#Were they driven out? Did they abandon it? If so; why? Or did those living there simply die out?

[general-illyrin]

Random Headcanon(ish)

I was reading Beren and Luthien recently, and I came across a fascinating detail about Barahir's dwelling while at Tarn Aeluin.

When Barahir and his band of outlaws retreat to the lake, their home is described in the following way:

"for where the highland brown and bare above the darkling pines arose of steep Dorthonion to the snows and barren mountain-winds, there lay a tarn of water, blue by day, by night a mirror of dark glass for stars of Elbereth that pass above the world into the West. Once hallowed, still that place was blest: no shadow of Morgoth, and no evil thing yet thither came; a whispering ring of slender birches silver-grey stooped on its margin, round it lay a lonely moor, and the bare bones of ancient Earth like standing stones thrust through the heather and the whin; and there by houseless Aeluin the hunted lord and faithful men under the grey stones made their den." (emphasis added)

What caught my attention about this passage is that the stones Barahir and his men lived under are said to resemble standing stones, which are prehistoric monuments specifically placed in the ground by humans. Standing stones don't occur naturally, which is an interesting thing to say about a stone, even if it's just a simile.

However, this description has noticeable parallels to a passage in the Unfinished Tales, when Turin and his band of outlaws encounter Mîm:

"Soon after, it chanced that as the grey light of a day of rain was failing Turin and his men were sheltering in a holly-thicket; and beyond it was a treeless space, in which there were many great stones, leaning or tumbled together. All was still, save for the drip of rain from the leaves. Suddenly a watchman gave a call, and leaping up they saw three hooded shapes, grey-clad, going stealthily among the stones. They were burdened each with a great sack, but they went swiftly for all that." (emphasis added)

And the note on this passage states

"The mystery of the other things in Mim's sack is not explained. The only other statement on the subject is in a hastily scribbled note, which suggests that there were ingots of gold disguised as roots, and refers to Mim seeking 'for old treasures of a dwarf-house near the "flat stones" \ These were no doubt those referred to in the text (p. 96) as 'great stones, leaning or tumbled together', at the place where Mim was captured." (emphasis added)

This passage was what made me start wondering whether the stones at Tarn Aeluin were also the ruins of a dwarf house. The descriptions were just too similar, and the idea kept nagging at me. But they are still just similarities, so I had to do more research. And this was when I found that dwarves, specifically petty-dwarves, had indeed been at Tarn Aeluin! In The Complaint of Mîm the Dwarf, Mîm says

"If only I could forgive, then I might be able still to create a leaf, a drop of dew on a flower, as it once glittered at Tarn Aeluin, when I was young and first sensed how nimble my fingers were."

I found this fascinating; it implies that petty-dwarves lived there or at the very least visited! And this is supported by more general information in the History of Middle-earth:

"The Dwarves were in a special position. They claimed to have known Beleriand before even the Eldar first came there; and there do appear to have been small groups dwelling furtively in the highlands west of Sirion from a very early date"

When one puts all this information together, it seems not unlikely that Barahir sheltered in abandoned dwarf homes. Any buildings the dwarves had built while living there would very likely still be around by the time Barahir showed up, even though Tarn Aeluin is explicitly said to have been uninhabited during the Long Peace (F.A. 260-455). And as long as they are sturdy enough, why would one build new homes instead of using those already available?

#Of course this does raise more questions - why were the petty-dwarves no longer living there? #Were they driven out? Did they abandon it? If so; why? Or did those living there simply die out? #barahir #mim the petty dwarf #petty dwarves #dwarves #tarn aeluin #the silmarillion #silm #silm meta

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

 

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied. 

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense. 

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable. 

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

 

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality. 

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together. 

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

 

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot. 

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

#stray kids #stray kids fic #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fic #lee know fluff #lee know #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut

[frenchgremlim1808]

Why Midori is such a breath of fresh air or how to actually write a Villain.

So the awaited essay, the winner of the FrenchGremlin polls of laziness finally has come! It took some time but it’s finally over. If your choice didn’t get chosen that’s okay! I’ll repost a new poll with old and newer options. Please reblog this one i put a lot of time in it, it's like, five pages long over a silly goose. Also sorry for the grammar i sucks and i'm not native. So let’s begin:

(also here is the link to the video format)

So first let’s make things clear, What IS a villain?

“A villain is a character whose evil actions or motives are important to the plot.” That is why I do want to make a difference between a villain and an antagonist, an antagonist is a character who are a plot devices that creates obstruction to the protagonist. That means that a villain is forced to be an antagonist while an antagonist is not forced to be a villain. For example shin is an antagonist but not a villain, he is driven by selfish desires which are themselves fueled by fear anger and loss, he is the protagonist of his own story and is a sympathetic character despite it all, and Midori is just a bitch. Midori falls under multiple stereotypes of villains. Such as “the mastermind”, “evil incarnate” (lmao),”related to the protagonist” etc. Midori is evil, there is no denying in this, he is purely evil, and he doesn’t have a sad weepy backstory, he doesn’t feel empathy towards other, he is a despicable piece of shit who ruined so many lives. I won’t list everything but here is a list of his crimes, murder, assault, domestic abuse, grooming, verbal abuse, and torture, crimes against humanity lmao, stalking, violent crimes, and participation in a cult. And his worst crime is being a pussy bitch of course. So now that we have put the bases up let’s really begin.

Hollywood has a hate boner against villains and I hate them for that.

Recently Hollywood decided that pure evil bad guys is actually a bad thing, so now they decided to do stupid side story with them, to give them ”””depth””” since I guess how could we like those villains since they are bad. A great example of this is the Disney remakes which I loathe so much oh god I hate them. So first they did a maleficient it was okay honestly, then they did a freaking cruella movie where her mom gets killed by Dalmatians, that’s not a joke, in the peter and wendy movie that nobody saw they decided to have made the captain hook be a lost boy who was abandoned by the lost boys and peter, oh also they decided that PETER CUT HIS HANDS OFF AND LEFT HIM TO DIE BECAUSE HOOK WANTED TO SEE HIS FAMILY. They are going to do a freaking mufasa movie, in no time I can’t wait to have a Ursula movie where it’s discovered that ariel killed all of her family in cold blood or something’s. So you might say what’s the problem? I mean isn’t that supposed to make the story more interesting. No, no it doesn’t, because first they take all of the character personality traits and throw them in the bin, second they are supposed to be the vilain in a musical animated movies, I am not against complex villain, I love them, but by doing this, the original character doesn’t exist anymore. Just create original content with new interesting characters instead of doing stuff like this. Also it’s kind of funny than in all of those interpretation they take all the fun and sucks it out, what do I mean by fun, the gayness, Disney vilain are fun because they are camp, they are fabulous extravagant extra in all the ways possible, and that’s the reason we liked them. Not every character needs something super deep, like “my family was burned down at the stake and my dog was eaten by my ex”, sometimes we just like bad fun people, they are the story, and Hollywood hating them so bad just bothers me a lot. Also now the new thing is to not have a villain at all which can works in some narrative but not all of them, it gets boring after a while. In the past people were angry that villains are bland, but now I kind of miss it. While I will critique villains who have no purpose outside of being evil that’s dumb, like for example Voldemort is bland like white bread because his only motivation is being evil, but evil people do exist compared to what some Hollywood writers think, they should know. So that’s why I will put a difference between evil villains and villains whose only purpose is being evil; we loved Disney villains but they still had motivations, goals, reasons that to them a least were worth everything. World domination isn’t enough, why do you want world domination, what is the true reason deep in your heart, is it an inferiority complex, is it a savior complex fuelled by xenophobic beliefs.

That is how to write a pure evil villain, evil people exist all over the world, but I have never seen one who doesn’t have they own reasons to be so bad, it doesn’t excuse their actions nor really explains them. We do not want justifications we want explanations. If you are justifying evil behavior then do it, but don’t claim that it is a pure evil character. A pure evil character can be fun, can be interesting, he can be deep, it’s all about balancing all of their traits to truly make them greats. Which is why midori succeeds while current villains fail. Current stupid remake/spin off try to justify the behavior because they feel like this is what the audience wants, but it’s not what we need. So I will defend to the grave evil villains.

Creating an evil villain doesn’t make them boring guys.

Why the heck does big budget movies have either the blandest protagonist or the blandest villains sometimes both, like I said evil people do exist but comically evil character only works in satire not in a serious multiple millions of dollar movie. Example that boring ass avatar movie, the one with blue people, none of the characters are interesting the villain is one note. The lords of the rings also suffers from that, but I don’t care because the protagonist are so awesome that sauron being personality less doesn’t matter. Also sauron is more of a force of nature villains so it’s not the same. The recent kingsman movie has a bland one note villain, there is nothing entertaining, funny, about him he’s just evil, borrrrring. Every Disney remakes depiction of the characters are boring. I just feel bored out of my mind. Atla one of my favorite shows of all time has a main villain that’s kinda one note, Ozai, but he is actually intimidating guy, azula is the superior character, but I wouldn’t consider her a villain she is an antagonist though. I honestly don’t get why Hollywood thinks that just creating a character with no personality and whose only goals is to be evil is good.

So back to midori for a second, here is my question, when midori was on screen did you ever feel bored? Never right! Because despite midori being an evil character he has an actual personality, he’s fun, you want to punch him in the balls. Because midori has other personality traits than evil, midori is petty, childish, extremely intelligent, controlling, a natural manipulator, he is a trickster, he doesn’t seem to get some social norms, he is narcissistic, easily angry, and fears death etc See how I counted a lot of traits, traits that in other character would works, midori has positive traits, and I think that is the best thing nankidai could have ever done, midori has traits that a regular person could have. Which is why if I put midori in any settings his character would work.

Example, instead of a death game the cast is under the sea to discover the insane wildlife and supernatural stuff happening, what would midori do in this situation? Well he would very passionate about finding all of what’s happening, he’ll do anything to find out, even sometime sacrificing others, not only will he try to find what’s happening, but he is also going to try to find a way to make this discovery favour him in the end. Or let’s imagine it’s a vampire situation, where a vampire attacks  the city, midori would try to stop it, not because he cares, but to experiment on them to get their biology and finds the real secret of immortality since he fears death.

Here is my second advice, after creating your character try to imagine them in another completely different situation, like normal life, or a fantasy world, ask yourself the question what would they do in that environment? If you can find a real complete explanation of their actions then yes your character has multiples dimensions if not try thinking about it again. Some example of questions I do want to point out are some like “if my character had all the power in the world what would they do first or”, “if my character had only a day left to live what would they do”

Why is Current media incapable of creating good threats like bruhhhh.

Okay so first of all let’s talk about stakes in a story, let’s say you are watching a slasher movie, slowly the cast gets slimmed down and people die in horrible ways, that should set stakes right ? Well if the villain is an absolute buffoon who makes the stupidest actions and decisions in the world, you wouldn’t feel intimidated at all because despite what the filmmaker might try to say the plot armor will NEVER make a character intimidating. It’s just like a detective character who just seems to know everything without a thought, well you won’t really fear the character failing. Worse is the the final girl, who is for some reason always escaping the slasher guy by pure luck every time, she is shown as incompetent but still she survives, which make the villain seem completely incapable so now you feel nothing.

To avoid this filmmaker often use techniques such has unpredictability, I mean good I mean good ones, for example instead of immediately seeing whose going to survive because the black guys always dies first and the virgin white woman is the last survivor, change the status quo, make us think that this character is obviously safe while they actually aren’t at all. Or actually make them menacing by SHOWING to the audience how horrible dangerous they can be. Which is why SHOW DON’T TELL is so important, telling us how dangerous someone can be only to see them get beaten to death at the end of the movie makes us feel nothing.

Midori felt like a impossible person to beat, he is smart, had twenty plans in advance, even in situation where the cast felt like they might have a chance he was always armed, just like the gun he promised to use or the rocket punch. When they felt like they were finally advancing, he put obstacle in their ways, such as the collar game or the moment he put the collar on explode mode for  ranmaru. The entire point in the murder game was to make time pass, it took a long time for the cast top realize that this whole time they were losing precious time not realizing that the dummies were the real problem. The characters that made you feel the most hopeless were the dummies, if you won by killing midori they would die, but if you lost you might lose people you love (keiji or gin). It felt hopeless because they were no solutions in the end. That creates tension so that creates stakes. If we were told how dangerous unpredictable sou was then it wouldn’t hit the same, we are shown that he is that terrible. There is a scene ingame where bbg shin ai tells us that midori tortured and like to destroy people. That’s exposition so TELL, but do you why it works, because we are SHOWN before his behavior. Midori felt unbeatable, so the fact that we were shown his weakness such has his petty behavior, hatred of minors, and fear of death, for the first time it feels like there is a chance that we might survive this. And still after he isn’t shown has an incompetent buffoon, he is one, but the narrative doesn’t show us that he is.

What is also consider is good to make the audience feel actual stakes is to first really develop well the main characters, how can we feel worry for a character if we don’t know them, the audience need to feels emotional connection to the main cast to actually care. You can use things such has moments where there is nothing special happening just character talking getting to know them. Make us feel why we need to care about them possibly losing, instead of being indifferent. Or I don’t know maybe make an entire spin off game where we get to have the cast talk to each other and seeing dynamics between character that died early to get them a chance to shine and make their death even more tragic, or even make mini episodes of characters who only got a single chapter to show off their characteristic, to get us to know them better? But that’s just a silly idea of course, wink, and wink.

My favorite thing about Midori is that he is actually pathetic, like really pathetic, but weirdly realistic?

