What is it? Why have you stopped?"

"It's…" Michael swallowed his confusion. "It's a cat."

Michael crouched down, ignoring Gertrude's shouted questions, bending to examine the kitty. They were laying on their side in front of the door, fast asleep and seemingly uncaring about the chaos around them. He reached out and stroked along its back, and the cat made a soft "mrrph" noise, stretching and arching back into his hand. Compared to the colorful impossibility around them, their black and white fur was soft beneath his hand, calming the screaming in his mind. Michael scooped them up, and they pressed into his embrace, purring as they twisted to lick the tears off his face with their raspy tongue.

"Michael! You have to stop it!" Gertrude shouted distantly, but he barely heard her. How could he go through the door with the cat in his arms? How could he let such a sweet thing go? He couldn't.

A sharp crack had him stumbling backwards, staring up at the structure in alarm. There were cracks running through the door frames and stairways, the precarious angles suddenly seeming much more precarious. Michael stumbled back, then turned and ran back to Gertrude, the cat still safely held in his arms. He reached her, breathing heavily, and they all watched as the fantastically strange structure crumpled and collapsed into itself, it's terrible chaos turning into nothing but rubble.

"I would have been in there," Michael realized, dull shock beginning to seep through him. There was no relief now that the horror was gone, just the heavy certainty that he'd nearly died. And Gertrude had been the one to send him to his near-death.

"Hmm," Gertrude hummed to herself, staring at the ruin. "Fascinating." She didn't elaborate, or say anything at all to him. She just turned and began making her way back to the distant shore.

"God," Michael whispered to himself, hugging the kitty close. Whatever had just happened, he had the cat to thank, because otherwise he would have gone inside that door, and would be dead, or worse. And as glad as he was to be alive, there were so many questions now crowding his mind, and a cold sinking realization that Gertrude wasn't who he thought she was.

[ninesparrowsoftroy]

For the Mortal and Machine | Viktor | 1.1k | Blurb

Viktor, who, in his pursuit to uncover the secrets of what may lie beneath the metal plates of the Hexcore, disrupts the very equilibrium of the Arcane.

Things to note prior to proceeding: I have absolutely not the slightest of clues if this makes any sense at all, really I just opened a tab and forced myself to keep writing and here we are. I hope this is somewhat even remotely in the realm of his character.

Exposed; paled skin blooming a vicious red where the edge of the scalpel had torn through flesh and muscle, each individual vertebrae aching with the force of a discomforting stretch, lungs pressing against the hollowed bones of a weakened ribcage. Vulnerable; calloused fingers digging the cartilage of chipped nails into the plush of the palm, sunken eyes searching with a feverish desperation through the creased and folded papers on the desk, a dry lip drawn tight into a thinning line, chapped and blushing a violent pink where the skin threatened to crack. Alone; so completely and utterly alone.

Viktor did not resent the isolation brought upon him, nor did he find comfort in its hollow presence, instead he had grown somewhat accustomed to it. The desolation of the four-faced laboratory forced itself to become an inescapable familiarity, the quiet that had once been startling and foreign in the thrumming atmosphere of mechanical discovery and esoteric ambition, was now an instrument of focus not afforded before.

He uncovered in the silence a newfound means of potential, an opportunity to push beyond the limitations of physiological restriction, challenge the notions of scientific sanctity. No longer was anyone who could argue against a hypothesis or dissent to a proposal of experimentation. Now he simply could string out the calculations, weave together the prospects of potential and contrast it against the forces of reality. He could fail over and over and over again and spend however long it took until failure was nothing but a prospect of the past.

It was here in this desolate, haunting lab that the whispers of progress dripped itself into his desperate ears, pushing him further and further down its spiral. A moment longer before the desk, a second more to attune an equation, one step deeper into the labyrinth of something he would claw his way to discover.

Viktor set the metal blade against the cold surface of the desk, bloodied fingers staining the ridges of its handle. The wound stung, the opened nerves unwelcome against the still air of the lab, the muscles within his hand flexing with each drip of the liquid that seeped into the crevices of his palm. His skin itched, hand twitching with a subconscious longing for self-preservation, his fingers instinctively curling inward. It was with a principal force that he willed his muscles to straightened, splaying out his palm and fingers into a flat line, the sting of the stretched wound bitting at his nerves.

For science; for the taming of what has always remained so far out of reach, what has been intangible and arcane.

He let a breath fall from his lips, eyes fixated on the many faced machine that thrummed before him. Its metal plates shifting, clicking into place with a subdued agency, each form of movement accompanied only by a pulse of a cold, muted light. Viktor extended his arm out into the buzzing atmosphere of the core, his palm facing its dancing faces. Faint though it was, the vibrations that encased and coiled around his wrist as he ebbed closer and closer towards the machine were unmistakable. He could feel the buzzing air crawl its way around his forearm, tickling the skin like thousands of minuscule needles all placed onto it at once.

A splotch of red pulled itself from his hand, droplets of red drifting in the air like satellites. He watched with a curious eye as the dots gravitated towards the machine, floating in a slow and meticulous sequence. For a moment they were like stars, a moving constellation of red, outlining vague and unrecognizable shapes in the buzzing air, before they were drawn into a singular line. The metal faces of the core flashed, the specks of red beginning to vibrate as the proximity between them began to wane. They trembled, losing their circular shape as each dot began to bleed into the one behind it, uniform it the way they formed a single line. Then, in the moment it would take to blink, the liquid vanished, sucked into the heart of the machine with a gluttonous voracity.

