#eden hora

[taiyonikorosareta]

#hora #velvet eden #schwarz stein

[agronzky]

Continuo cheia de ideias de rps, será que atualizo minha masterlist? Ou será que reservo pra mim pra criar histórias originais? Meu Deus, como é difícil a vida da pessoa criativa q.

#eden talks #juro minha mente não para #as vozes na minha cabeça falando toda hora

[corneille-moisie]

uuuugh i love schwarz stein so much 😩

#it's just about how hora composes and how kaya sings it #its just....... #yes. #its also about how much very electronic sounds can carry such very human and raw emotions #and they manage to make you feel these emotions even when you dont really understand the lyrics #every time you find a translation it only confirms the emotion conveyed #its so good 😭 #its also very gender 🤔 #yeaaah #in a similar way to the likes of velvet eden and blam honey and seileen and what gpkism tried too hard to be very gender 🤔🤔🤔🤔 #and like velvet eden is only close second because of kalm... and hora lmao #once kalm started to make music for kaya it was fucking over 😂😂 #so yeah i fucking love schwarz stein !!! #also yes selia collaborating with kaya on some tracks i know i know !!! #kaya #schwarz stein #vk #vkei #visual kei

[validboenames]

Charity Suffereth Long Ka Wairara Ka Hinga Too Much That Time Cannot Erase

#valid boe names #blood of eden #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #alecto the ninth #first corinthians 13:4 #kia hora te marino #evanescence

[lyricthecat-12]

¿Porqué Dolph Laserhawk, es un gran personaje?

La semana que viene al fin se publicará la novela precuela de Captain Laserhawk “Crushing Love”, en donde se ahondará en el pasado de Dolph y su relación con Alex, y para explicar por qué me emociona tanto quisiera hacer un repaso de todo lo que sabemos y podemos suponer sobre él.

En primera, aclaró que no tomare en cuenta nada de lo dicho en el documental mostrado en el Cap 1, por el simple y llano hecho de haber sido producido por EDEN, quiénes obviamente habrán exagerado o inventado datos para hacer ver a Dolph como un psicópata sombrío y sin sentimientos

Por lo que me basare únicamente en lo mostrado a lo largo de la serie, el libro del arte y los adelantos de la precuela, para corroborar los hechos y algunas suposiciones:

El Pasado de Dolph

Dolph siempre estuvo solo. Desde que era un niño de 4 años fue entrenado y adiestrado única y exclusivamente para ser un soldado implacable y mortífero, en un mundo donde las mentiras, las traiciones y la violencia están a la orden del día.

No es descabellado pensar que durante gran parte de este tiempo Dolph, al igual que Rayman, creyó ciegamente en la idea de que estaba aportando a una causa próspera y benigna. Sin embargo, todo eso cambió tras ser sometido, sin su consentimiento, a una serie de pruebas de cibernética experimental, las cuales en su descripción oficial se nos deja implícito que le incomodan.

Sería tras esto que finalmente vería la verdad tras el gobierno que “lo salvó” y de forma obviamente improvisada, trato de escapar de él, lo que le llevó a vagar por las calles, sin rumbo o tan siquiera saber cosas básicas como el funcionamiento del dinero. No sabemos con exactitud cuánto fue pero por el estado deplorable en el que lo vemos en el flashback del Cap 2, bien pudieron ser varias semanas tratando de sobrevivir a duras penas.

Hasta que se topó con Alex, la primera persona que le mostró algo de amabilidad y preocupación genuina en ese tiempo, o hasta me atrevería a decir, en su vida. De ahí, no sabemos cómo fue que se enamoraron, pero es a partir de aquí donde más podemos ver que esa imagen que EDEN nos vendió,

Es mentira.

Dolph no es ningún psicópata que solo piensa en si mismo y busca hacer arder a EDEN. Todo lo contrario, a lo largo de la serie podemos ver como Dolph en realidad se preocupa genuinamente por otros, se siente culpable cuando no puede ayudar a sus compañeros y como todo lo que busca es aquello que nunca pudo tener: una vida tranquila lejos del dolor, la traición y el odio y junto a quién parece ser, la única persona que llegó a conocerlo y amarlo pese a lo que es.