Midori is the most pathetic character in the cast, yes more than shin, shin is leagues less pathetic. No I’m not saying that midori is not intimidating or scary, I would piss myself if I saw him. He’s a scary guy. But if you look at him more closely you can see that he is a baby brat in a big boy suit.

So let’s start by something clear, Sou Hiyori clearly displays antisocial behavior, or in common terms he is a psychopath/sociopath, this illness is very badly seen in medias, I am not saying that people who lacks empathy like him are inherently bad, he is, a lot of people with antisocial behavior actually suffers a lot and have a difficult life. Sou real issues is not his antisocial behavior, it’s his narcissism and god complex. Sou feels the need to HAVE CONTROL over others, he like the feeling of being in power, he sees the rest of the world has beneath him, toys for his pleasure. He says that he “really like humans” because despite it all he seems to put himself in a different categories than regular people, they are beneath him. When he loses control his calm and cool behavior disappears and we see his true face, a grown man who has throws a tantrum like a baby. One of the best representation of this is midori views on the cast:

Midori hates kanna, like no jokes he has beef with her, a fourteen years old, actually he has beef with a lot of people in the cast. Midori views emotional people has weak, people who are loving optimistic as beneath him and useless. He preferred when sara was cruel and horrible, that’s what he loved about her, he liked seeing her scary emotionless side. But Kanna, kanna is everything he hates. A crybaby who not only puts the group in harmony, is a source of hope in general, is the reason he near got to have closure with shin (killing him), he views kanna as “not fun shin”. We have many proofs for this, if you type the word kanna kizuchi he says this: “Poor Kanna'd weep! I think a more worthless name would be better for someone like me” He mocks her, but also himself (I’lll come back on this later), he calls her worthless. Also in the electric charge minigame, when he can choose who to shocks he chooses two people in particular, kanna who he hates and hinako who ruined his fun by giving the cast a chance in saving ranmaru. But he does also says mean spirited stuff to other people, qtaro and gin. He also says some sarcastic comments about nao and joe, saying that it’s such a shame that they died so young. But you might say why kanna especially? Because he is a petty baby who is jealous of kanna, Yes jealous, of kanna, a fourteen years old. Because he feels like she stole his hubby wubby shin away from him…. God I hate him. And you know what that make him a pathetic idiot, after the scene where kanna beats his ass, he’s all mad and like “uhh I’m going to pout I wanted you to cry like a lot, now I’m gonna cry”. An that’s actually god, because it humanize him, he wants need thoughts, he isn’t one note, and that’s the most important!

Sou is a villain but before that he is a character, a fully developed character, and THAT’S WHAT MAKE HIM GREAT, Sou works because he works realistically, I mean if you forget the robot part, it’s easy to imagine a narcissist man child who needs to feel in power towards other, so his main prey are young vulnerable people.Which leads me to my next point:

Sou is a failure like really, and we aren’t sad for him.

Sou failed everything he worked on, he failed to get the paper from alice, he failed whith shin since he had to leave earlier than he thought he would leave, because of his mistake he lost his position in the death game, then he failed to kill gin or keiji, and then he died like an idiot losing his cool and acting like a toddler. And he knows it that why he is a bit self-hating (he should be). And yet none of us feel any sympathy towards him, why? Because sou is one of the most despicable guy in existence. He is a disgusting pervert, sadistic asshole, and abusive narcissistic cunt who thinks he is better than everyone. From the bottom of my heart I hate him sooooo much he is literally the character I hate the most in existence. He abused shin, ruined keiji’s life, traumatized the entire cast, literally assaulted sara like he physically assaulted her. He mocked nao and joe and kugie life as useless. He is an obsessive jerk AND I HATE HIM. And you know what…… It’s good. Like I actually feel a lot of emotions when I think about him, he fuels me with anger and disgust, and if your characters can make me feel that much rage then you did it, you created an actual perfect character. Hiyori is such a shit person that I think about him a lot, writers shouldn’t be scared to make a character such hittable assholes, example bojack horseman in bojack horseman is the vilest man on earth and I love it, because I genuinely hate him. Just like I genuinely love kanna, like really I really love her, I in the same time despise midori so bad. We hate him because he is horrible to good people that WE KNOW AND CARE ABOUT, not random npcs. There is a lot of… disgusting implications in his story with shin that I will not talk about it makes me really uncomfortable right now. SO HERE IS A VERY TACKY TRANSITION TO TALK ABOUT WHY I HATE JUNKO FROM DANGANRONPA.

Junko is boring, that’s it, she is boring, not funny not interesting, she is a fetish, she is the biggest Mary sue on earth, she is a gross character made to make fun of people with disabilities and queer people. Her only traits is being crazy, that’s it. I wouldn’t call midori that crazy actually, he’s methodical calculated, and precise. Crazyness is a term for people who aren’t in control of their actions and delusional about reality, sou is not crazy, he knows what he is doing, he is in full control, while characters like shin should actually be consider crazy, like shin is actually crazy but sou isn’t.

Conclusion:

Sou is a breath of fresh air, because nankidai had the balls to write an actually interesting deep and threatening character AND make him a villain. He didn’t fall into the trap of making him have a sad backstory or good motives, sou is just selfish, that’s all he is. He make him a fun entertaining guy who you absolutely hates, he made him threatening and at the same time a complete doofus. He made him humane and pathetic.

But the thing that make me love nankidai the most is this

The fact that he actually killed him that takes courage as a writer to just end a character THAT WAY, which is why midori will never come back alive he is forever dead. And that take a lot of talents as a writer to just take one of the most important characters and just get him drilled to death in the anus, like dammn nankidai you are a savage. That fact alone makes him one of the best characters in game, I hate him as a person, but has a character he is a masterpiece.

Though Kanna could solo him

this was posted as a video on my blog this is mainly so people who don't want to stay there reading a 24 minute video of my stuttering can have a bit of quiet

#yttd #your turn to die #kimi ga shine #shin tsukimi #kanna kizuchi #sou hiyori #midori yttd #cna you tell i have no life #i spend a part of my short existence writing about fucking midori #yttd analysis #frenchgremlim polls of laziness

[n3ptoonz]

Okay but like the whole save a horse ride a cowboy thing… for Arthur?

'Snake on a Train'

THANKS FOR 300+!!🖤🖤❤️❤️

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/F!Reader

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption II

Warnings/tags: Smut; Explicit, i'm writing this like i'm from the old west bear with me it's really fun, post chapter 6 MEANING he's alive and DOES NOT have TB. never caught it. we live in delusion round these parts. dialogue driven y'all know me i love me some interaction, implied breeding knk, cowgirl, barely proofread writers block is fucking me up

fr tho read this in a southern accent shit is kinda funny i had way too much fun LMAO

i got so many arthur requests then realized i used THIS theme so i'm using this ask i hope those who sent in will find this!!

Word count: 2300

Explicit content under the cut

Never trust a "runaway" O'Driscoll ever again. You was on the run now, away from those freaks and needed a proper escape at least for the time being. Why you chose to not accept Arthur's offer of joining the gang was beyond you. You knew each other well in Blackwater before they had to leave, he suggested you join since you'd be a great addition and trustworthy, but you declined. Later on you were picked up by a "runaway", he sold you out and now you're high tailing it to the nearest escape.

You stumbled across a particularly high end looking train that looked like it was headed west--aka opposite way from this shit. Your initial intent wasn't to rob it, yet. You just needed a quick getaway from this madness. Quick and sneaky you were getting into the back past a few guards. You found an abandoned ticket under a seat and stuffed it in your pocket, walking around until you found an empty cart that looked quite fancy.

You kept your head on a swivel and constantly looked out the window for any suspicious activities when somebody barged in. You quickly stood up and drew your revolver when you realized who you laid your eyes on.

"...Arthur?" you said. His eyes adjusted from the sun reflecting off the window when he heard his name escape from your lips, recognizing your voice almost immediately.

"What are you doin' here?" you both inquired in unison.

"Put your damn gun down I ain't here to rob you." he said sitting down on one of the two seat chairs covered in leather. You slid it back into the holster with curious eyes still on him. Just how long had it been? Why was he here?

"You normally waltz into carts that aren't yours?"

"Ain't that what you did?"

...he had a point.

"Maybe, but I had a reason."

"You sayin' I'd hop onto a nearby train for no reason?"

"I ain't seen or heard from you in almost a decade, Arthur. I don't know what I know anymore. Where's the rest of Blackwater's finest?"

Arthur just leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. There was a deadpan look in his eyes as he recalled everything that went down in the last two weeks. All the betrayals and chaos started to montage in his mind all over again; how he was this close to death, but managed to escape somehow.

"Dead, on their own, or all the above. Remember John? I helped him and his folks get out. The others...well I don't rightly know where they are. And quite frankly I don't care."

You sat in front of him as you processed his words. What's understood don't need to be said, and you knew this well.

"Is that why you're here?" you asked. It felt like a question with an obvious answer but you honestly just wanted a confirmation. It wasn't like him to just run off, at least from when you last seen him.

"In so many words, I guess. Although I didn't expect to see a woman of your caliber running away from your bullshit either. I'd like to know too, if you don't mind."

"Oh hush that up." you waved his comment off dismissively, "I was sold out."

"Well I'll be. You know I always wondered what you were doing or who you decided to hang with if not us. Who in their right mind would sell out one of Blackwater's most wanted?"

In your time together you always had a playful relationship, but you could tell in his tone there was slight bitterness or sarcasm. Truth be told he started to feel some type of way when he realized you declined him just to end up with some other gang that clearly didn't give a damn about you.

"Watch yourself." you warned, your tone half serious half playful.

"What? You didn't want to be around folk who had your best interest that's fine. I won't say I told you so."

"When the hell did you tell me so?"

"The day before we left." he answered without hesitation. "The night we spent together? Ring any bells?"

Damn. You tried to forget that night since the day he had to leave and you too shortly after. You didn't want to remember all the fun you had. You didn't want to remember his hearty laugh at your stupid jokes. Hell...you didn't even want to remember just how good he treated you. He treated you like a lady, unlike most of the men you came across. All it took was one heated kiss, and you both were hooked. But also knew it couldn't be given both your circumstances.

When he offered for you to join you wanted to jump at the opportunity. So why didn't you? Because, well, you loved the man. You thought your own feelings would hinder the morale of the group somehow and break it apart, and you wouldn't dare that be on you. Plus you couldn't really tell where he stood. He's a guy who treated most people with respect despite how he grew up.

Back then he mentioned how people like them were hard to come by and that most gangs were either just downright pieces of shit or cultish. So he in fact did tell you so, and you tried to forget that as soon as possible. Didn't want any sort of thoughts of him clouding your mind or else you'd go crazy.

The only reason you two didn't get intimate that night is because he respected you and your boundaries. He still does. He didn't want it to feel like he was grasping on to the nearest thing to fuck with and then dip. That's not the kind of man he was nor will he ever be.

"What does that night have to do with why I'm here now?" you tried so hard to seem like it didn't completely take over your thoughts, but this is Arthur Morgan for christ sake. He's damn good at reading people.

"It can mean just about anything, sweetheart, but I know it meant something to you just as much as it did to me." he said. The tone of his voice sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself that was the case. If it wasn't, he wouldn't know what to do.

You sat back in your seat but that didn't take away the feeling of his gaze pouring into your soul. "It did." you said looking down at your hands

"Then why decline? Was it me? I know it's not my lifestyle because we lived the same way."

"I didn't want to get in the way, alright? I knew you'd be gone often and would be out for days at a time while I worried if you'd come back in one piece. I've been there and done that. Wasn't doing that again."

Arthur leaned back up in his seat and ran his hand over his face, sighing. He didn't want to come off so strong, but he felt real feelings for you and didn't know how to process it properly. The woman who's been on his mind since the day the gang left Blackwater sat in front of him and he felt like a lost puppy all over again.

"Okay." he said softly, "Was I on your mind at all?" he continued looking down, mumbling under his breath but you still heard him.

"Everyday since." you said standing up. He slowly looked up at you with those pearly blues that never failed to capture you. He was just so relieved that it wasn't just him. That it wasn't one-sided. Grabbing his hand you pulled him up to meet your eyes--like he wasn't visibly looking down at you.

"I thought about you so damn much I guess I had to distract myself by running with some undercover O'Driscolls. I figured out who they was too late and voila, lawmen breaking down my door."

Arthur shortly chuckled upon hearing you explain more of your situation. To him it was unbelievable, and he never thought he'd hear that name ever again especially after seeing Colm swing.

"This evening is full of surprises. How do I know this isn't some big scheme to take me down once and for all?" he said while wrapping his arms snug around your waist and his voice grew more rugged and deep. Oh how he missed this. What this is, who knows, and who cares?

"I don't need some big scheme to take you down." you said placing your hands on his biceps, squeezing just a little bit. He smirked at this action and pulled you closer.

"That so?"

You hummed in agreement, and it didn't take long for you two to finally lock lips together after a bit of playful murmuring here and there. And just like that, you both were taken back to that night. That heated kiss you shared was the absolute highlight of your lives, and you intended to relive that again and more.

It's like you never left but kissed like it's been forever. He ran his cold palm up your back to hold you while the other unbuttoned your pants. Even after almost ten years, he didn't miss a beat. He still got it. Are we surprised? You followed his lead and kept one arm around his neck while the other attempted to pull him free.

His hands were quick and nimble like yours, so next thing you know your pants are on the ground and you're sitting comfortably in his lap. You was now clad in a loose collar shirt and underwear and his shirt remained unbuttoned at the collar. Your mouths never stopped dancing throughout this whole process too.