The reaction was immediate: each of its metal faces jerking with a harrowing uniformity, the buzz of the air growing sharper, what had once pricked at him now pressed with a newfound cruelty into the pale barrier of his body. He drew his shoulder back, attempting to yank his hand away from the machine in an effort of retreat. The open wound of his hand began to burn against the light of the machine. Panic then seized him when he felt the buzzing air lock onto his forearm, his body lurching forward when the core grasped onto the scrunched fabric at his elbow, tugging his body closer. Viktor could feel it pull the blood from his body, coaxing it from beneath the flesh and muscle of his hand.

It spun, breathing with every spark of pain that shot through his body, each runic face trembling as they shifted in and out of place. He bit back the noise within his throat, his lungs withholding any sound or breath as panic gave way to desperation. Its pull grew harsher, tugging at the bone inside his hand, ripping away his skin in search of red and white. Around him the lab grew dark, shadows contorting in the corners behind pillars and beneath desks and equipment. The starless light of the night no longer fell into the room through the window, instead all sources of sight came from the twitching pulse of the core’s glow. It danced between shades of purple and blue, sparks of white garnering black dots in his vision.

Everything buzzed, tilting between horizontal and vertical, spinning as the atmosphere of the machine grew, clawing up his arm until he could it feel it from every limb. His hands, his arms, his neck, his back, his hip, his feet; it was consuming, swallowing him whole. He could feel the weight of its hold against him, the impaling pierce of the needle-like air puncturing into the weakening muscles of his limbs, its low resounding hum pounding itself against the walls of his skull.

The core gave another feral jerk, its mechanical form trembling as it grew unstable, the metal faces colliding and crashing against one another as they began to fall onto the hard surface of the desk. That was when Viktor could feel his eyes roll back, all sound in the room vanishing as a single reverberating shriek splintered through the lab, and all he could do was pray helplessly that he would wake up eventually.

I have given no permission for my writing or work to be posted anywhere else other than this account. I hope you enjoyed. <3

[bluemoonscape]

While I'm on my Hannibal essay bullshit, here's a copy/paste (plus images) from a response I had to this post that I wanted to get out there in its own post regarding the symbolic differences between the stag and the stag man:

I interpret the main difference as one representing Will’s Becoming and the other representing Will slowly learning Hannibal’s darkness—and then his humanity.

The stag initially appears as a symbol for Will’s “madness” due to his encephalitis in Season 1, with the scene of the antlers on fire being the most obvious indicator to me as well as how he seems less in control of it in this season. He sees it wandering around and he’s afraid of it. He’s afraid of what he’s seeing and why. He’s unable to control its actions. It’s out of his hands.

But in Season 2, he gains control of it. In the dream he has of killing Hannibal, he uses the stag to achieve this end. When he’s in the head of Randall Tier, the stag is with him and once again, it kills on his command.

What was originally madness, a frenzied spiral into darkness with no say in where he landed, becomes more of what I view as a “controlled descent” in Season 2. He is fully aware of his actions. He often seems to excuse his darker actions and inclinations “I need to do this because ____” blank being any number of things such as his job, a “righteous” purpose, his seduction of Hannibal to catch him, or Hannibal’s own seduction of him and influence on him. I think that could be why the stag sometimes feels confused with a symbol of Hannibal. It’s Will, but he’s not telling himself that. He’s trying to convince himself it isn’t his nature. He HAS to do it. He doesn’t enjoy it. He needs to tell himself he doesn’t enjoy it.

As for stag man, Wendi darling, that’s been explained really well in recent posts, but to lay out my thoughts, it’s Will’s association for Hannibal moving forward and backward, the teacup shattering and then coming back together. He doesn’t see it until about the end of Season 1, during the scene where he confronts Hannibal and is shot in the shoulder by Jack:

Before then, it’s the stag. In the “did you just smell me?” scene, Will’s intuition is trying to tell him in his compromised mental state what Hannibal is. The stag statue is directly linked to him seeing the stag, and the stag is his own darkness steadily being stripped bare by Hannibal’s influence on him, which he doesn’t yet recognize. Only when he unravels the truth of Hannibal’s darkness does he see the stag man, and as mentioned, he doesn’t see it anymore after Mizumono. After Hannibal’s betrayal of Will in S1, Will convinces himself (understandably) that Hannibal doesn’t care about him. He’s using him. He was never his friend and all he wants from Will is a show, wind him up and watch him go. Mizumono proves him wrong on a fundamental, inescapable level. He wasn’t aware of the humanity and love Hannibal could possess until that moment, so his view of him as a monster shatters the moment he recognizes it. What I love about each season finale is how every final episode can represent a new crucial realization in Hannibal and Will’s relationship; S1 is Will realizing Hannibal’s darkness, S2 is Will finding Hannibal’s humanity again in the cruelest of circumstances, and S3 is him reconciling the two and letting himself accept both—letting himself accept Hannibal and himself as an extent.

This is largely open to interpretation, but those are my thoughts on the stag vs. the stag man and what they represent in the story. We watch the show from Will’s perspective, a notoriously unreliable narrator, so it makes sense that associations would get mixed up in his head, causing the viewer to become confused, too. That said, they are two distinct entities in the story and represent two distinct elements in the story: Will’s Becoming in relation to his bond with Hannibal and Hannibal’s darker traits juxtaposing his humanity, as viewed through Will’s eyes...