Dolph y Alex

He visto que muchos interpretan la relación de Dolph con Alex como una obsesión insana, con lo cual yo discrepo y para ello quisiera ahondar brevemente en la siguiente cuestión:

Como bien sabemos el amor es una emoción compleja y la forma en que reaccionamos a ella depende tanto de nuestro ambiente social, la experiencia previa y el que tan acostumbrados estamos las reacción química de nuestro cerebro ante los estímulos que nos genera.

Si eres una persona personal y socialmente estable, con buenas experiencias por detrás o acostumbrada a reacciones emocionales positivas, lo más seguro es que la reacción a la hora de asimilar y manejar el amor, sea amoroso o platónico, sea de forma más equilibrada.

Sin embargo, si ha crecido en un ambiente rígido, frío o directamente hostil, con constante control sobre sus acciones y pensamientos, con experiencias negativas e interacción social nula, ect... No es de sorprender que la reacción pueda ser más extrema e impactante. De aquí pueden salir muchas cosas; desde una obsesión debido a la necesidad interna de mantener y controlar aquello que nos aporta calidez, hasta la negación de sentimientos debido al miedo al dolor o a cómo estos pueden afectar a nuestro ambiente por no saber cómo procesar dichas sensaciones, pero a parte también es común que en estos casos el sujeto desarrolle cierta admiración por la otra persona debido a las emociones distintivas que provoca y a lo que según su perspectiva, esta representa

Ya sea establecido que Alex es el amor de la vida de Dolph pero a parte, en el libro de arte se dice explícitamente que Alex fue diseñado para ser todo lo opuesto, citó:

“Alex Taylor siempre tuvo la intención de ser el forajido más carismático, seductor y extravagante. Un bromista genial, ruidoso y encantador: lo opuesto a Dolph”

Y también se explica como era la dinámica de su relación, de la cuál destacó la siguiente línea:

“Estar con Alex ha desbloqueado sentimientos dentro de Dolph. En cierto sentido, la visión romantizada que Dolph tiene de Alex, es quién Dolph desearía ser”

No es descabellado pensar que Dolph tenga baja autoestima o directamente odio por sí mismo, tras años apoyando a un gobierno hipócrita que no repara en utilizarle a él u otros medios para herir, matar o manipular inocentes, por lo que debe tener algo de peso sobre su conciencia

Y ya pudimos ver a esa versión idealizada que tenía de Alex en el Cap 5, durante la simulación de Dolph se muestra a un Alex carismático, amigable y cariñoso pero además comprensivo y hasta altruista por una instancia.

Es por esto que digo que Alex fue la primera persona que genuinamente amo y fue amada por Dolph, porque más allá de solo quererlo, protegerlo y soñar con pasar el resto de su vida con él, el impacto y devoción por Alex le a llevado desear poder ser como ese hombre amoroso, abierto y comprensivo que creyó conocer, incluso tras traicionarlo.

(También como un dato extra y a parte:

En la secuencia de flashbacks que ocurre tras la revelación de Alex, vemos un recuerdo de ellos en la cama con Dolph acurrucado, casi cubriendo a Alex y en una posición doblada casi fetal

Podría ser solo una muestra de lo cercanos que eran, sin embargo, tras verla varias veces recordé las palabras que escuche de un psicoanalista, también amante de la animación hace años, acerca de las connotaciones de esta posición, asique por curiosidad decidí corroborarlo. Encontré varios datos sin relevancia pero llegados al apartado psicológico, se menciona acerca de que está postura representa Vulnerabilidad y Sensibilidad y que en ocasiones, las personas la adoptan por estar pasando por una situación de mucho estrés o ansiedad

En otros casos, puede representar una personalidad introvertida y retraída, como mecanismo interno de defensa debido al deseo de evadir el dolor emocional, mostrada sobre todo en las primeras interacciones. También se mencionaba que esta gente vive el amor con una mayor intensidad)

La Crisis de Dolph

Es de ahí que su traición tenga tal impacto en él, al punto de no poder evitar pensar en lo sucedido y en el por qué en los días siguientes. Sabiendo cómo fue educado, no es de sorprender que su respuesta inicial sea de ira absoluta y venganza. Pero como ya nos han dejado en claro muchos medios, la venganza es sólo una ilusión, una idea de satisfacción o justicia por el daño que nos han hecho pero que rara vez logra compensarlo o apaciguarlo y que incluso, puede dejarte más vacío y perdido que antes. Que es justo lo que pasa aquí

.