Arthur just kept groaning into your mouth at every subtle grind on his thigh. This was only the second time of you two getting together like this, yet it feels way more than that. That same drunk feeling from the night made its return and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

You pulled back so you both could catch your breath, holding his face and running your thumbs over his stubble that was soon to becoming a full beard.

"I missed you...so damn much." you said in a tone just above a whisper.

"I can't imagine more than I have..." he replied while toying with the hem of your underwear. "Would you give this old outlaw the honor of... having you? All to myself?" he asked, looking deep into your eyes. You could feel him fully hard and his hands trembling a bit, but he still wants to hear it from you. One part is confirmation, but the other? He would easily gain satisfaction from knowing you want to give yourself to him.

"Well...I've saved a horse...and I plan on riding a cowboy," you whispered and smiled against his lips before leaning back in. Arthur chuckled into the kiss, wasting zero time pulling them panties to the side and slide right on in.

Your breath hitched as you eased on down his thick shaft. "That's my girl." he whispered, right next to your ear so he could physically feel you clench against him from his praises. You gripped his shoulders as your eyes closed shut, expelling light whimpers here and there as you set a place. He placed his hand on your back once again to encourage you, feeling a little smug at your struggle to keep up.

Best believe you weren't no bitch though; you swallowed thickly and kept on riding him. The ambience of the train was quickly fading as you two became lost in your own desire.

Were you expecting your orgasm to approach so quickly? Honestly, it made sense. Arthur knew all the right things to say and touched all the right places that churn your butter.

He was also nearing the end, and yet he had such a genuine smile on his face. He grunted with every time you sank back down into his lap and this meant he simply could not be happier. He's been dreaming of this moment forever, and finally. Finally, the woman of his dreams is having the time of her life because of him.

To keep yourself grounded you pulled his head up to rest your forehead on his, "Please, cum inside me," you begged. Your climax was seconds away from hitting you and you wanted to reach bliss at the same time.

You ain't have to tell him even once with how quickly he followed suit. Your hips slammed right back down into his lap as you both tried to stifle your cries of pleasure, still mindful of other passengers.

After you both calmed down in each other's arms, you cleaned yourselves up and plopped back down onto the two person couch you had just gotten intimate on. You held his bicep and laid your head on his shoulder with a content smile on your face. His the very same.

"You sure know how to get down for someone I ain't seen in a long time." he said playfully, looking down at you.

"Who said I ain't got none in a long time?" you replied a little too fast for his liking, looking up and seeing his expression comedically fall to a straight one. "I'm just messing, I wouldn't dare risk having anybody else's kids but yours." you continued casually before shutting your eyes. You had to stop yourself from laughing at the sound of his heart rate getting faster through his chest.

He chuckled, looking out the window at the scenery become painted with the pinks and yellows of the sunset passing by.

"You are something else."

#n3ptoonz #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption arthur #rdr2 smut #smut

[polutrope]

Amrod threatens Elrond and Elros by @runawaymun

Illustration for my fic And Love Grew commissioned by my dear friend @melestasflight. I am so grateful to them both for this chillingly beautiful, emotional piece that truly captures the horror of the scene.

Snippet below the cut.

A former follower of Amrod speaks to Maedhros and Maglor of what he witnessed on the cliffs near Sirion:

“My lord, he flung his sword about with such abandon, such hate, that I thought he might slay one of us, or himself. But it was thus stumbling into the night outside the city that he caught sight of a small group mounting the hills in the distance. Suddenly returned to himself, Lord Amrod commanded, ‘After them!’ We gave chase, but Lord Amrod ran so swiftly, as if driven by a fire within, and the men with us were weary and injured, so that all but myself fell behind. I was with him when he caught up to those we pursued, where the hills begin to rise and drop steeply into the sea, where you saw...”

Orfion paused, working his jaw around his next words.

“It was the Lady Elwing with her children and a woman-servant and their guard. I knew him for a warrior of Gondolin by his livery. He turned to engage us, but Lord Amrod paid him no mind. Swift as a hawk, he had snatched the children before the Lady or her servant were aware of him. And dropping to his knees and holding both terrified boys to his chest he held his sword to their throats.

“‘Hand over the Silmaril and they will live,’ he said. One of the children squirmed and a line of blood bloomed wet on his throat. There was no feint in Amrod’s voice. None dared to move or speak for a long moment. Then the servant spoke first, denying that her lady had the jewel with her. Lord Amrod laughed. ‘Of course you have it,’ he replied. ‘In that box you are clutching. Was it that very same in which you smuggled our birthright out of Doriath, where my brothers died in vain? Hand it over or I will slit your children’s throats.’ But Elwing had already silenced the other woman, and she drew the necklace out of the box. I thought she might hand it over, but she clasped it about her neck.

“Its light, my lord — I could scarcely breathe for the beauty of it, and the terror of the Lady wearing it. There were tears on her face that had been hidden by the darkness, and they now shone like little streams in the moonlight. I have never feared darkness before, my lord, but I did then. I fear I will evermore shun the night, having seen that light.”

Tears had gathered in Orfion’s eyes, and he sputtered to a halt. “Please forgive me, lords, I am not one prone to weeping, but the memory— it is impossible not to weep. I do not know why.”

“I do,” said Maglor. Compassion for the simple soldier who had become entangled in their doom warred with envy: it ought to have been him there, and Maedhros, looking upon the Silmaril’s light. Maglor would not have let it slip through his hands.

Orfion collected himself. “Even Lord Amrod was struck dumb,” he said, as if in answer to Maglor’s guilty thought, “and in his moment of faltering the children nearly escaped his grasp. Elwing lurched forward then, but he clutched them closer. He bared his teeth. ‘Hand it over!’ he commanded. She did not speak. She gazed long at her children, as if speaking to them mind-to-mind. She touched the Silmaril on her breast, and for a moment I thought she would remove it. Then a fell cold light washed over the Lady’s face, and she spoke, quiet but hard, in the tongue of Men.

“And then she turned and raced to the cliff’s edge. She leapt, and as she fell she loosed a horrible cry. The light of the jewel glowed along the precipice — and then it was gone.

“All was a confusion of shouts and fighting. The woman-servant screamed her Lady’s name and ran to the cliff’s edge. The guard commanded her to stop, and there was a struggle between them — I saw little of it, for Lord Amrod had risen to his feet and held again the edge of his sword to the throat of one of the children, who stood altogether still. The other wailed, and Lord Amrod drew his dagger and swung it at him. Rising and holding both blades aloft, he cursed them, saying that he would take them both with him. And then suddenly he dropped his weapons and crouched down before them and embraced them, and he murmured that he would save them, that he would spare them the burden— the burden of living.”

Orfion choked back the last words. “Then the guard leapt at Amrod, and dragged him to his feet — but as he did, Amrod drove his dagger deep into his thigh, and the man stumbled, and Amrod dropped the dagger and seized him by the neck. ‘I do not want to kill you, old friend,’ he spat. ‘Stand down, Galdor. This is not your fight.’ Then he threw the man to the ground. Amrod turned on the children again and then — my lord, I was certain he would slay them, and I could not bear it.

Read the fic on AO3

#amrod #elrond #elros #third kinslaying #*and love grew

[lilbagdermole]

Why Katara's Acts of Kindness towards Zuko differ from others

I recently received a reply on one of my posts where I stated that Katara was the first person (besides Iroh) to show Zuko genuine kindness and compassion, in the 'Crossroads of Destiny' when they were down in the Crystal Catacombs.

The comment state that Aang was the first person to show Zuko humanity (Episode 13, The Blue Spirit; Episode 20, The Siege of the North, Pt.2) and even brought up other characters that we see throughout Zuko's journey such as: Song and Jin.

And whilst yes, these characters did show Zuko concern, care and warmth, it differs greatly to Katara's own.

Let's begin with Aang:

Aang's character is motivated and driven by the Air Nomad teachings, philosophy and morals and one of his core principles that he follows is "all life is sacred'. In 'The Siege of the North, Pt.2' - he saves Zuko because he cannot allow another living being to die, especially when he can prevent it by simply saving him from the winter cold. It's part of Aang to save people - no matter how much wrong they've done.

In 'The Blue Spirit' - Aang once again saves Zuko - and not only because of his moral compass because Zuko had saved Aang from Zhao. They have a moment to talk once Zuko awakes, and Aang questions if had the circumstances were different between them, could they have become friends. Aang, in this part of the story, is very childish and believes that everyone has good to them; he's also someone that seeks friendship and attention - and it plays into his character that, as he mourns his lost friend Kuzon, he thinks of a potential friendship with another firebender: Zuko.

So Aang's compassion and kindness comes from a place of morality and of loss.

With Jin and Song - I won't reflect too much on their acts of kindness given that, in that moment of Zuko's journey, he was secluding his true identity. In both of these womens' perspective, Zuko wasn't the Fire Nation Prince. He was Lee, an earth kingdom refugee, a victim of the war, someone like them. Had they known Zuko was a member of Fire Nation Royalty, I'm certain their reception wouldn't unfold as it did.

Now with Katara...

Katara knows Zuko. To Katara, Zuko is the face of the enemy, the face of the opposing side of the war, the face of evil. In that precise moment, Katara had her mother's necklace "stolen" by him; had her home ambushed by his fleet and her grandmother threatened by his very hands; she'd been chased down by him and they had fought multiple times before. They relationship at that point is hostile, fueled by hatred.

And Katara is also a character that doesn't forgive quickly. Unlike Aang, Katara doesn't follow the same moral compass and she doesn't seek out friendship in the enemy that took her mother; the enemy that led her Father to fighting in the war and abandoning his children; the enemy that tried time and time again to kidnap/burn/kill her friend and the Avatar... Katara's unforgiving with Zuko because:

Katara: It's just that for so long now, whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face.

Yet, despite all that, when Zuko reveals his loss and empathizes with Katara's own loss of her mother; once he reveals himself more vulnerable, small and defenseless than he has ever been before... Katara shows him compassion, apologizes for her outburst and offers to heal Zuko's scar. Because, though it's in Katara's nature to hold a grudge towards the enemy, it's not in Katara's nature to hate blindly. She's a caring, loving and patient person - and she quickly shows Zuko all those attributes.

It's the first moment in the story that Zuko has received unadulterated humanity and sincerity (despite all the hurt he'd brought to Katara and her friends).

Katara was the first person to forgive Zuko. It was the first glimpse into the start of his destiny to bring honor and forgiveness towards the Fire Nation.

And that is why I believe that Katara and Zuko's destinies were linked to one another. Katara would have never dispelled the demons and trauma of her past had Zuko not aided her in searching for Yon Rha; And Zuko would have never become Fire Lord and uphold his responsibilities and destiny - had Katara not fought beside him and showed him that he could be forgiven.

#zutara #zutara long post #zutara analysis #anti kataang #anti bryke #does this even make sense #I ramble a lot and sometimes that means my ideas don't stick or my points don't connect #hopefully I get the general idea across #IDK man #I just love Zutara's connection and relationship

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dream - Chapter Twenty Nine + Epilogue.

The end is here, besties. A huge thank you as always for those who have stuck it out until the end and offered such kind words in the way of feedback. Huge love to you all. It was a challenge to write this as it’s very different from my usual offerings. I can only hope the bittersweet ending meets your expectations :)

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen  Twenty Twenty One  Twenty Two  Twenty Three  Twenty Four  Twenty Five  Twenty Six  Twenty Seven  Twenty Eight

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,186 

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

His hand kept reaching into the space beside him on the pull out, vast in its emptiness, no small body curling against his, no warmth from her skin. He would never awake to find her using him as a pillow again, just like she had on his first morning there all those months ago. No little sleep snuffles, no morning kisses. No more shared dreams.  

She really was gone.

His brain couldn’t quite absorb it, yet the shock kept on hitting him over and over, like the perpetual jab of a knife into his heart. It had all happened so fast. One minute she was there and the next... gone.  

How precious and fragile life truly was.  

Angel knew better than most that’s how death worked sometimes, too. There were no guarantees of notice given. Death did not call and tell you to mark a date in your calendar. It snatched people without warning.  

It had done this to him twice now. First his mom, and now his love.

His eyes stung from crying, his heart completely shattered. He couldn’t believe it was real. He still expected her to walk back in from the kitchen and tell him to scoot over, or ask if he’d farted, slapping him if he revealed he had.  

Why? Why her? She’d barely even begun to live her life before it had been snatched from her. Angel felt his throat tightening again as he thought of all the things she’d shared with him, everything she wanted to accomplish, all that he was looking forward to being proud of her for. What hit him the hardest, though, was that she’d died before he’d truly made it up to her, ironed out the crazy behaviour that had been driven by his insecurities.  

He still owed her, and he could never repay it now, never show her he was worthy of her love, never prove himself. Stretching his arms above his head, his chest quivered on a sob, sniffing hard as his tears began to fall again. God, the loneliness. She’d only been gone for ten hours and twenty-three minutes, and yet he felt like he was being buried alive in the grief of losing her, how vacant he felt without her there.

He knew then he should have appreciated her more while he could and not acted like such an overgrown child at her being away, because at least she’d still been alive then. He’d now suffered the ultimate abandonment, and it wasn’t her fault or his, but fuck, how he wished he could turn back time. Just a little more time with her, just a day, an hour, a moment to hold her again.  

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” he whispered into the dark of the living room. “Dunno how the fuck I’m meant to carry on without you.” The pain crashed through him, hitting him over and over as it swallowed him whole, Keri was dead... Keri was dead. He’d managed to stop his tears by the time the bedroom door opened, Frankie exiting quietly, coming over to sit on the edge of the pullout.  