...hence why they can often be seen in direct opposition to one another, like the dream sequence in Shiizakana.

[pink-slay]

How could I have ever thought that words weren't enough for me. In high school I dreamed of going to college to avoid writing essays because I was so sick of all the things that weren't math. I thought my words were better expressed out loud and never on a page because I hadn't gotten into the process of delineating any of them. My communication was an ocean of words and my writing not yet sea salt.

I read an email lorde wrote about a year and a half ago and she quoted a sylvia plath poem and said "I have a self to recover" and I am thrown into the woeful awe that makes me remember why I do it I guess. Write. Live.

The ache is consuming but I work through it and maybe the moral of the story is not that this sadness will end but that there will be enough that truly is worth saving. I go through life to find more pieces of it I want to hold on to. Eventually, maybe I'll want to hold onto myself.

However, until then, I'm glad I didn't get AP credit for those english classes I took in high school because I took medical leave and couldn't take the test, and I'm glad I was forced to take a second english class because maybe... if i hadn't... I wouldn't be the person I am today.

I wouldn't be (slowly) writing a memoir, and I wouldn't be (slowly) unwinding the pieces of myself quite like how I do.

I find a lot of hatred for myself within my words, criticism and fear. However, in my words, too, I find new homes. Safeguards from the oppressive heat of life.

There's a chapter in the great gatsby that talks all about oppressive heat and its been so long since I read the book I can't remember for what particular thing that is a metaphor. However, I remember feeling it. The feeling of an emotion, a concept, a truth so heavy, so unbearable, so unrelenting as a sticky inescapable summer heat.

I live with feelings like that now but I'm finding ways not to burn my bare feet on the metaphorical sidewalk and maybe I'm almost 21 and my whole life is far far ahead of me, but maybe I have lived too many lifetimes for any one person and maybe watching Bojack horseman won't make me spiral like I thought. Maybe it'll help.

I like the early parallels in it. All we see about Sarah Lynn that went wrong that could've gone right and all we see about Bojack drowning and running. Esepcially, all the ways his cruelty toward others was obvious in ways so easy to shun but only to get to a breaking point far later than we'd like to admit.

I write in incomplete sentences, call it a stylistic choice, but the words of others have changed me today, and maybe I needed Lorde's words and maybe I needed the words of that one rabbit guy in Bojack Horseman who tells Princess Carolyn she is the star of the movie and it has to be bad for her right now so the ending will feel sweeter. The thing is that I don't believe that. I don't believe everything happens for a reason; some things just suck. However, I like it, valuing yourself enough to romanticize your life into another reality, however untrue, because you value the ending, the future, the beyond too. It reminds me that we are allowed to hold out hope for our futures even though we don't live in them. It reminds me that this is my life for better or for worse and we live to recover ourselves like Lorde said.

We live to find parts of ourselves we thought were destroyed, to discover parts long oppressed or unrealized, and to continue with even the smallest things that help us see through the smog of the intolerable.

Sometimes it's nice to know that you are not a machine to continue, with entropy until your death. Maybe it's nice to know we have stories and tragedies, something to hold onto, something to believe in.

[arachnomancer]

Something inside her broke. “I don’t want to lose you, Astarion,” she whispered, could barely hold his gaze once tears began viciously stabbing at her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t. I…” Kythreen swallowed down the mess in her throat that her weakness and emotions wrought, only half-successfully, and the sound of her own voice was frenetic once the words started boiling over and out of her. “I need you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known. Not just you, physically… you are,” she sputtered. “Your soul glows brighter than the sun – I feel it whenever you’re close to me. I see it whenever I look at you.” She pulled the hand still entwined in hers to her chest, could feel the drumming against her ribs there under the heat of his touch. Her very pulse felt so overcome by the on-rush of feeling, so vehement in its emotions.

He felt it too; she knew it – his eyes dropped to where his hand was resting, like he could see through skin and bone to glimpse where Kythreen’s blood surged, where matter and her very soul comingled in the moment, thrumming out a desperate, plangent rhythm. Ruby eyes darted back to hers after a few moments, and she gave him the smallest smile, bittersweet and genuine. “My heart beats for both of us, now,” she whispered. “And I...” More words nearly tumbled out of her like so many diamonds onto black velvet, the pile of sparkling sentiments in her becoming too grand a hoard to keep from spilling from her lips. Nearly.

Astarion gave her the time to make an attempt at the rest of the declaration. His hand spread under hers, as though he might be able to claim what she said was his – theirs – and…

The chance was there. The moment hovered, stretching out into a second and more, an eternity passing in the blink of an eye. And in that infinite moment within a moment, Kythreen saw the reflection of the same agony that tore at her in him. She saw them: the un-uttered things of their hearts. Those things passed first from hopeful sparks to lingering cinders—holding out just a little longer just in case a mind changed at the last moment—then becoming snuffed, vanished opportunities, lost forever to held tongues and silence.

And then the chance was gone, irredeemable and stillborn. There was no hesitation in this, at least, no wavering notes of the heart that went unsung. Her fingers brushed over his chest, as though she still might be able to gently brush away all of their collective inhibitions and reach what lay beneath, coming to settle at his waist, hesitant and gentle.