.

.

.

Desde el primer capítulo, se nos ha dicho una y otra vez que Dolph no le tiene miedo a morir, lo que al principio podría solo parecer la típica actitud “badass” de soldado duro e imbatible sin más. Eso transmite, hasta el final de capítulo 3 donde podemos ver explícitamente como trata de suicidarse, por que:

¿Qué le queda a Dolph a este punto?

Toda su vida vivió siguiendo órdenes y siendo tratado y usado como un arma para matar a “enemigos” que no eran suyos, para al final ser convertido en justo eso y sin retorno. Una vez huyó, quedó vagando por las calles sin hogar, contactos, provisiones o tan siquiera una forma real de escapar. Cuando finalmente pareció encontrar un rayo de esperanza, todo resultó ser otra mentira, la persona que más amaba lo utilizó y desecho sin mayor explicación que continuar con la misma lucha sin fin.

Y aunque logra sobrevivir, es nuevamente para ser la herramienta de otro funcionario hambriento de control y poder, y cuando logra culminar con su venganza, resulta que nada ha cambiado. Sigue atrapado en el mismo infierno, rodeado de mentiras y violencia, sólo y sin escapatoria.

Sin embargo, por suerte, no todo está perdido, lo que me lleva directamente a hablar de Bullfrog.

Dolph y Bullfrog

El único otro personaje que demuestra preocupación genuina por Dolph, como se muestra al inicio del Cap 3, y el único otro por el que Dolph muestra aprecio y preocupación, tal y como se ve tanto al final de Cap 5 y el Cap 6.

Por él, no sólo Dolph decide abandonar el falso paraíso en el que se había acomodado escenas atrás y se determina a volver al origen de sus problemas con la vaga esperanza de salvarlo, sino que además cuando finalmente estaba por morir, malherido, en ridícula desventaja y con un troyano deteriorando su cibernética, son sus palabras las que lo motivan a seguir luchando, pero más importante aún, a seguir viviendo.

En conclusión: Todos necesitamos de un Bullfrog en nuestra vida 🥹🐸💚💚⚔️

Pero también me emociona saber que será de Dolph Laserhawk por que su historia pinta no solo ser una trama clásica de volver a confiar en otros, sino también de superación personal, de construirse un futuro y batallar en contra de las injusticias y males de un mundo en ruinas para lograrlo 🦅💛

Y por las connotaciones al final, tengo la expectativa de que su relación con Bullfrog será un punto clave para él, o incluso para el desarrollo de ambos en general.

Es una pena pensar en lo mucho que se limitó el tiempo en pantalla de sus interacciones con Bullfrog o Alex, aunque eso es culpa de Netflix por limitar la cantidad de capítulos para esta 1°temporada. Asique solo queda esperar al 23 de enero para saber más de esta gran historia.

#captain laserhawk #captain laserhawk a blood dragon remix #bullfrog captain laserhawk #dolph laserhawk #alexolph #alex taylor #dolph laserhawk/alex taylor #laserfrog #captain laserhawk bullfrog

[vkeidriptournament]