“Can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” he confirmed.

She gestured to the space beside him. “Mind if I cuddle up? I get it, if you’d rather be alone.”

He snorted softly. “Course, I don’t. Get over here.” She climbed under the comforter, resting her head to his chest, his arm wrapping around her. He wasn’t the only one completely heartbroken. Hell, they’d had to sedate Meryl, she was so hysterical.  

“This feels weird,” she muttered, tapping his chest gently with her splayed hand. “No boobies.”

He smiled, laughing softly through his nose, Frankie continuing. “It doesn’t feel real. Like, you’re here, so my brain by default thinks that she should be, too. I keep thinking the door is gonna open and there she’ll be, my little beets.”

“Yeah, yeah you ain’t the only one,” he began, hand stroking her arm idly. “Just feels like she’s in the next room.”

“Oh, you know about the poem?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Yeah, the poem about death, about it being like they’re in the next room,” she explained, sitting up a little. He still looked confused. “Pass me your phone, I’ll find it.” He reached for it, unlocking the screen and handing it to her, Frankie searching for the piece she’d always found so comforting during times of loss.  

“Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner. All is well.”

“All ain’t well,” Angel grumbled, sighing. “I get what the dude who wrote it meant, though. But like, I ain’t in that place yet. Hurts too much.”  

“Yeah,” Frankie sighed, closing the webpage and locking his phone, handing it back. “Yeah, it’s too raw right now, but the words are beautiful. I’ll come back to them again. Right now, I just want to go someplace quiet and scream about how fucking unfair it is, that I lost my bestest buddy in the entire world.  

“Isn’t just me, though. You lost your girlfriend, Meryl and David lost their daughter, and so many other friends, too. Rachel couldn’t breathe when I called her earlier. It isn’t fair, Angel. She should be here with us and she isn’t! She’s all alone in a fucking morgue!”  

He winced at those words, not wanting to imagine it. It had been painful enough when after the nurses had pulled all of her tubes out, he’d gone back into the room, kissing her head and stroking her hair as she’d lain there, statue still, her warmth beginning to fade. She’d looked like she was sleeping, like she was about to wake up and ask him why he was crying on her.  

Having to say goodbye to her like that had killed him. At least, though, he’d gotten to hold her once last time in their final shared dream. That provided a tiny slither of comfort blanketing the sharp edge of pain, if only for a short time. Tightening his arm around Frankie as she began to sob, he lay there in quiet contemplation about those dreams he’d shared with her, so much more about them now making complete sense to him, now the story that was him and her had sadly come to an end.  

“I saw her in a dream, just before she died.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I fell asleep for a few minutes, and we dreamed together. She told me she didn’t wanna go, but she had to. Knew it was her time and shit. I begged her not to, then I woke up and she was gone.”

A little exclamation fluttered over her lips, Frankie looking up, reaching to stroke his cheek. “Of course, she’d come and say goodbye to you. She loved you so much, you were so special to her.” She swallowed back the little stab of envy, that he’d gotten to say goodbye to her when she hadn’t, Frankie realising that it was probably hell for him, to realise he was going to lose her, for him to wake and find she’d died.

“Didn’t get to prove myself worthy of that love.”  

“Hey, none of that,” she began, pointing a soft finger at him, tapping his chest. “You were the love of her life, alright? Remember that. Don’t let regrets eat you up inside.”  

“Hmm.” She didn’t push him further on it, guessing he likely wouldn’t stop feeling guilty just because she’d told him not to. Humans were rarely so simple. “I dunno, like... fuck. I dunno.” They lay there in silence, eventually falling asleep, although it was fitful, waking up regularly, both deciding to get up and go for a cigarette on the firs escape, Frankie sitting between his legs, Angel resting her chin atop his head.  

“I hate that I won’t see you anymore, now that she’s gone,” she spoke, Angel making a noise in his throat.

“Don’t talk shit, Frances. If you want, I’ll still come see y’all when I can. You guys are my friends too now. I don’t forget shit like that.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, watching at the sun began to fill the sky. “She’d like it, too. If we kept in touch.”

“Yeah, she would,” she confirmed, smiling softly. “We’re the links to her, you know? What Keri left with each of us lives on within us all, so staying connected means we have little connections to her, too.”  

“That shit’s beautiful, bro.” He knew he wasn’t capable of articulating something like that, but it made sense to him all the same. He went for a shower soon after, getting dressed and heading over to Meryl and David’s place, the latter answering the door to him.  

“Hey man.” He pulled him into a hug, slapping his back softly. “How you doing?”

“Bad,” Angel confirmed, closing the front door behind him. “How about you guys?”

David waited until there were in the kitchen before replying, switching the coffee machine on and pulling two cups from the cupboard. “It still don’t feel real. Meryl is just... shit. Beyond devastated. She’s still in bed, but she didn’t sleep. Just crying endlessly.”  

“Yeah, I think I drifted off for like, a half hour. Frankie too. You’re right, it don’t feel real at all. Keep expecting her to just walk in like nothing is wrong.”  

David smiled, a soft laugh bursting from his nose. “And tell us about one of her calamities, spilling something or the like.”  

“Showing off on her snowboard and hurting herself,” Angel smiled, remembering carrying her after she’d done that very thing and sprained her ankle.  

David’s voice broke on a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I never had my own kids, and I didn’t feel like I needed to once I’d met Meryl. Here they were, this ready-made family. I always thought of her as mine. Ain’t fair at all. I can’t get my head around it. Feels like I’m in someone else’s nightmare.”

“Same,” Angel spoke, taking the coffee David handed to him with thanks. He turned back to the coffee machine, a sudden burst of sunlight from behind the clouds making something glint upon the windowsill. Picking it up, he held the thick, silver band Keri wore on her thumb, squeezing it in his palm before handing it over to Angel.

“Here.” He placed it into his hand, smiling with a nod. “I think she’d want you to have this.”  

Angel took it, pulling off the rings he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand, placing on the band and returning them atop it, his smile sad.  

“Fitting place,” David nodded, leaning back against the counter, watching him look down at his hand.

“I would have, you know. Would’ve asked her to marry me at some point.” Just then, David glanced with surprise over his shoulder, Angel feeling a soft hand upon his arm. Turning, he saw devastation personified.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes softening. “I’m so sorry, Meryl.”  

She let herself be pulled into a hug, wrapping her arms around him, steeling herself not to break down again and cry all over her daughter’s boyfriend. “Thank you. I am too, for you. I know how much you loved her.” Pausing, she leaned to kiss his cheek, straightening up, wiping her eyes with her thumb. “Thank you for making her last month's so happy.”  

“It was an honour, getting to love your daughter. She was everything to me.”

Meryl nodded, her lip quivering. “I know, love. I know.”

Angel didn’t stay for long, David vowing to keep in touch with him over the funeral arrangements before he left, booking himself a flight and heading directly to the airport. All around, there were memories of her, remembering walking through with her either on his arrival or departure, the Starbucks where he’d made her laugh so much about her frappuccino, the places they’d stood holding one another tight, the spot where they’d first met.  

It stung his heart so hard that it almost took his breath away. He felt like he was moving through clay as he checked in and then sat and waited, buying a coffee while he waited the near two hours before his flight would depart, scrolling through his phone at the hundreds of pictures of her, of them.  

“I dunno what I’m meant to do without you, tiny.”  

And the truth was, he really didn’t. It was a pain he knew he would never truly recover from.

Epilogue

The entire charter of the Santo Padre Mayans MC roaring into the cul-de-sac was quite a thing to behold, all dressed in black, parking up behind the black limousines that would usher the family over to the funeral home. One by one, each man greeted the assembled family, offering his condolences, the few who knew her a little better speaking of his fondness for Keri, Meryl and David so very touched by their words.  

The sun shone brightly on that October morning, a warmth still lingering through the crisp, fall air, Angel watching as golden leaves shook themselves from the trees, a perfect one landing right in front of him upon the handlebars of his bike.  

“Yeah, baby. I know that’s you.” Placing it carefully in his pocket, he took a deep breath, feeling a hand press to his shoulder.  

“The family is ready, mijo,” Bishop told him, placing his helmet on. “You lead, though. She was your girl. It’s only right.”  

Clasping him in a tight hug, he felt the love from his brother swell through the cold nothingness that had become of his broken heart, the sound of bike engines roaring back into life filling the air, the procession slowly moving forward behind him. It still hurt, the grief cutting at him like a razor, nine days passed since his beloved Keri had taken her last machine assisted breath, since the last time he’d felt the warmth of her skin next to his.  

He felt glacial without the sunshine of her love, a freeze that likely wouldn’t ever thaw.

He was glad Meryl had chosen a closed casket, because he couldn’t bear to see her shuttered in death again. Kissing her goodbye at the hospital had all but killed his heart, Angel instead wanting his last memory of her to be of when he’d held her in his arms at the airport, her face so bright and excited as they’d spoken of their vacation. What he would have given to be preparing for it, the trip he’d cancelled four days ago when he’d finally been able to actually get out of bed and do something other than lie there, weighted down by the lonely blanket of grief.  

Once at the funeral home, they were met by a couple more of Keri’s friends, Angel touched at the sight of Rachel rushing into Gilly’s open arms, Bishop wrapping Frankie into a huge hug, Jaime too, telling her he wished he was meeting the girl he’d heard so much about under happier circumstances. “You’re right, she does look like a mermaid.” he spoke softly, Angel smiling when he remembered the moment he’d heard Frankie liken her to one, on that first morning in Provo, meeting Keri in the flesh for the first time the night before.  

What he’d give to go back, be on that pull-out bed with her, enjoying their first kisses all over again. The pain of never having that again burned through him, as he knew it always would. There would be no cease to his sorrow at losing her, his one true love.

Turning to him, Frankie and Jaime held out their hands, both flanking him either side as they walked into the funeral home, ready to say their last goodbye to the girl who meant so very much to each of them. He still couldn’t believe she was gone. The appearance of the white casket sealed it, though, Angel swallowing the lump in his throat, letting go of Frankie’s hand and wrapping a strong arm around her when she couldn’t keep the sob in, holding her tightly.

“Good morning, friends. We gather today to remember fondly the life of our darling Keri Jane Watkins, taken much too soon from everyone she loved so very much on the second of October, twenty eighteen. As I look around at a room so full, I certainly see how her kindness, brilliant spirit, and unrelenting zest for life touched so many, from her mother Meryl and stepfather David, who we give all of our love and light to at this time, to her beloved boyfriend Angel, whom she adored beyond measure. Her Aunt Bee and Uncle Sunni, her precious cousins, and not least, her treasured friends, Frankie, Jaime, Rachel, Ash and Aaron, the core group of her heart.”

The words used by the minister were a lovingly touching tribute, yet Angel couldn’t have remembered any of them if you’d paid him all the money in the world as he sat there, replaying every memory he had of his darling over and over in his head, thinking how tiny her casket looked, for someone who was so full of energy and life. He still couldn’t quite reconcile that she was really lying in there.  

“She isn’t, man,” Aaron told him afterwards, Angel voicing that thought to him as they congregated outside. “That’s just her body. The Keri we know and love, she’s dancing around through the skies, seeing every last part of the world she said she was gonna see. She’s up in the stars, man, laughing, soaring. Free. Her body will join her when her ashes have been scattered, too.”

Meryl, David and Angel had all agreed that Keri would have hated to be put into the ground, all deciding to cremate her and scatter her ashes up in the mountains, so she would blow free into the wind, and travel wherever it took her.  

Angel smiled, giving him a big hug, thanking him for such words. “She loved the hell outta you, you know.”

“I know,” he croaked, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes. “I was so damned lucky to call that little calamity my friend.”

Lucky. That’s exactly what Angel had been, he realised, moving away to stand by himself, lighting up a cigarette. He was still lost in the fog of grief, so painfully lonely, he barely slept at night without her there, but he knew in his heart that he’d been the luckiest to call her his for the too short a time he’d had her. If he could hold onto anything, it was that.  

In the months, and eventually years that followed, he was never quite the same, his loved ones all noted, those in Santo Padre and Utah, whom he had stayed in touch with. He’d welcomed other women into his life, but only at arm's length, never with any permanence, more a means to an end whenever his libido dictated to him that he should.  

It never felt the same, though, and with each one that passed through his life, it only made him long for the one he could never be with again all the more. In the end, there were no more women, not wanting for them. Not for anyone but her. He’d spray her perfume onto his pillow, try and fool himself that she hadn’t really gone, abandoned in waking and dreams by his soulmate, hoping that wherever her spirit soared, she was happier than him.

He was simply lost without her, stumbling through what he thought was a living hell. That was, until hell came calling for him, for all of them, from the brothers who grew tired of the Santo Padre charter, literally battering down their gates to wage war upon them. He and his brothers put up a valiant fight from the safety of the clubhouse, he and EZ manning guns at the windows, his brother yelling every so often for Sharise to take cover, who wanted so badly to try and assist.

She hid behind the end of the bar, watching her husband and Angel firing all they could, until their rounds of ammo ran out, the brother’s exchanging looks, both then ducking the hail of gunfire that hit the front of the clubhouse. Angel, however, didn’t get out of the way in time.

Sharise watched his body drop to the floor, screaming in horror as she crawled out from her hiding place, scrambling to reach him, her knees and hands scuffed upon the floorboards. None of that mattered as she removed her top, pressing it to the wound in his chest.  