He gave her a slight smile, and it was a little wistful. A little sad, and far too understanding. There was something devastating in the awareness, that they both knew perfectly well what was in each other’s souls, obstructed by all of the hesitation and posturing and fear that both of them pretended to care about for some reason. That might have been beautiful. It wasn’t. It just broke her heart that she wasn’t even capable of getting out the words.

Astarion kissed her, and she knew what that kiss was. It had its own name, after all, and such a gruesome one, too.

A “gallows” kiss. The last, frantic farewell of so many an unrepentant criminal and ill-fortuned hero, one last moment of meaning before the neck snapped, convulsing to the horror of the one left behind, kissed minutes earlier and left to watch her beloved die before her eyes.

Lips met hers with the intensity and inevitability of – not bits of cosmic dust, no – but of stars—stars spiralling into one another, crashing together in a final embrace of inescapable gravitation before both perished. He held her with dire need, one hand around her shoulders and in her hair, the other around her waist, like no contact would ever be enough, not even when they were melded together in the heat of passion. Nothing ever was; “enough” had always been a word for lesser, boring people.

Kythreen wanted to claw her way into him, to seize him and run from this horrific place and never return, flee from Faerûn altogether if that was what it took. Anything to keep him safe, keep him alive. Would that it could be so simple as crossing the planes. She felt certain that Cazador wouldn’t stop pursuing him all the way through the Abyss, even if he found another spawn to take Astarion’s place and ascended anyway.

While that monster existed, he’d never be safe.

[cozza-frenzy]

Well, we finally managed to figure something out - and in the end it was something we knew all along. We don't need permission, we don't need a reason, we don't need to justify anything to exist the way we do. Alters can front just because they feel like it. We can have fun with each other. We can find ways to break free from our own suffering, and move on from our past. It's not easy to let go of what other people think, but we couldn't let it continue to hold us back.

I mean - trying to balance the idea of "being a good system" with what was happening? Keeping our headcount low even when we still have missing memories and skills? Trying to prevent splits even when we can't handle things any more? It was killing us. It was very nearly the end of us.

It stressed us out so much that it plunged our Inner World into a vicious blizzard. It blacked out the sky so there was no day or night, no sun, no stars. Areas outside our airship home became nearly impossible to access; even areas not connected to the 'main' inner world were inexplicably cut off. If we'd let it continue, I can tell how bad things would have gotten. Yggdrasil, the tree that represents all of us, had lost its normally permanent leaves and flowers - and Yggy, its representative alter, was constantly tired. We were stuck in what felt like an inescapable spiral; tempers were flaring, trust was breaking down. Anger leading to hurt. Hurt leading to despair. Despair killing hope. If the storm had continued to cut us off from the rest of the world, alters would have gone dormant - and those of us that survived the first time wouldn't want to live through losing everyone again. The world that represents our collective soul would have died in freezing darkness, and whoever was left would have to pick up the pieces.

We only managed to avert what seemed like an inevitable collapse, and pull ourselves out of that deep hole, by identifying what the problem was and letting the fuck go. Maybe we're not a good system in some people's eyes. Maybe to them we're "in love with being sick", we're glorifying, maybe even exaggerating or faking. But we're done with apologizing for posting about things that actually happened; so here's what actually happened, when the storm finally cleared.

On Christmas Day I ran outside in my new pair of digitigrade snow boots, gifted to me by Roses. I'd seen the others outside having fun in the snow, and after Celeste relieved me of "fronting duty", I threw a snowball so hard at Zee's head that it spun around 180 degrees. An attempt to divide into teams for a snowball fight devolved into a free-for-all; snowballs got dropped from above, flew out of doors, fired from cartoon weapons. Sasha jumped on Anarchy's back and went riding around, Martin got revenge on Vivien by burying them in a huge armful of snow, even Morpheus showed up and got absolutely pelted as he tried to lazily watch from one of his clouds. And Roy literally buried his competition, using a modified snowplow to hurl oversized snow-boulders.

We celebrated with a round of hot chocolate and a toast, and that evening we had a feast the likes of which we've never seen in realspace. Everyone working together to arrange plates, cups and napkins. Dagwood creating a bunch of copies to heft massive roasts onto the table with their disproportionate strength - beef, salmon, pork with crackling, an enormous puff pastry stuffed with cheese and cranberries, and Leaf (our tiniest alter) got an entire squab pigeon to themself. There were tureens and trays of potatoes and vegetables, home-baked bread and rolls, mounds of stuffing and a rainbow of sauces and condiments. The sparkling juice flowing, the gravy getting passed - laughter and cheers and the sound of popping christmas crackers between more than 30 alters.

And after dessert, there was a special visit from Father Christmas for the kiddos in the system... and a marriage proposal that took place in the front. I'm not saying which alter proposed to which other alter - but they said yes.

Even knowing that all of that happened in our Inner World; in a kind of collective, unending dream that we all share? It doesn't take away from the genuine joy we all felt, the fun we had, and the love we have for each other. It doesn't mean the memories we made together should be ignored or discarded. And it doesn't mean that we didn't suffer horribly before we got to this point. We don't need to suffer to prove we deserve happiness, but this has been one of the worst Decembers of our life, and possibly the worst splitting phase we've had post-discovery. It's been a long, hard slog of mental and physical exhaustion, anger and resentment, and sheer desperation to get to the end of 2024. But we pulled it off, and we had probably one of the most memorable Christmases of our lifetime.