Visual Kei Drip Tournament: Full Ranking - WARNING: EXTREMELY LONG POST

------------------------------------ ★ finals ★

1. kozi (malice mizer) - 61.9%

2. ryonai (blam honey) - 38.1%

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

★ runner ups ★

3. hide (x japan) - 60.6%

4. kaya (schwarz stein) - 39.4%

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

round 5

5. arisu (missalina rei) - 48.3%

6. shinya (dir en grey) - 42.4%

7. emiru (lareine) - 41%

8. zin-francois angelique (madame edwarda) - 18.5%

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

round 4

9. kazuki (raphael) - 47.6%

10. mana (malice mizer) - 47.1%

11. kami (malice mizer) - 47.5%

12. inoran (luna sea) - 47.5%

13. yu~ki (malice mizer) - 40.2%

14. izam (shazna) - 33.3%

15. kyouka (aliene ma'riage) - 25.6%

16. ken (l'arc en ciel) - 17.3%

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

round 3

17. lucifer luscious violenoue (gille loves, fiction) - 47.5%

18. jyou (exist trace) - 47.5%

19. tara-chan (kilhi ice) - 47.2%

20. hakuei (penicillin) - 46.9%

21. bou (an cafe) - 45.5%

22. toshiya (dir en grey) - 43.2%

23. kamijo (lariene, versailles) - 40.8%

24. kazushi (rouage) - 38.9%

25. hizaki (jupiter, versailles) - 36%

26. ryutaro (plastic tree) - 31.7%

27. kon (la'mule) - 31.4%

28. hyde (l'arc en ciel) - 30.9%

29. ray (aliene ma'riage) - 28.6%

30. sena (jilkua) - 27.6%

31. yoshiki (x japan) - 17.6%

32. kaoru (dir en grey) - 15.9%

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

round 2

33. mikoto (zigzag) - 48.2%

34. kyo (dir en grey) - 47.5%

35. mayu (lareine) - 47.5%

36. issay (der zibet) - 47.3%

37. ken morioka (soft ballet) - 46.7%

38. kiwamu (blood, gpkism) - 46.5%

39. isshi (kagrra) - 44.8%

40. die (dir en grey) - 44.6%

41. boogie (jiluka) - 42.6%

42. atsushi sakurai (buck-tick) - 42.4%

43. jasmine you (versailles) - 42.2%

44. sugizo (luna sea) - 41.7%

45. gackt (malice mizer) - 40.8%

46. ruki (the gazette) - 40.7%

47. wataru (liphlich) - 40.4%

48. kiyoharu (kuroyume) - 38.9%

49. klaha (malice mizer) - 36.8%

50. ayaha (dazzlingbad) - 35.8%

51. daisuke (kagerou) - 34%

52. ryoichi endo (soft ballet) - 33.3%

53. iT (dazzlingbad) - 31.3%

54. kazuma (merry go round) - 30.4%

55. gothique prince ken (gpkism) - 29.8%

56. kyuho (madmans esprit) - 28.9%

57. kei (eliphas levi) - 28.4%

58. hora (schwarz stein) - 27.5%

59. ryuichi (luna sea) - 25%

60. tetsu (malice mizer) - 24.1%

61. hiro (la'cryma christi) - 18.5%

62. yura (psycho le cemu) - 14.3%

63. aisaku (deviloof) - 10.5%

64. reita (the gazette) - 9.6%

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

round 1

65. yukari (baiser) - 49.4%

66. full (guniw tools) - 49.4%

67. j (luna sea) - 47.6%

68. asagi (D) - 47.2%

69. aoi (the gazette) - 45.8%

70. kujou takemasa (kiryu) - 45.8%

71. dynamite tommy (color) - 44.4%

72. sakura (l'arc en ciel) - 44.3%

73. imai hisashi (buck-tick) - 44.2%

74. juka (moi dix mois) - 44.1%

75. miko (exist trace) - 44.1%

76. ai (gulu gulu) - 44%

77. yoshiatsu (dadaroma) - 43.8%

78. yagami toll (buck-tick) - 42.2%

79. yasu (janne da arc, acid black cherry) - 41.9%

80. teru (versailles) - 41.9%

81. uruha (the gazette) - 41.5%

82. hazuki (lynch) - 41.4%

83. chiaki (dezert) - 41.3%

84. juho (madmans esprit) - 40.7%

85. tsuzuku (mejibray) - 39.9%

86. maya (LM.C) - 39.6%

87. mia (mejibray) - 39.6%

88. lime (kizu) - 38.9%

89. aya (psycho le cemu) - 38.6%

90. miyavi (due le quartz) - 38.5%

91. jojo (the gallo) - 38.2%

92. takashi (dadaroma) - 38.1%

93. machi (lareine) - 37.7%

94. hidehiko hoshino (buck-tick) - 36.6%

95. kyonosuke (kizu) - 36.2%

96. taka (la'cryma christi) - 35.9%

97. tetsu (l'arc en ciel) - 35.7%

98. meto (mejibray) - 35.1%

99. t.m. revolution (luis-mary) - 34.4%

100. maria cross - 34.4%

101. kengo (noir fleurir) - 34.3%

102. dada (velvet eden) - 33.9%

103. morrie (dead end) - 33.3%

104. tsutomu ishizuki (fanatic crisis) - 31.9%

105. aki (laputa) - 30.9%

106. koichi (mejibray) - 30.1%

107. heath (x japan) - 29.5%

108. shou kiryuuin (golden bomber) - 29.5%

109. miko (exist trace) - 28.4%

110. yukihiro (l'arc en ciel) - 26.5%

111. mast (aliene ma'riage) - 25.5%