“Angel, I got you. Stay with me,” she spoke, pressing down, turning to look at him with wide, urgent eyes. When she watched him cough out a mouthful of blood, just as EZ skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees at his side, she knew, looking down again to see a second hole, right above his heart. If it hadn’t been broken entirely two years before, the bullet that had entered his chest certainly finished the job off.  

“Angel, you’re gonna be fine,” EZ spoke, knowing he was saying the words so he’d believe them more than anything, his beloved elder brother lying there dying, spluttering again. More blood.  

“It’s... okay,” he croaked, a cold swirl chilling his bones, feeling it begin to pull at him. “Love you.” His eyes flitted to Sharise, the pain in his chest feeling like a weight of fire. “You too. Gonna go find...”

Sharise sobbed, nodding, grasping his hand as she bent to kiss his head, stroking his hair lovingly with her blood-soaked hand. “I love you, too. You go find her. It’s okay, you’ll be with her soon.” She looked over at EZ, sobbing chokingly as they both clung onto him, their tear-filled eyes the last things Angel saw before the pain burned to absolutely nothing, the vacuum of death yanking him away, the endless black void pulling him under, until there was nothing at all.

The nothingness swirled around him, Angel feeling as if he was falling, endless darkness swathing him, his consciousness muddled, messy, a sharp thought occurring to him; what if he didn’t deserve to follow where she had gone? His entire body suddenly jolted, a yank that took him downwards, descending, the nothing giving way suddenly.  

He could hear the ocean.

Opening his eyes, he squinted slightly, everything so bright. Brilliant white surrounded him, the smell of saltwater and fresh linen filling his nose.  

The white room. He’d made it.  

Turning onto his side, he reached beneath the covers, her warmth right there next to him, where he’d craved it to be in the two long, lonely years without her. He pulled at the comforter, his heart mending itself in an instant to see those pretty hazel eyes looking back at him, her beautiful smile making her entire face glow.  

She looked exactly as she had the first time he’d ever seen her.  

Finally, he’d found her again.

Reaching for his face, Keri moved into the warmth of his arms, kissing him softly. “What was the last thing I told you?”  

He beamed at her, the love he felt no longer a painful echo of loss. “That you loved me,” he stated, fingers entwining in her hair.

“And to look after yourself, and what do you go and do? Get shot and join me a mere two years later.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”  

He laughed softly through his nose, kissing her again. “I wasn’t alive in those two years, mi amor. Only existing without you.”  

She stroked his face, nuzzling him. “So, you missed me then?”

He held up a tiny gap between his thumb and forefinger, her laugh sparkling in his ears. “Just this much.”  

Replicating, she mouthed the words back to him before he pulled her against him, turning onto his back, holding her tightly as they kissed. Death no longer mattered, and neither did leaving everything else behind. They’d found one another again, as they were always destined to. Their souls could rest now, there in the white room.

Forever.  

The End.

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes x ofc #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fic

[rainbowcarousels]

I wanted to do a seperate post because of people who don't want Rebirth spoilers but the fact that the three friends in LOVELESS really look like the 'children of man' that the Cetra explain the story of Jenova with fascinates me.

As does the fact that the Cetra here kind of look like the Sephiroth clones.

The Cetra spirits tell that humanity were afraid and envied them, likely stoked by the Jenova influence and they fought and died together until they started to fight and die between themselves. They were 'forsaken by fate, abandoned to unquenchable anger and unbearable grief, condemned and driven forth powerless to forestall the coming of our end'. We even see some of the battles between the Cetra, humanity and Jenova play out.

The actual retelling of Jenova's coming is here:

"Long ago, a wound marred the northern lands and to mend it did many venture forth, only to be met with disaster. A deciever that stole the faces of the dead - of mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers lost. With their voices did it sow the seeds of discord among our people, among the children of man. For the planet did we lay down our lives in battle, and in death, returned to her embrace. Yet our adversary did not. Could not. Thus did it fall into a deep slumber. And in the long silence of its sleep, it was given the name 'Jenova'. Heed well our warning of that which is to come: the reunion. When our adversary's scattered malignancy shall converge to plague the planet once once more. It has been our sacred duty to protect our planet against any who would threaten it. They who came from without were one such threat. The Gi, who with bitter prayer forged the black materia. So foul was the orb's magic that we knew at once it must be hidden, that none might ever weild its terrible power. The black materia shall summon the destroyer of worlds. The meteor shall fall, sundering the skies and shattering the earth. All life shall perish."

There's a lot of key terms there that link through to LOVELESS and this is just another reason why I think LOVELESS is based on something from the era in which Jenova invaded. It provides a lot of interesting background, I guess I had never considered there were in fact full blown battles in the Jenova Take Over vol. one, but it makes total sense there would be. It really adds to the whole 'history doesn't repeat itself but it does rhyme' vibe of the entire R-verse.

Finally, there is the version of LOVELESS - or rather, the excerpts, it's clear we're only seeing snippets of a larger story - that we see in Rebirth is known as the G edition. Again, the wording shifts and changes but the core narrative remains the same.

When the end of days is come The Goddess alights from heav'ns above 'Pon those Her blessing She doth bestow True happiness but they shall know To claim Her boon, a valiant three Sally forth, heroes they would be One's life cut short, another slain Naught but a prisoner doth remain Bereft of his wings, he falls from grace Yet venerated is he in Her embrace Now, through the cruel world hath forsaken us all Will our hero ne'ertheless stand tall?

#ff7 rebirth #ff7 rebirth spoilers #i was just reminded of this #loveless #cetra

[lryghe]

MDZS thoughts; jiang cheng

I have been meaning to talk about Jiang Cheng for a while considering he is a very special character and someone that I love thinking about. Because he’s just so interesting to think about, and his closeness to the main character of the story is probably why he’s so highlighted despite the fact he doesn't contribute to the plot the same way all other characters are that have been explored in depth (e.g. Lan Wangji, Nie Huaisang, Jin Guangyao). Yes, this post will contain spoilers, but not just from the novel this time, I would like to incorporate elements from the live action (despite my dislike of it). This may end up being not nearly as thought out as I usually am with my posts, to which I apologise for in advance (also for those who may eventually expect the second half of my MXTX themes and conventions post, you will never get it. I lost inspiration and my thought process deleted itself so I have nothing for you).

I saw a post the other day and it was exploring the idea of characters that are driven by grief and rage, characters who devolve over the length of the story, characters who change, but never for the better. And my first thoughts were like Azula, or maybe Sasuke, but then I remembered that my favourite fictional character of all time, Jiang Cheng is Right Here and he’s so interesting to analyse. Because he is that character that is driven by grief and rage. He has been fighting since he was like 17 and became Jiang Sect Leader at the cost of everyone around him. He is the character that devolves over the length of the story, because he’s so strong for the majority of it, but 13 years of mourning and a revived brother who turns his whole world upside down again is so so damaging to him. And he is that character who changes for the worse, because young Jiang Cheng was always so willing to go along with his older brothers schemes, always so desperate for the approval of those around him, but decades of grief have worn him down to his very foundations, and he is a husk of grief disguised as rage. He no longer needs the approval of the Sect Leaders around him because he is the fearsome Sandu Shengshou, the three poisons. 

I refuse to assume a pitying role with Jiang Cheng though. I see a lot of people saying he did nothing wrong, that he was the victim in the entire situation but I seriously despise when people say this about him. Because he has very clearly done bad things, and sometimes he has no excuse. Sometimes he was just a bad guy, and that’s okay. The live action went on this whole narrative about how Wei Wuxian was a total victim in everything that happened and people have started applying this type of narrative to every other characters, which is so silly in places because MXTX creates these characters to be criticised. They are well rounded and whole characters, and there is a whole spectrum of grey in regards to their actions and motivations. You are definitely allowed to feel bad for characters though, who am I to tell you what to do, but remember to be objective in analysis. Jiang Cheng ‘tortured’ demonic cultivators because he hated his brother so much (allegedly), he abandoned his brother when he was the Yiling Patriarch, he is harsh and cruel and he’s always able to find the one thing to hurt those around him (even to Wei Wuxian, who is notoriously good at not being hurt by what others say to him). 

And to ignore this would be a disservice. Jiang Cheng is forever a part of Wei Wuxian’s backstory, forever the character in MDZS that does not get their redemption, forever Sandu Shengshou, a poison to those surrounding him. And it’s so interesting to think about this concept of poison in relation to Jiang Cheng because objectively, it's like. Kind of true. Literally every other Jiang is dead, even the unofficial Jiang, Wei Wuxian. No one likes Jiang Cheng very much, and he’s purposefully left out of the big 3 ‘zuns’ of the cultivation world, a very informal alliance between the Lans, Nies, and Jins. Even geographically so (in reference MXTX’s presentation of where the sects would be on a real map of China) Yunmeng is isolated from all other notable sects, the only notable place nearby being the Qishan Wen and the Burial Mounds, both not being very happy places to be. His nephew Jin Ling embodies all the outward traits that people don't like about him, brash and arrogant and refusal to admit one's faults. In all senses of the world, Jiang Cheng really is a poison to everyone around him. And this idea of poison is so cool because Jiang Cheng is a background character objectively. His screen time is mostly just to further the emotional plights of Wei Wuxian but he’s such an important antagonist (of sorts!).

The time skip is both a wonderful and fearsome thing in reference to this thought, because we can only guess what happens during those 13 years where he doesn't have screen time, and although there are parts mentioned of what happens (e.g. Jin Guangyao becomes sect leader, Nie Mingjue dies, Lan Wangji goes wherever the chaos is) we don't know the details, specifically in regards to Jiang Cheng. Those 13 years is where he is pushed out of the narrative spotlight, and he’s not relevant until the whole golden core fiasco near the end, which is good because it keeps him as a background character (being otherwise would be detrimental to the themes of the novel), but scary because it takes away so much power from the other characters. 

I just want to end this by saying that I actually love Jiang Cheng and that manifests in writing long posts about how horrible and complicated he is because it's completely fine to be a bad person, that's what makes some of these characters so interesting. He is my favourite out of all of MXTX’s works, right up there alongside Luo Binghe and Xie Lian. So if you ever see me ‘dissing’ these characters, it is born from a love that compels me to analyse them.

Also I wrote this instead of revising for an assessment worth 30% of my overall grade literally an hour before said assessment worth 30% of my overall grade.

Words: 1091

Reading time: 4 mins

#no regrets if i fail its fine anyways (cryinh) #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #mxtx #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #sandu shengshou #lan wangji #the untamed #cql #wei wuxian #luo binghe #xie lian #tagging every character mentioned because im silly like that #expect a vicious mbti analysis of him in the future ft me dissing the fuck out of literally every pdb poster on the mdzs profiles

[lucacangettathisass]

I'LL FOLLOW YOU (INTO THE DARK)

SUMMARY: You grew up in the capital, kept far away from the dangers that lurked outside the walls. But after the fall of Shiganshina, you've been plagued by thoughts of titans and suffering and the blood of your fellow man.

So, you decided to do something about it.

Getting out of the city was the easy part. Proving yourself to everyone, including Shadis, is the hard part. But it looks like you've made a friend, the son of your former doctor; Eren Yeager.

He's driven, and possess a pull that's almost irresistible.

Or maybe that's just you.

FEATURING: It's My Fanfic So I Get To Decide What's Canon, my own thoughts on titans and additions to that aspect of the story (it's vague for a reason), references to Christian and Jewish thought/beliefs/philosophy (look I went to Catholic school and I've been considering converting so that shit has been Marinating), Grisha Yeager Is A Complicated Man, my pro snake agenda (THEY'RE JUST CURVY WIGGLY GUYS LEAVE THEM ALONE), awkward teens, class differences, shitty parents, loss of parents, Mothers, protective Mikasa (DON’T WORRY I'M NICE TO HER IN THIS), dorky eren (MY NUMBER ONE AGENDA), Problematic Relationships (further down the line, and it's more of a Tease than anything)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Death, illness, implied murder, implied abuse

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Who can spot all the references? What do you think they mean, if anything?

TAGLIST: @blckbrdlove

CHAPTER ONE

You had never truly thought of your home as any kind of friend or ally. At best, it was just another set of walls, separating you from everyone else in the city of Mitras. At worst, it was a casket, the final resting place of your beloved mother. The only source of comfort it offered you was the garden, which had been walled off, along with you and the rest of the east wing, from the rest of the estate ever since your mother's death all those years ago.

After all, your father's new wife shouldn't be forced to remember that someone else had been there first. That was also why you had been shunted off, abandoned and left in the care of the few members of staff who knew of your existence. Your father had a new wife who gave him not one, but two sons. What use did he have for you now?

On the bright side, this meant that fewer eyes were on you, so you were free to execute your plan. It was simple, pack some necessities, and use your natural abilities to be silent and light on your feet to slip out before anyone could notice.

"My lady, it's time for-"

You turned around, just as you were finishing up packing your bag, locking eyes with Rafael, your father's valet, and the head of the household staff.

The two of you stared at each other, and you watched his brow furrow, his dark eyes darting from you to your bag and back again. "My lady, what are you doing?"

You looked over Rafael, wondering just how much you should tell him. But lying had never been something you enjoyed, and you figured that if nothing else, Rafael deserved honesty. After all, he was the one that fulfilled the duties of a father when your own didn't want to.

"I'm leaving." You said. "I'm going to join the military. And I'm going to kill titans."

You had never been the best at reading people's faces, but even you could tell that Rafael was filled with despair. You supposed that you would be too, had he told you the same thing.

"Y/N are you insane?!" It was the first he had ever raised his voice at you, and the second that he called you by your name. "Why would you want to do that?! You're safe here!"