So here's to a new year. Here's to healing, to moving on, and continuing to thrive. And to anyone and everyone who's sent us thinly veiled insults and threats, who's tried to get a rise out of our "angry alters", who's accused us of not knowing what's best for ourselves, or not trying hard enough? May your roast always be dry, that one relative you hate always show up last-minute, and the dog eat the entire family's dessert even if you don't have a dog. Fuck you, and I hope you get COVID for New Year's.

But Happy Holidays, from me and the rest of the system. We made it. Let's party.

[emmersreads]

Piglet by Lottie Hazell - Review

1.5/5

A blurb on Piglet’s Storygraph page describes it as an, “uncommonly clever novel.”

I ended up rereading this blurb a lot after various library hold shenanigans had me stopping and starting the book like a dissatisfied sprinter grinding out a good time. I returned to the page way more often than I normally do, the Storygraph entry typically being a largely superfluous addition to a cover image and date read. I found myself meditating upon this quotation, wondering what the uncommonly clever take would be, when it would reveal itself. Especially since I had put the book on my tbr for entirely superficial reasons: I liked the gorgeously vibrant impressionist painting of a burger on the cover and the narrator of the audiobook has an authentic northern accent, which really lends a degree of resonance to the protagonist’s regionalist shame.

It was fine, I guess.

There’s little I can point out that is concretely wrong about it. A lot of stuff that is frustrating to me in particular, but nothing I can say that is objectively bad. Nothing that I would describe as uncommonly, or frankly, commonly clever either.

I’m going to spoil the whole ass book here because I actually kinda don’t think it’s worth your time.

Protagonist Piglet finds out her perfect sophisticated fiancé has cheated on her only a few weeks out from her perfect sophisticated wedding, the event that will finally remove and purify her from her lower class northern origins. Piglet spirals as she is confronted with the decision to split and lose the aspirational life she has worked so hard to build, or stay and have it tainted with the same shame of imperfection as her childhood and family. She finds herself insatiably hungry as she kicks the choice down the road. Her obvious self-destructive spiral alienates everyone honestly interested in what is best for her. She seeks reassurance only from those who will tell her what she knows she doesn’t want. After a deeply humiliating wedding, Piglet finally hits bottom and breaks up with her fiancé. Only then does she feel satiated.

Was that it? Is that really so clever?

I think I may have even said that out loud as I stood alone in the double isolation of my noise-cancelling headphones and empty house. A novel in which a woman’s self-denied dissatisfaction with her ostensibly perfect life is embodied through a normatively disturbing lack of self-denial vis a vis food is the ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ of literary fiction. It was immediately cliched even if it had never been done before.

What does it really say about body politics for a fat woman, acutely aware of her size, preparing for her wedding, to enter a restaurant, order everything on the menu, and then eat all of it with her hands? This is not a facetious question. The thing that would have saved this book for me was if it had more to say about the politics of eating in public, of eating as a fat person, eating in unsanctioned ways, in a period of time when women are expected to diet. Instead it leans hard into the experience of self-sabotage (yes, I know no one does this on purpose and it indicates serious personal problems etc etc but I would simply enforce my boundaries, sorry to Piglet but I’m different) and into the mortifying ordeal of being the main character in someone else’s badly acted sixteen part tiktok skit.

The connection between Piglet’s binge eating and her spiraling mental health was acutely uncomfortable as a reader. Piglet often swings between elation and soul-crushing mortification as she eats, becoming extremely sensitive of the people who might be watching her and what they might think. I became inescapably aware that as a reader, I was doing essentially the same thing.

If I bought into the novel I became a voyeur on this fictional woman’s breakdown. There was a car crash effect to it. It was compelling in its horribleness (Piglet eats until she feels ill, throws up, envisions herself growing trotters and transforming into a pig; it is clear that her binges are not the healthy experience of enjoying food while fat but a binge motivated by visceral self-loathing), but I felt like the ethical thing for me to do was to look politely away. If I could not intervene then at least I could offer privacy. On the one hand, the novel is devastatingly effective in creating this experience, on the other, it felt like it was griping my collar begging me not to read it.

It feels like there ought to be something there. A book that hates to be read, where the ethical choice would be to put the thing down unfinished, the text equivalent of those video games that slowly back you into being a fascist through increasingly complex bureaucratic paperwork. But then the book ends with the healthy decision being made and everything becoming okay like we’ve flipped a switch to an HGTV cooking show. I was profoundly disappointed that Piglet shied away from a genuinely confronting depiction of eating while fat for the trite little resolution, “at least, Piglet was satisfied.”

As much as I appreciate an open ending, this is not a resolution. In breaking up with her perfect sophisticated fiancé, Piglet has only solved half her problems, and not even the most interesting ones. She has prioritized herself over the image of the perfect aspirational life she had previously been pursuing, but suddenly being able to simply stop eating when full does nothing to address the problems of fatness and food politics the book so carefully raised. Just don’t feel bad about it is not a conclusion, especially to a book that is so devastatingly effective in illustrating the mixture of shame and elation Piglet feels about eating in public.

I read this book over the course of three library borrows and like five months. I kept coming back because I wanted it to be better, but it never was.

(Addendum: food writing is worse that Butter by Asako Yuzuki, but better than You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty by Awaeke Emezi, solid 7 out of 10)

[remae-freyae]

The gathering was as silent as a graveyard, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eyes of her pack members bored into her, their judgment weighing heavier than the cruel words spilling from her fated mate's mouth.

"I reject you," he said with a sneer, his voice echoing through the clearing. His lips curled in disdain as though the very thought of their bond disgusted him. "You are nothing to me."

Her knees buckled, but she refused to fall, even as the weight of his rejection slammed into her chest. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break, even if her heart shattered into a thousand pieces in that moment.

But the final blow wasn’t the rejection—it was the Alpha’s decree. She was to be given to the Grimsbane pack, their most vicious rivals, as an offering of goodwill in a fragile peace treaty. A lamb to the slaughter.

The journey to Grimsbane territory was a blur of dread and resignation. By the time she crossed the border, her wolf form was trembling—not from fear, but exhaustion. She expected her end to be swift. No one survived the Grimsbane Alpha’s wrath.

The Alpha’s den was as imposing as its leader, towering dark spires of stone that loomed over the snow-laden forest. The pack members parted silently as she was dragged into the heart of their territory, their expressions a mix of curiosity and hunger.

And then he appeared.

Six-foot-seven of raw power, with a presence that seemed to suck the air from the room. His midnight-black hair fell in tousled waves to his shoulders, and his eyes, a molten gold, locked onto her trembling form. His aura rolled off him in waves—dominance, danger, and something darker. The Grimsbane Alpha.

She tried to stand taller despite her smaller wolf form, bracing herself for the inevitable. If this was how it ended, she would meet her fate with dignity.

But he didn’t strike her down. Instead, his massive form knelt before her, his movements slow and deliberate. One large hand reached out, cupping her muzzle, his touch startlingly gentle for a man known for tearing his enemies apart with his bare hands.

"Mine," he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through her very bones.

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if she was more terrified or shocked. The room buzzed with stunned silence as his pack watched their Alpha—their merciless, unyielding leader—claim her with a single word.

He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her small form in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. Her wolf instincts told her to struggle, to run, but his strength and heat wrapped around her like an inescapable cage. There was no mistaking the possessive gleam in his eyes, nor the protective snarl that erupted from his throat as one of his pack dared to take a step closer.

“She’s under my protection now,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “Anyone who challenges me for her will wish they hadn’t.”

Her heart raced, her fate spiraling into a direction she could never have imagined. Rejected by one mate and claimed by another—a ruthless Alpha whose golden eyes held the promise of both danger and something else entirely: salvation.

[thefingerblaster]

A Starbird's Wings are Clipped

In the dark of a nigh moonless night, in a field of grass that went from teal to cyan and back to teal, a tower nearly as black as the night sky stood tall and alone.

Atop that tower there was a lone woman drawing the very last parts of a spiraling spell circle which was at once sharp yet smooth. She drew it with a vigor that possessed only a woman motivated by either spite or jealousy.

Perhaps it was the promise that she had made so many years ago in this same field.

She had not decided which it was yet.

With a flourish she closed the outermost circle that contained the spirals of the spell circle. It drew the eye in a way only such a spiral did, with the gravitic power that felt so inescapable when seen.

The spellbook that told of this inscription warned about how taboo this was. Supposedly it was too dangerous to perform this spell. That only drove her further though, she decided it was partially spite that motivated this otherwise renegade behaviour. The other part she would think about later. (Although she could easily describe it as lust)

Nonetheless she examined her work with pride. The spell circle was nigh immaculate, only offset by the inevitability of human error. Perfection was a goal to be pursued yet never achieved anyway, as her instructor had told her time and time again.

She brushed her long black hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her ability to see the detail of the circle was partially hindered by the fact her last attempt had left her left eye blinded. The burn scar was a permanent reminder of that failure.

But this time it would work, it would. The conditions were right. Her target was visible. The spell circle well-drawn. It had to work this time.

She banished the mounting doubt with a heavy breath. "Nothing to it but to do it." She told herself aloud, trying to will herself to believe it.

After a final look over of her work she retrieved the flint and steel that would make the necessary sparks to ignite the spell. Strike, the sparks didn't catch.

Strike again the sparks flew further but still no light. Another strike and the sparks died in the air again. Again, more sparks died midair.

With one more forceful strike the sparks flew, they caught the circle and briefly birthed fire. Then the fire shifted to a bluish pink, then it seemingly died. The embers sat there, giving off a dying glow that suffocated and slowly ceased.

Then the circle began to light in the same bluish pink light that flowed like water. It filled the circle and lit the pattern, making it easy to spot in the darkness of the night.

The light grew brighter and taller until it seemingly pierced the sky itself. The pillar of light twinkled at its peak, where it touched the star she needed it to touch.

The two lights flickered, until the pillar from the circle overwhelmed the star. Now she only had to wait, to trust that the circle would fulfill it's purpose.

She felt fear grip her heart, the fear that she had failed again. Her thoughts raced to find where it might have gone wrong, where she could still come closer to perfection. Her mind was frantic with desperation to know how.

But that fear was soon silenced by the signs she so closely watched for.

A ring of white light went down the pillar and broke against the floor the circle was drawn upon.

YES! YESYESYESYES!!! Her heart soared higher than the throne which god sat atop.