"And other people aren't." You replied, genuinely surprised at the level of emotion Rafael was showing. "How is it fair that other people suffer and lose everything while I get to live in safety?"

"I don't know, but that's just how the world is." Rafael said, as if you should be satisfied with that answer. He should know you better than that.

"Well I'm still going." You closed your bag and tried to leave your room, but Rafael refused to move, standing in front of the door, rooted to the ground.

"My lady, I'm not going to let you throw your life away!" Rafael grabbed your shoulders, gripping them tight. "I promised your mother I would watch over you and I intend to do so."

That gave you pause. You often wondered how Rafael felt about your mother. When she fell ill, the ones who were by her side the most were you and him. Whenever Dr Yeager came to see her, Rafael was the one who would take note of what he said and go off to get the medicine he had prescribed. The day she passed was the first time you had seen him cry.

Judging by his face now, today may bring the second.

"I'm sure she would understand." You said.

"You're safer here." Rafael insisted, sounding desperate.

"Am I?"

Your question was left hanging, the tension growing.

Rafael's left eye twitched, and his jaw clenched. He only ever did those things when he's trying to hide something. "What do you mean?"

"My mother was perfectly healthy." You said. "She got plenty of sunshine in the garden, almost everything she ate, she grew herself. She rode horses, she danced, she did everything. And then, one day, she's bedridden. Can barely move. How does that happen?"

The silence is heavy, and it seems to be doing Rafael no favours.

"Then, within a month of her dying, my father finds a new wife." You kept your gaze on Rafael, taking note of how he refuses to lift his gaze from the ground. "My father had the greatest access to my mother. They spent plenty of time together, just the two of them. Who knows what happened during those times."

"My lady, you shouldn't think such things." Rafael was trying to scold you, but his conviction was weak. "It isn't good."

"In what way?" You asked, genuinely wondering what he could mean. "Ever since his new wife arrived, I've been quarantined to this wing of the estate. How long until my father decides that doing so is too much work?"

You swallowed. It was something you had thought about a lot lately, but saying it out loud felt different. Like it was real.

The silence returned, and it looked like Rafael was desperate to break it, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"When I die, I want it to be on my own terms." You said finally. "If it's in the mouth of a titan, then so be it. Better that than at the whims of someone else."

There. You had said your piece. Now you just need to wait and see how Rafael will react.

"The way you're talking…" His voice was soft, but since it was just the two of you, it was easy to hear him. "It sounds like you want to join the survey corps…"

"That's right." You nodded. "They get to leave the walls. They see the titans before the rest of us. If I was with them, if they had more people, maybe what happened at Wall Maria and Shiganshina wouldn't happen again."

Rafael furrowed his brow, looking confused. "Shiganshina?"

"It was where Dr Yeager lived, remember?"

Realization dawned on Rafael. "I…I had forgotten." He sounded mournful, and almost guilty. "You were always fond of him."

It was true. Dr Yeager has always been kind to you. Even before your mother fell ill, he saw you frequently, and had tried to unravel the mystery that was your mind and how it functioned. Just about everyone else around you insisted that something had to be wrong with you, that the way you saw things, the way you acted, the way you thought, simply wasn't normal. That you were as strange and uncanny and abnormal as the titans. The only ones that didn't see you like that were, of course, your mother, and, to your surprise at the time, Dr Yeager. He had told you himself that there was nothing wrong with you, that while, yes, the way your brain worked was different from most people, it wasn't a bad thing. Adjustments may need to be made and techniques will need to be learned on your part to be able to cope in a world stacked against you, but that wasn't your fault. You weren't broken.

Your pillow had almost gotten soaked from the tears of joy you had wept into it that night.

After hearing about the fall of Maria, and the destruction of Shiganshina, you had held out hope that he and his family had survived somehow, had made it into Wall Rose as refugees. Perhaps even the interior, considering all the work he had done there. But when no word came, you gave up.

It felt like you had lost a family member.

That man had saved you and tried to save your mother. The least you could do was kill the things that killed him and his family and destroyed his home, or die trying.

"No one could've predicted what happened at Wall Maria." Rafael said gently. "The Armoured and Colossal Titans…we've never seen anything like them. No number of scouts could've stopped them."

"But they could've sent word. Warned others, giving people time to evacuate." Maybe if they had, the Yeager family would've lived.

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?" Rafael said it like a question, but both of you knew it was a statement of fact. He sighed heavily, and there was a look in his eyes that you couldn't recognize. That surprised you.

Slowly, he stepped aside, leaving the door free for you to reach. "I'll tell your father you ran away, but I won't tell him where." Rafael promised. "I just have one request."

"Anything." After everything he's done for you, he's more than earned whatever request he's about to make.

"In the military, use your mother's maiden name." Rafael looked and sounded serious, more serious than you had ever seen him, which was saying something. In fact, he sounded borderline desperate. "Please."

You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. Usually this would make you reluctant to do what's asked of you, but since it's Rafael and you already promised, you nodded. "OK."

You picked up your bag, slinging it onto your back. "I'll find my way."

"I know you will, my lady." He opened the door for you, and when you walked past, he bowed, like it was any other day. "I've been truly blessed to watch you grow." He said, his voice cracking a little.

That gave you pause. Until that very moment, it never occurred to you just how much your departure would affect Rafael, or anyone else who still remained in your life. Would they all weep too?

"Thank you Rafael." And you put your hand on his shoulder. You couldn't think of anything else to do.

Even with a full backpack you moved through the halls and down the stairs like a ghost, like the wind through trees. Ever since you were a small child, you had a talent for remaining silent and unseen. Your every movement went unnoticed, like a snake in the tall grass.

You would make a game of it whenever you were bored, seeing how many times you could sneak up on others and scare them. You stopped counting after two hundred. It had stopped being fun by then.

But now it wasn't about fun, it was about necessity. While Rafael visited your wing of the estate the most, there were still a select few who were permitted entry into it, and if any of them caught you, it could complicate matters.

You kept an ear out for them, while keeping yourself to the shadows and corners, obscuring yourself as much as possible, before you made it to your destination.

The door to the garden.

Initially, when your father had walled it off, you thought it was part of his grieving process. You knew better now. On the plus side, you still had access to it, were one of the few to have access to it in fact. It had helped keep you sane during those lonelier days.

You had done your best to tend to it, to keep it as lush and thriving as it had been before. But while it had been your mother's passion project, she still had plenty of help. You had no such luxury, having only Rafael and two other maids to assist you, none of which shared your or your mother's penchant and passion for gardening, so some of it had naturally fallen into disrepair, despite your best efforts.

But the one thing that had retained the glory it enjoyed under your mother's care was the apple tree.

It stood tall and proud, creating enough shade for almost a third of the garden. The apples that came from it were true beauties, as green as the leaves, round as the sun, and juicier than anything you have ever experienced. When your mother died, your father had her buried beneath it, and you imagined that by now its roots had fully wrapped around her, in a never ending embrace. You had a lot of good memories of that tree, and that was probably why you stopped in front of it.

You gazed up into its canopy, wondering just how many leaves it boasted now, how many creatures called it home. You looked down at the large roots that peeked through the grass. You wondered which ones held your mother as you knelt before it, putting a hand on the biggest, most gnarled of the roots. It felt warm. Probably from the sun and heat, but you liked to imagine it was the flowing of your mother's blood and the force of her love.

"Dr Yeager did his best for you." You said softly, looking down at the hard, patterned wood. "Now I'll do my best for him."

Thump

You turned to your left and, to your surprise, saw an apple. You were sure you had gathered them all with Rafael the other day. But it seems this one had been hiding, waiting to ripen and reveal itself.

You picked it up, inspecting it. There were no signs of bruising, or that an insect had made it it's home. Carefully, you took a bite.

It was delicious.

You could feel the juice running down your chin, and you wiped it away.

You weren't usually one for signs, but this seemed like a good one.

Apple in hand, you left the garden.

-

Unfortunately the military recruiters had left by the time you got there, but you weren't about to let that stop you.

Using a gold embossed doorknob that you had taken from the estate, you were able to bribe a merchant leaving for Wall Rose to let you tag along. You had considered bribing the military police to get you out, but you were concerned that it would get back to the circles your father traveled in, so you avoided them. Plus, it would probably look bad for your future military career.

From that merchant you bribed another to get further out, and yet another to find out who supplies the training camp for the military, and then bribed them to take you out there.

By the time you finally got to the training grounds it was late evening, dinner time you suspected, and you had used up everything you had taken with you to use as bribery. Your apple was long gone too, but it had nourished you well enough, considering you left during lunch time.

It wasn't until the suppliers left that you realized that you didn't have a plan for this part. You had been running purely on adrenaline and passion and impulse, incredibly out of character for you.

But you had already made up your mind. You're going to join the scouts, no matter what.

You spotted the biggest building, saw that the lights were on and heard noise coming from it and figured that was as good a place as any to start. You approached it, electing to ignore the girl who seemed to be doing laps (judging by how exhausted she looked you doubted it was her choice to do so).

Without taking a second to think, you opened the door, being sure to make enough noise to be noticed, and were promptly met with silence.

You surveyed the hall, taking in the surprised expressions, when your eyes fell on one boy in particular. He appeared to be your age, and in many ways was unremarkable. He was lanky and awkwardly proportioned, most likely due to not reaching puberty just yet, with short dark brown hair. The only thing of note about him really were his eyes, which were a dark shade of green. It reminded you of the leaves of the rose bushes in the garden.

But when you looked into them…you couldn't explain it. You felt something inside you unfurl. It felt primal, a near magnetic draw to the boy that you knew for a fact you had never seen before in your life. And yet your blood felt fiery hot under your skin, your heart racing like a thoroughbred.

'Who is he?'

"By the Walls, who is this?"

You were pulled from your unexplainable trance by a voice behind you, and you turned to find a tall, older, bald man, who didn't look impressed. He glared down at you, his eyes as cold as your blood was hot.

"Well?" He snapped. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

You blinked, finally gathering yourself together and pulled out of your daze. "I take it you're in charge." You said. "I'm a recruit, sir."

He tsked. "A recruit? Why are you late then?"

"I missed the recruiter convoy." You said. "On account of being kept inside. I had to sneak out."

"Sneak out?" The man sounded incredulous, disbelieving. "Where are you from?"

"Mitras, sir."

That caused a stir. A wave of whispers came upon the crowd, too low for you to hear anything but you could guess the gist. You didn't imagine many born in the capital would willingly join the military.

That truly seemed to have caught the man off guard. "And how did you get here, exactly, if you missed the recruiters?"

"I bribed people to get past the walls."

More whispers. It seemed you were to be the main topic of conversation and gossip, at least for a while.

The man snorted, and he seemed almost angry, like he suspected you of tricking him. "You mean to tell me you smuggled yourself out of the capital, and made your own way here, just to join the military?"

"Yes sir. I'm not sure how else I'm supposed to explain it."

The whispers ceased, plunging you all into dead silence.

The man stared down at you, while you looked past him, at a spot on the wall next to his temple. A trick you learned to make it seem like you're holding eye contact.

"Why the military?" He asked finally. "Why leave your cozy little life for this?"

You furrowed your brow. Why did people keep asking questions with obvious answers?

"Because I want to join the survey corps and kill titans." You said simply. "I want to help prevent a disaster like what happened at Wall Maria and Shiganshina. I want to protect my fellow man, and I can't do that in Mitras."

The silence stayed, and the man kept trying to stare you down, but you kept your gaze on the wall. You remained calm. You had faced worse than him.

"Your name, recruit." He said, voice low. "What is it."

'Use your mother's maiden name. Please.'

"Y/N." You said. "Y/N Chava."

#eren yaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #eren x reader #someone surgically detach me from Eren’s cock

[talkingharrystyles]

“Your thoughts on the „clubbing“?! Please share I‘m so curious!!!”

🌌Looks like damage control, on steroids, that is driven by fear, and fueled by desperation, to reinforce the idea of being youthful, and exact vengeance, depending on the source, that one of Harry’s flings have been exposed.

Don’t know why she’s upset. He did say that he only considered her as his director. Everybody knows that Harry is having flings to temper the sting of loneliness… oopsies, did I just confirm the rumors?

It’s not like it’s a dozen of bodies. That would be way too much work for him to fit into his schedule, as of late.

It is naive to believe that Harry has adapted celibacy into his life. He IS a man after all. HE DOES struggle with expressing his emotions and resolving issues. He retreats into familiar outlets to handle stress.

As always, OW overplayed her hand.

It’s a bit odd timing that there’s content of them “clubbing” after that specific theme was the hot topic of recently and publicly aired out conversation.

I might be stretching, but also it’s coming on the heels of Harry, being reported, accepting a fan’s prom proposal.

Undoubtedly, this fan will enjoy the freedom that his “girlfriend” is vehemently denied which is posting of him and her enjoying themselves at a dance.

Really there is nothing more to say. I’ve only seen a recirculated video and an unreliable, conflicting detailing of it.

Who knows. If OW is smart, (we know you’re lurking here for tips), then she can break the wheels here, and use this excursion to her benefit.

She can claim that she did “try to keep up with Harry’s riotous living” (visible proof of this now exists), but she “could not espace the constant mommy guilt of abandoning her children”.

For real, OW. Get out, with what shred of dignity you might still have, while you still can.

It is kind of perplexing, as to why OW felt like a “huge f&$!@“? failure as a parent”, though.

She’s earned mother of the year with her constant need to be present around Harry to supervise him.