Her joy only grew as more rings of white light were pulled down and soon shrunk into a secondary pillar contained within the pillar conjured by the circle.

FINALLY! A FUCKING WIN, SOMETHING THAT PLAYED OUT AS SHE WANTED!!

She nearly screamed with joy, curses for all the stars and the gods above festered on her lips. A mad cackle escaped her mouth when a tear of starlight formed in the dark sky above.

Her breath was heavy as the captured star was pulled further and further down. Its light grew as it fell from its perch. Then it was blotted out by the pillar that had so tightly gripped it.

The star gave barely even a struggle, seemingly surrendering to the pillar's pull. Perhaps it knew who was calling it, at least the woman dared to hope that anyway.

She heard a sound like tortured singing that grew louder as the star descended.

It spurred such pain. Yet it only further steeled the woman's resolve.

"Come to me, come to me my love." She whispered to herself. "Come to me where you belong. I will have you and I will keep you." Her promise from so many years ago felt so fresh in her mind.

When the light became so bright as to be blinding she raised her arms and braced to catch the star.

No amount of preparation would have let her keep steady as the star collided with her with great force, sending her falling on the ground. It was rather painful landing so hard on sturdy brickwork.

The pain was easily forgotten though, as the body that gave off the blinding light now rested in her arms. That which light quickly died down, revealing the vaguely feminine body concealed by it.

It gave off a warmth that easily negated the night's chill and renewed the woman's vigour. She had felt so tired before, so spent by the many hours of reading and preparation beforehand. Now she felt more alive than ever, holding the very proof that her efforts were not in vain.

Her smile could be described as manic as she held her darling close. The humanoid body that lay so weakly with its head on her chest gave off warmth and pale blue light in a way only describable as divine.

Tentatively she stroked it's hair made of sparkling starlight, cherishing every second of contact and warmth.

"I have you my shining star, I have you and shall never let you go again." She spoke the promise to herself and her love. Truly she did not intend to ever let go again, not after so many years of longing.

After minutes which felt like hours her darling stirred, clumsily raising her head to gaze into the woman's eyes. Her voice was the sound of the starry songs she once sang, now discordant and broken.

Although the woman did not know the language of the stars, she heard the question clearly. She already knew her answer.

"I promised you that we would meet again. And that when we did we would never be apart afterward." She kissed her beloved's nose. "Now we will have each other until the very end."

At that, the starbird simply slumped in her lover's arms. She did not have the strength to lift herself after such a descent. Her entire body was in pain from her wings being disintegrated when she was yanked from the sky. There was no fighting what had already happened.

The woman sighed happily, even as the manic smile on her face began to ache. She kissed her starbird's forehead as she stroked her hair and back.

She paid little mind to the uneven stumps where was once wings. It was a necessary loss she told herself, nothing could be done about it.

Any thought of guilt or shame never found her as she pulled the starbird's face close and kissed her lips. They tasted like gentle fire, one that could burn. Yet she went further as her tongue tasted heat inside her darling's mouth.

There was a meek protest at this invasion, attempts to shove the woman away that only earned a tighter embrace.

When the woman pulled her tongue out from her beloved's mouth it was a shock how cold it felt. But the chilly night air did little to sap the warmth she felt.

Every point of contact on bare skin was electrifying, the warmth given off a starbird's body truly was magnificent.

Everything was as it should be to the woman as they both lay there that night on top of the black tower, drifting off in each other's arms. Warmed by their naked bodies.

[indelicateink]

Despite reports that LGBTQ+ representation in film and television is heading on a downward spiral, there are still pieces of media breaking through the never-ending static of moving images. From coming-of-age series’ like Heartstopper to stand-out bottle episodes found in shows like The Last of Us, queer characters are still being highlighted, but the archetypes that are allowed to exist usually all have a common denominator: they’re nearly perfect. 

There has always been a consistent lack of queer characters that actually feel like real people in mainstream media, and it feels as if the end of the 2010s ushered in more than a handful of saccharine depictions of queerness, from the aforementioned Heartstopper (and its distinct lack of conflict) to slightly-heteronormative couples like Modern Family’s Cam and Mitch. Along with these perfect products of queerness are characters that aren’t necessarily given a chance to be fleshed out, instead existing in the background as a diversity check-mark rather than a meaningful inclusion in these series. Despite this overwhelming commitment to “good” representation, there has been a small uptick in shows that are showcasing unapologetically problematic LGBTQ+ characters—to incredible results. 

Of course, bad queer characters on screen aren’t necessarily new, but it feels like television is almost catching up to cinema. From the films of Gregg Araki to Pedro Almodovar, queer characters on the big screen have, thankfully, long been given the grace of being messy. While it’s taken some time, we’re headed in a direction where queer characters on TV are finally allowed to be “bad,” if the first half of 2024 is anything to go by.

The first show of 2024 that has highlighted more than just a few dynamic queer characters is Season 2 of AMC’s Interview with the Vampire. At the heart of this series is a group of queer vampires whose stories are interwoven to the point of meshing with one another, incapable of letting each other go. Despite decades and sometimes centuries, the vampires at the helm of this series don’t learn with age, and continue to be messy, manipulative, and so enticing to watch. 