She’s stalks protects him to make sure that the big bad boogeyman and candyman leaves him alone. She neglects sacrifices her time and responsibilities to have time to chaperone him to places.

She has, now, taken on the role of his designated bodyguard to a night club.

How sweet that she forsakes precious sleep, as she’s one who “goes to bed earlier”, to make sure that no mean person could take advantage Harry him in a vulnerable state.

We can assume that she drove him home, bathed him, changed him into warm pajamas, warmed his tea, and read Love is A Speical Way of Feeling to him, until she was sure that he was sound asleep.

Enjoying special dreams where he can be who he wants to be. And be with whom he truly wants to be with.

I mean, yall, she did go to great lengths to purchase him a new elephant head just to settle his temper tantrums.

She IS taking this unofficial guardianship very SERIOUSLY.

If that’s not a mothers love, I don’t what is.

By all standard, I’d say OW has not only earned the title of mom of the year, she’s earned the satchel. The scepter. The throne, AND the crown.

Oh wait- she’s suppose to be the gf, right? Yeah, then, this isn’t passing the sniff test.

In fact, it smells worse than her overly greased hair and foul intellect.

This is why I have an issue with individuals who are obsessed with linking their identities to political movements, but fail to actually participate in those movements.

I’ve said it before. Olivia’s titles are nothing more than armor against criticism that is disguised as false virtue.

I mean, she is one of the few whom Amber Heard has followed on SM. You are the company you keep.

If the sexes were reversed, people wouldn’t be romanticizing this unusual behavior and would, I hope, call it for what it is: possessive, toxic, psychotic, controlling, and, borderline, abusive.

Just because it’s fake, it still is disturbing that Harry, one who claims to be against toxic relationships, is promoting a relationship to the naive that has the hallmarks of toxicity.

Not all fans are smart, and can distinguish reality from fantasy. Which is why the charade was agreed to, and still is gaining traction.

They know that impressionable minds will consume this.

People will romanticize it because, rather than showing them a HEALTHY relationship, they (Harry Co. Olivia Insane. and Jason and the gang) prey upon and weaponize onlookers insecurities and desires to garner attention.

Holivia validates psychotic fan girls, as Olivia is the very embodiment of WHO THEY ARE. Mentally unhinged, obsessive, compulsive, addictive to fame, and will suffocate a man, until he’s not breathing anymore (interpret that as you will).

This is why shippers cling to Holivia.

They see themselves in Olivia’s insanity, and are thrilled that their behavior is being rewarded with the very person whom they have formed their lives around.

Harry’s not responsible for peoples own free choices. He is, however, accountable for influencing naive minds by engaging in behavior, with the knowledge that there are gullible onlookers of his who are watching and believing everything he does is TPWK.

Putting aside the reality and mockery; exactly how drunk was Harry? I know people like to laugh at his affectionate, cuddly behavior, but they do need to remember that this is someone whom uses alcohol as a depressant. Alcohol IS his veil lifter.

While he typically becomes affectionate, when consumed in excessive, and depending on the stress he is dealing with, HE IS A CRIER. A blubbering one at that.

He does suffer with CONTROL ISSUES.

He does implode when the pressure is insurmountable.

He tries to medicate it, though, by using work, exercise, and alcohol. Drugs, eh. He’s not this pothead people keep thinking that he is.

But people has witnessed him, under the influence of alcohol, crash severely.

He has admitted his consumption of alcohol tethering the line between recreational drinking and acting as a coping mechanism.

If you reflect on old pics, you’d see that him drinking is a common activity in Holivia content.

I keep finding it unsettling that, realistically, a person is increasing needing to be constantly inebriated to withstand being in the presence of a specific person.

🌌

#🌌

[boundinparchment]

Of Blood and Sparks - Interlude V

Karina Alexandre of Fontaine lost her position, her family, and her Archon's favor. A dead Electro Vision is her mark of guilt. A reminder to never fail again. Faith shattered, and suspicious of the Fatui, she eventually makes her way to Liyue, where she encounters a certain funeral parlor consultant. Little does she know it's only the beginning. Original character centric; eventual Zhongli/OC. Posted originally at @chevalier-of-fontaine. ArchiveOfOurOwn || FF.net || Rhiannon Details

Her eyes were glued to the papers before her.  Even as she took the tiny perfume actuator, sprayed her wrists, and then pressed them to her elbows, the curve of her neck, and then just behind her ears.  The pages were stained slightly, perhaps from rain during transit, but the ink held and she could hardly bring herself to disengage.

Liyue hadn’t gone as expected but the result was what mattered.  

Nonetheless, she would burn these.

Lest she give any of the senior Harbingers more of a reason to think she was not focused enough.

Rhiannon stopped mid-sentence when she read a name she hadn’t seen written out in years.  Tartaglia’s handwriting, while quick, was still exact; Karina, in Liyue, of all places.

She hadn’t thought her older sister was dead, of course.  As far as she knew and was told on the ride to Snezhnaya, her sister lived, made sure funerary arrangements were done, and then vanished from Fontaine.  Rhiannon didn’t feel abandoned in those last moments, not as she did when they were little and separation was difficult; Karina stayed until what was meant to be the end.

But couldn’t she have tried harder to look for her?  To return home long enough to see that the very system Karina faced was what saved Rhiannon, was what could save them all?

Then again, perhaps not.  A part of her died that day in the cathedral basement, to say nothing of the events after.  The claws of grief and guilt were buried so deep in her sister that Rhiannon sometimes wondered if Karina hadn’t entirely perished that day only to be replaced with a mimicry of her former self.  Her older sister did her best to appear unassuming, normal.  She poured all of her energy into her last remaining shreds of a future despite their mother’s frustration and their father’s begging.

Rhiannon shivered at the memory from weeks ago, blue eyes watching her as the nobleman taunted.

The same one who spoke so smoothly to ease their parents’ concern when their daughter returned home days at a time, sometimes avoiding them entirely, despondent.  Rhiannon recalled the look in Karina’s eyes when she protested that she didn’t have to go for the weekend, she didn’t need to chase anything, anyone.  She was good enough, more than, and they would be fine.

But her sister was tired of her pain.  She needed a sense of purpose, a duty.  

Rhiannon understood that now, in hindsight.  It didn’t matter what happened to her, so long as Karina achieved her goal.

Such thinking was why it made sense for her to have followed through with the agreement to serve the Fatui.  But she shoved that aside and their parents were dead because of it.  Better to have a duty and purpose larger than oneself and their immediate loved ones.  The world needed to be taken care of.  There was no higher calling, no better sense of purpose.

But her sister was always blind.  It had to be Karina who saved the children on the street that day, Karina who was recognized for her abilities, Karina who saved the family from squandering their parents' climb from the Lower Rings…

To some, it never made sense that Electro was her element.  To Rhiannon, there was no element more perfect for someone so driven.

The singer frowned as she continued reading.  According to Childe, Karina looked well, if not a bit distressed at the situation regarding Rex Lapis.  Understandable.  Naphula’s death (some say assassination) and the transition to Focalors had been quick but tumultuous, one that required no questions, no doubts.  Nothing mattered except servitude.  And her sister took to conspiracy instead and let herself be led astray.

No, Karina wouldn’t have been fit to serve the Fatui; she had too many questions.  It was better this way.

The rest of the letter was focused on his plan to finish out the last of his requirements in Liyue (that he would miss Teucer’s visit almost entirely) and he intended to return to the Tsaritsa as soon as everything was complete.  Rhiannon picked up on bits and pieces about her own mentor’s appearance and role; Tartaglia was still likely fuming that everything he’d done mattered little when it came to their end goal.  He only ended up looking like a rash fool, as if he’d wanted to harm Liyue’s citizens.  

She was still engrossed in the remainder of the letter that she failed to hear the knock and request from the Fatuus watching her wing.  Even worse, she missed the subsequent opening of the door when the good doctor’s patience was thinner than spring ice.

A gloved hand plucked the letters from her and began reading aloud, boisterous and dramatic.  If one didn’t know Il Dottore, they would assume he was drunk.  He read, line for line, words that were meant between confidants, between…well, whatever it was they were after that night on the rooftops.  

If the letters were from Signora, from Columbina, he would have left them alone.

When he finished, he dropped the letters in front of her unceremoniously, paper fluttering amid hairpins and lip rouge.  Dottore then proceeded to pace the room, gesturing all the while.

“This is how you spend your time before a dinner with the faction of nobility still in need of persuasion, Ancella?  Filling your head with drivel from a boy who thought to forge Sigils of Permission and putting the entirety of Teyvat’s economic center in danger?”

“Isn’t it Pantalone’s job to worry about the economic state of the world and yours to spend his mora as you see fit?” Rhiannon shot back, examining her reflection and choice of earrings.

Deflect, distract, appease.  Those were the only things Krupp ever imparted on her and truthfully, the very things she only ever missed the squirrely man for.  Dottore couldn’t afford to be hot-headed this early into the evening.  His very demeanor would put everyone on edge and only reinforce their perception of the Fatui as nothing more than thugs.

Dottore scoffed and then ceased his pacing, meeting her eyes in the mirror.  “That’s not the point.  Being too direct has consequences.  The Qixing were already suspicious of Fatui presence long before Rex Lapis’ little stunt.  They simply never had a reason to act that wouldn’t have involved a political fallout.  Tartaglia gave them one on a silver platter.”

Rhiannon looked through the tiny collection of jewels.  Her gown left most of her decolletage bare; a modest piece of jewelry wouldn’t do…but her Delusion was already pinned to her bodice, a gleaming turquoise situated perfectly…

She froze when he reached across her shoulder and plucked a choker diamond choker with webs of jewels that dripped across the wearer’s collarbone.  Dottore’s other hand grazed across what, to some, could have been a trick of the light.  The line, thin and delicate, accompanied by the telltale pinpricks of stitches, was obvious when spotted.

She tried not to think of how delicate his touch was.  How he killed and maimed with the very same hands.

He draped the collection of metal and jewels across her breastbone, the necklace cold against her skin. Rhiannon brought a hand up and held the choker in place as he fastened it.  She smoothed out the swoops and teardrop diamonds with ease, albeit more gently than she would have with the stage jewelry she was used to.

“My handiwork will speak for itself,” Dottore said, squaring his shoulders.  “And if not, then perhaps it is time to remind them of what they stand to lose if they continue to oppose us.  I believe the aria you’ve been rehearsing should do the trick.  If you can withstand it.”

The challenge in his eyes made her blood sing. 

#verse: of blood and sparks #genshin impact oc #genshin impact original character #fanfiction #fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin oc #OC: Rhiannon Alexandre

[dracoqueen22]

[TLoVM] Evidentiary Remarks

It was not the first time Percival had stood in front of a mirror to count his scars. He’d fled Whitestone with many of them, too numerous to count, too distantly placed to accurately note them all.

Ripley was thorough and merciless. There was nothing sacred, no place she had not kissed with a blade, no amount of pain she hesitated to inflict.

Percy would carry her touch with him for the rest of his life. He had come to terms with that. He hadn’t accepted it, of course not, otherwise he wouldn’t burn with the desire for vengeance so strongly. But he’d come to terms with the silvery lines and pockmarked flesh. Eventually, he stopped flinching at his white hair. Eventually, he recognized himself in the mirror.

He did not know then if he would ever successfully return to Whitestone. It was a hope, an assumption. He did not expect it would be so soon. He never thought he would come with friends, rather than alone.

Of course, he also hadn’t realized how strong a grip a demon had on his soul, but that was an entirely separate matter. His soul, Percival had decided, was a thing he could lose if it meant revenge against those who had stolen his family and destroyed his future. What did a soul matter in the wake of such things? What were scars but marks on a physical form he would soon abandon?

Now.

Now he realized he was going to live. He had a sister. He had his home. He was not the last corpse in the pile of his vengeance. He had to reckon with the concept of survival, of living, and all while enduring this bloody gash of a scar across his chest.

Percy stared into the mirror, and swore Ripley – who had lived, blast her – stared back at him, over his shoulder. He didn’t have to close his eyes to imagine her touch, it echoed across his skin in a thick, rigid line from collarbone to abdomen. It bisected his torso. There were numerous others, but this one was most prominent. It was coarse and ugly.

She was still alive.

Orthax was gone – and the Pepperbox with him, damn it Scanlan – but the rage still simmered in Percy’s veins. Of course he lived still. Anna Ripley did also. Percival could not rest until she was dust like her compatriots.

He stared at himself and dragged a finger along the hateful mark. The skin to either side of it was smooth, but here it was puckered and rough. He shuddered, remembering the dig of the hook, the dank stench of the dungeon, the tickle of Ripley’s hair against the side of his face.

Sadly, that may leave a mark.

Percy closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and opened them again. His right hand twitched, and he dropped it back to his side.

He turned away from the mirror, and pulled on his shirt, buttoning it from top to bottom in precise, careful motions. There was another scar on his right hand, in his palm. It was convex and ridged, but it was a scar of his own making. He rubbed a thumb over the puckered flesh. It was a scar rightly earned.

Percy was not a vain man. Well, only so much as appearances should be maintained for a de Rolo, but he still wondered what someone would say if they saw him. If they removed his layers and tried to count the silvery lines of torture. If they dragged their fingers through his hair, only to ask why he was a human not of thirty, but with brittle, white hair.

It was insanity to consider telling someone the truths of his past. He couldn’t imagine the explanation. A man of nobility, driven to the edge, to a pact with a demon, by a pair of necromantic demi-god worshippers? A normal person would run away screaming. Percy’s baggage was too much to carry for a normal person.

Fortunately, Percy was not surrounded by normal people.

He pulled on his coat, smoothing down the folds, each layer tucking neatly into place. His clothes were armor as much as anything else, a shield to the scars, inside and out. He pulled on his gloves, flexed his fingers, grimaced as the right’s reduced mobility tugged at the scar.

Whitestone was free. Cassandra lived, and now worked tirelessly to restore their home to its former splendor. Most of the perpetrators were gone, dead by the hands of the last of the de Rolos. Only Ripley lived, and not even she could hide for long.

Percy would find her, and he would end her. Not because of Orthax, but for his own sake. Revenge. Vengeance. Justice. Call it what you like, Percy knew he would not rest easy until he knew she was dead. She was dangerous. She was cruel. She would hurt others without compunction, same as she had hurt him, and hurt Cassandra.

She needed to die.

Percy holstered his new revolver and adjusted his newest invention in his glove. Bad News had been stripped and reassembled, improved to the best of his ability. He was ready for the next adventure with Vox Machina, certain that wherever they went, he’d find Ripley again. Vox Machina had a knack for finding trouble, and Ripley certainly qualified as such.

Percy would find her, and he would end her. Perhaps then, once he looked in the mirror, he wouldn’t see the evidence of unfinished business, but vengeance justly served.

One could only hope.

***

#Percival de Rolo #percival frederickstein von musel klossowski de rolo III #the legend of vox machina #draco writes fanfic #vox machina fanfic #text contains elements of body horror and referenced torture

[sinhasaheart]

the trail aftermath (emerald dawn)

Sorry this took so long. Had a series of irl dramas I had to deal with 😌

Teeth bared, enraged, Sinestro lands on all fours in the dirt of Qward's surface. His nails dig in, clawing the ground, and he imagines it's the face of all who have betrayed him. They will pay.

Really though, and Sinestro realises it with anti climatic speed, he's just alone and cold on a foreign planet in an unfriendly universe.

Common sense and thinking clearly are anything but helpful and Sinestro angrily pushes reason away. Just as soon as he makes his way back to his universe and destroys everyone who has done this to him, everything will be back in order.

Green light flashes and Sinestro flinches back, arms covering his face. His first immediate panicked thought is the Guardians have decided to kill him after all.

"Hey, gorgeous." It's not the Guardians. Instead, a tall Green Lantern is relaxing casually against one of the random Qwardian pillars. "I'm gonna stop you right there."

There's no proper pattern to the placement of the pillars and Sinestro is briefly distracted wondering how he is expected to live somewhere so unrefined. Carelessly, he rips a pole from an important section of plumbing and brandishes it at Hal Jordan.

In an instant, Sinestro is disarmed and knocked to the ground. He growls. Of course, he has an unfair disadvantage. In any other circumstance, he can never be beaten.

"I'm not the same rookie you used to drag around with you," Hal tells Sinestro, pinning him down with a knee on his back.

"You remain a traitor," Sinestro spits out and gets a mouthful of dirt for his trouble. He splutters and struggles fiercely.

With ease, Hal keeps Sinestro pinned down. "Yes," he agrees, "but I'm working on it. I want to help you."

Those last few words are punctuated as Hal releases Sinestro and steps back. Though Sinestro seizes the opportunity to scramble to his feet, he doesn't attack again. He doesn't trust the Green Lantern before him, waiting for a trick, to be destroyed once again.

"Why should I believe anything you may say to me?" It's a low growl in Sinestro's chest. "You've made your thoughts very clear."

"Have I?" Hal is relaxed and patient, not put off by Sinestro's hostility. "So you know I think you're driven and passionate and have so much potential that you're about to throw away on some desperate revenge scheme?"

Rage overwhelms every part of Sinestro, boiling his blood. "It was not I who began this!"

"Maybe not," Hal allows, uncowed. "But you can end it. I've seen the future, Sin, your future -"

There's a loud screeching of metal as Sinestro yanks another pole from a nearby unused piece of machinery. "Then you know," he says, dropping back into a battle ready crouch, "I will be the end of the Guardians and they shall lie dead at my feet." He can picture it already.

"It won't make this feel any better. Trust me." When Hal takes a step forward, earnest, Sinestro warily backs up. "I know you'll regret it if you kill them."

"Why should I care for their lives?" Sinestro scoffs but he's watching Hal intently, noting down every word.

"Not for theirs," Hal explains with endless patience. "For yours. You can be better than them. Show them they were wrong for exiling you. Isn't that the better revenge?"

It's frustratingly apparent to Sinestro as he stands there with his improvised weapon, just how low he has fallen. Seeking advice from this human, considering allowing those who have hurt him to continue existence, it's all pathetic but he's been driven to it and he's not sure why.

"I know it hurts," Hal soothes. "After you did everything, gave everything you could and it still feels like it wasn't enough... It's enough for me."

Sinestro's nostrils flare but the words penetrate him, bury into his heart. It seems he has been too hasty. There is hope for him to continue his work, to save his people, his planet, the universe even, though the Guardians have abandoned him.

It is not surrender but victory Sinestro is pursuing, a true defeat of the Guardians. Their death will serve less purpose than becoming better than they ever will be.

#hal jordan #sinestro #halsinestro #time travel #my fic #ask #green lantern

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

11th August >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saint Clare, Virgin

    on 

Thursday, Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time.

Thursday, Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the feria (Thursday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Ezekiel 12:1-12

You shall bring out your baggage like an exile in the daytime while they are looking on.

The word of the LORD came to me: Son of man, you live in the midst of a rebellious house; they have eyes to see but do not see, and ears to hear but do not hear, for they are a rebellious house. Now, son of man, during the day while they are looking on, prepare your baggage as though for exile, and again while they are looking on, migrate from where you live to another place; perhaps they will see that they are a rebellious house. You shall bring out your baggage like an exile in the daytime while they are looking on; in the evening, again while they are looking on, you shall go out like one of those driven into exile; while they look on, dig a hole in the wall and pass through it; while they look on, shoulder the burden and set out in the darkness; cover your face that you may not see the land, for I have made you a sign for the house of Israel.

   I did as I was told. During the day I brought out my baggage as though it were that of an exile, and at evening I dug a hole through the wall with my hand and, while they looked on, set out in the darkness, shouldering my burden.

   Then, in the morning, the word of the LORD came to me: Son of man, did not the house of Israel, that rebellious house, ask you what you were doing? Tell them: Thus says the Lord GOD: This oracle concerns Jerusalem and the whole house of Israel within it. I am a sign for you: as I have done, so shall it be done to them; as captives they shall go into exile. The prince who is among them shall shoulder his burden and set out in darkness, going through a hole he has dug out in the wall, and covering his face lest he be seen by anyone.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 78:56-57, 58-59, 61-62

R/ Do not forget the works of the Lord!

They tempted and rebelled against God the Most High,    and kept not his decrees. They turned back and were faithless like their fathers;    they recoiled like a treacherous bow.

R/ Do not forget the works of the Lord!

They angered him with their high places    and with their idols roused his jealousy. God heard and was enraged    and utterly rejected Israel.

R/ Do not forget the works of the Lord!

And he surrendered his strength into captivity,    his glory in the hands of the foe. He abandoned his people to the sword    and was enraged against his inheritance.

R/ Do not forget the works of the Lord!

Gospel Acclamation

Psalm 119:135

Alleluia, alleluia. Let your countenance shine upon your servant and teach me your statutes. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Matthew 18:21–19:1

I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times.

Peter approached Jesus and asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times. That is why the Kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who decided to settle accounts with his servants. When he began the accounting, a debtor was brought before him who owed him a huge amount. Since he had no way of paying it back, his master ordered him to be sold, along with his wife, his children, and all his property, in payment of the debt. At that, the servant fell down, did him homage, and said, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in full.’ Moved with compassion the master of that servant let him go and forgave him the loan. When that servant had left, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a much smaller amount. He seized him and started to choke him, demanding, ‘Pay back what you owe.’ Falling to his knees, his fellow servant begged him, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.’ But he refused. Instead, he had the fellow servant put in prison until he paid back the debt. Now when his fellow servants saw what had happened, they were deeply disturbed, and went to their master and reported the whole affair. His master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you your entire debt because you begged me to. Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant, as I had pity on you?’ Then in anger his master handed him over to the torturers until he should pay back the whole debt. So will my heavenly Father do to you, unless each of you forgives his brother from his heart.”

   When Jesus finished these words, he left Galilee and went to the district of Judea across the Jordan.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saint Clare, Virgin

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Philippians 3:8-14

I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling, in Christ Jesus.

Brothers and sisters: I consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having any righteousness of my own based on the law but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God, depending on faith to know him and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by being conformed to his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

   It is not that I have already taken hold of it or have already attained perfect maturity, but I continue my pursuit in hope that I may possess it, since I have indeed been taken possession of by Christ Jesus. Brothers and sisters, I for my part do not consider myself to have taken possession. Just one thing: forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead, I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling, in Christ Jesus.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 16:1b-2a, 5, 7-8, 11

R/ You are my inheritance, O Lord.

Keep me, O God, for in you I take refuge.    I say to the LORD, “My Lord are you.” O LORD, my allotted portion and my cup,    you it is who hold fast my lot.

R/ You are my inheritance, O Lord.

I bless the LORD who counsels me;    even in the night my heart exhorts me. I set the LORD ever before me;    with him at my right hand I shall not be disturbed.

R/ You are my inheritance, O Lord.

You will show me the path to life,    fullness of joys in your presence,    the delights at your right hand forever.

R/ You are my inheritance, O Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

Matthew 5:3

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed are the poor in spirit; the Kingdom of heaven is theirs! Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Matthew 19:27-29

You who have followed me will receive a hundred times more.

Peter said to Jesus, “We have given up everything and followed you. What will there be for us?” Jesus said to them, “Amen, I say to you that you who have followed me, in the new age, when the Son of Man is seated on his throne of glory, will yourselves sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has given up houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands for the sake of my name will receive a hundred times more, and will inherit eternal life.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[your-krazy-uncle-bob]

On False Friends (An Excerpt) by Martin Geddes

by VANDERLEUN (americandigest.org) on AUGUST 16, 2022

A (now former) friend once observed that I am very “values-driven”, 

as if it were a charming defect in a world of realpolitik. What I have learned is that nothing will make me sell out to lies or wickedness, or sacrifice a fellow human for my own selfish interests. I have many faults and failings, and make endless mistakes that are a cause for embarrassment. Just none of that really matters; those are issues of personal morality, and not an ethical failure in dealing with the innocent, notably children.

The refusal to budge is extremely painful in a context where the masses have been brainwashed and hoodwinked into supporting downright evil authority. I have lost sleep many nights churning over the personal betrayals, the stunning self-justified wrongdoing, and the absence of love and care in my direction. Those who have adopted collectivist ideals and communist methods are willing to try to break my will for my apostasy from their depraved mania.

They have tried to force me into subjugation to sustain their own delusions. It saddens me, but I have found that I can live with persistent sadness. I have discovered that I cannot be broken by ostracism, false witness, denouncement, hijacking of my parental role, loss of normal family joys, neglect, or lack of resources. Quite the opposite: the more they try to control me, the more determined I become not to let it happen. The quiet and sensitive person I am in private has located a warrior inside, and unleashed him. Circumstances have forced me to fight, and I have come to rather relish it.

The same former friend taught me in any upheaval to pay attention to what isn’t changing. I tend to avoid writing about my own spiritual beliefs in public, especially as there is little agreement over terminology, and easy misunderstanding. Occam’s Mirror has, however, greatly clarified where I stand. What you worship — i.e. hold in such esteem that you are willing to die for — is your invariant “pole star”. I do not worship temporal institutions, and do not accept them as arbiters of morality or reality. The distress of the last few years has forced me to look inside and grasp my spiritual core, and acknowledge its unchanging relationship to the cosmos.

When I survey those around me, what do I see in the mirror? On the one hand, there are the egotistical ones, whose surface veneer of good manners and civil discourse hides a ruthless dedication to lazy selfishness and cowardly unaccountability. I now understand why pride is the worst of the sins, since it triggers an endless doubling down; the person who was conned cannot admit to it, so they magnify their error until the cost becomes catastrophic. Looking back, I can now see the origins of their own downfall, in a mix of wicked spirit, and early life trauma.

The people who we thought were friends turned out to be merely acquaintances with a shared context and past. They didn’t understand who we really are in terms of our values, and neither did we see them clearly for who they are. The scamdemic in particular has resolved such misconceptions, as you cannot hide whether you are a colluder or resister. Those with whom we share a blood relationship may have notionally been family, but many have belatedly realised there was no true love there, and that duty was one-way.

We are having to build new families of choice, as our families of origin have abandoned our delight in life for an adulation of death. Once someone starts to suffocate and imprison children, indoctrinate them into premature and perverse sexualisation, and inject them with poisons, there is no going back to how we used to relate. Occam’s Mirror has shown the stark divide between those willing to engage in human sacrifice, and those who will resist it with all their might — and make sacrifices to do so.

To discover that your parents or siblings will maim and sterilise their own children for group approval is disturbing, but at least we now know. No matter how difficult things have been, there is no way I would want to go back to the world we had 5, 15, or 25 years ago. I have looked in the mirror, and seen both the beauty and ugliness in far starker terms than ever before. I am no longer confused by claims that prettiness is putrid or vice versa. The transvestigated false idols in the mass media look hollow and pathetic. In contrast, fluffy clouds and fruity bushes have become magical wonders of everyday living.

I have found who my true friends are, and it is those who will not compromise when it comes to harming children.