In Season 2, these characters become even more complicated, as does their queerness. While there are many relationships in the series, the one between Armand (Assad Zaman) and Louis (Jacob Anderson) is the standout from this season, and one that is so tangled it’s impossible not to love. At the core of their relationship is the desire to be something they’re not and forget their pasts, and it quickly unfolds into a sensual and shattering BDSM relationship. The past is inescapable in Interview with the Vampire, and the two’s decades-long relationship slowly begins to crumble under the weight of each of their harbored secrets. 

It ultimately results in a shattering revelation that Armand was more than just complicit in Claudia’s (Delainey Hayles) death. Yet, when their relationship ends in glass shattering and walls cracking, it gives way to two separate, and equally as messy, relationships with different people: Lestat (Sam Reid) and Daniel (Eric Bogosian). There’s an unapologetic nature to Anne Rice’s vampires and the messy relationships they cultivate, and, thankfully, Season 2 upped the ante. By allowing these characters to bask in the deceit and treachery that defines this messy and pointedly queer relationship, showrunner Rolin Jones has offered fans a world where queerness and vampirism are intrinsically linked; where neither state of being is inherently “good” nor “bad,” but rather simply as complicated as a queer existence is in our real world. And in doing so, these characters have quickly become some of the most important representations of queerness offered in this century of television. [...]

[puptoy]

Big, hung bull-boy who can't help going into rut for his cow, begging to breed her <3

tags: femdom, small domme/big sub, praise/reward-focused domination, withholding touch is the only punishment, rope bondage, light exhibitionism (farmhands watching), big cock makes him stupid, praise for being big/dumb/needy/easy, treated like a toy, possessiveness, animalistic roleplay, scent/musk, mating/breeding, impregnation, temporary denial, desperate needy sub, begging, cunnilingus, tit sucking, touch of romance, pov: third person omniscient, condescending narration

names: stud, bull, good boy, pretty boy; heifer, cow.

consent rating: coerced/dubious consent b/c of a vaguely arranged mating and heat/rut, but consent issues are not focused on. intended to be read as a roleplay fantasy between enthusiastic lovers.

He's a young bull, first season out, and it's always hard for fresh studs to be gentle. She's a cute little heifer, a bit older but never bred. She's big enough to take him, but only just. He'll have to be restrained so she has time to get ready -- a couple farmhands help her tie him up nice and tight, then stay to supervise (and enjoy the show.)

Dumb studs need help behaving, after all. It's not their fault they're all instinct. All his blood's draining right out of that silly head, moving down to fill up his oversized cock. As soon as she's in the pen with him, he can feel it twitch and bob and quickly harden. She smells incredible, like every warm midnight yearning he's ever felt is centered around that soft patch of fuzz between her plump thighs.

When he's properly restrained, she touches him. Slides a hand up his tense abdomen, his broad shoulders. Purrs to him: You're so big, pretty boy. I'll make you feel good if you're nice and sweet for me. Can you do that? She sounds aroused, hesitant, hopeful -- wanting him but looking for reassurance that he'll be good to her. He nods, overcome with feeling. In his crude imaginations of this moment, he'd always thought of grabbing and taking. Now, the need to claim and possess is still there, but he suddenly feels an equal need: to protect and please her, to provide her with everything she desires, to earn her trust and affection.

Then she presses her lips to his, and his noble feelings are thrashed against the shores of his rut-addled mind by a wave of pure animal desire. The rope digs into his arms and chest as he surges forward, straining to lick deeper into her sweet mouth. Breed her, fuck her, my cow my cunt mine mine mine. If it weren't for his restraints, he'd have flipped her over, pinned her against the floor and fit his throbbing cock where it fucking belongs. Would be balls deep and making sure she'll be a bred heifer by the night's end.

Alas. She just patiently kisses him, pulling back if he gets too rough or fast, conditioning him to kiss slow and use his pretty lips the way she likes best. Even brainless rutting bulls can be obedient if you know how to use what they want against them. Just a few deep, lovey kisses and his heavy breeder nuts are churning and aching with how bad he needs her. She likes the way he chases her lips as she pulls back, nipping at his jaw and laughing softly. She calls him cute. Why is she licking his chest? There will never be milk there. But oh, it feels so strangely good...

Good stud, she says whenever he does well. She's so soft and inviting, but she's going so slow, it drives him crazy. He needs her now. He begs for another kiss. Begs for her, begs to touch her teasing lips, her slick pink cunt, her soft little teats, and she lets him soon enough if he asks nicely and obeys. She holds him by the horns and makes him lap and suck at her pussy, scenting and tasting her heat right at its source, making his mind spiral deeper into the obsessive, inescapable need to get inside her. When she tenses and trembles and throbs through an intense orgasm, he can feel it on his tongue and in the way she grips and releases his hair, panting. She makes him warm her cunt, slow licks drawing out the aftershocks.

She continues to pet and soothe him with little praises, allowing him to take a break and suck on her perky, not-yet-milky tits -- but seemingly doing nothing to advance toward truly mating with him. It makes his head spin. Her cunt was dripping wet, slobbering down his chin with eager, fertile slick... She's ready to breed, he just knows it.

So why won't she let him in? Does she not want his cock? It's an excellent cock, everyone says so, the farm hands sometimes gather just to watch him stroke it. They told him cows prefer big bulls, and his is the biggest they've seen! She must want it. He whines, shakes his hips to make his thick, heavy length bob up and down, needing to call her attention to it. Look, it's for you, he thinks (as much as a bull can think when he's in this state.)