112. tatsuro (mucc) - 23.6%

113. aki (arlequin) - 22.3%

114. gisho (penicillin) - 21.4%

115. yutaka higuchi (buck-tick) - 21.4%

116. kyohei (das:vasser) - 21.1%

117. seek (psycho le cemu) - 21.1%

118. kirito (pierrot) - 18.9%

119. darvish kenji (golden bomber) - 18.8%

120. kisaki (phantasmagoria, mirage, la:sadies) - 18.6%

121. tsune-hito (D) - 16.1%

122. kai (the gazette) - 15.5%

123. mako (deadman) - 14.9%

124. yune (the gazette) - 14.1%

125. shun (deshabillez) - 13.9%

126. tusk (zi-kill) - 12.7%

127. chill (kane to juusei) - 12.3%

128. yohio (disreign) - 11.3%

#going 2 delete the polls later and just leave this up #sayonara you weeaboo shits

[greenorangevioletgrass]

haven: winter [b.w.]

< previous chapter | series masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: college!bruce wayne x OC

summary: On his final year at Yale, Bruce Wayne, aged 21, stumbled into a theater class and fell for the girl who played Hamlet. In his coming of age, Bruce is torn between his past and his present, and whichever path he chose would determine his future.

word count: 12.9k

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, developing relationship, yearning, mutual pining, angst, brief mention of jealousy, Shakespearean feels, allusions of death & suicidal tendencies, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut [oral (m&f), penetrative sex, bruce's first time! yay!, cockwarming, just general horndoggery lol], bruce is an awkward lil bean, an awk lil bean with a big dick apparently 👀

notes: it's back! im not sure if you guys even still remember this, but i'm slowly trying to finish this. big thanks to @awkward-darkness @shipping-not-sailing @cumholland @blue-aconite @spnbarnes for making this all possible! see y'all in spring <3

*follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest works <3 happy reading and please reblog and share if you liked it!*

ACT ONE

Bruce had heard the phrase ‘tech week is hell week’ being thrown around among the cast and crew many days before they officially moved into the theater, and he never got any clear explanation, save for sympathetic pats on the back and ominous ‘you’ll see’s. And after his little tryst with Eden in the dressing room, he found it difficult to imagine something more hellish than having to wait to touch her again until closing night.

Boy, was he sorely mistaken.

Anything that could go wrong did go wrong. A wheel from one of the set pieces broke and it took half an hour to fix it and roll onto the stage to get the lighting set up—and it was only the second scene of the show. An ensemble can’t fit into one of his costumes, zippers getting stuck and snagging the changing time, a prop went misplaced…

The cue-to-cue ran so slovenly despite all the fires to put out, and they were stuck to their own posts; Bruce backstage—just off of the wing, and Eden onstage, shuffling between her heels as she moved from one mark to another. Patient, despite the banality, as they made changes to the blocking and tried to get the lighting right. She absently turned to the side and caught a glance of Bruce in a rare moment of idleness, and winked at him discreetly, sending him smiling back. It gave him enough to hold on until they wrapped up, at 1.28AM that night.

The second and third day was a blur. There was no way of savoring the moment of fixing her corset in the wing, because people were milling around. All they had was a secret, split-second graze of their fingers before she strode into the spotlight.

The stumble-through was just that—stumbling through as they tried to get everything right. There weren’t as many fuckups, and he was starting to get the hang of it. The bouts of high-pressure moments in the quick costume changes, and the longer minutes of nothingness. Keeping an eye out for his own cue to get the next costume ready as he watched from the wings. Observing how everyone tried their utmost not to lose their mind in this tiresome tedium. It kept his mind off of Eden.

Eden, currently lying on her side on the floor, more beautiful than a John Collier painting. Deceivingly feminine in high-waisted pants and white shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The black corset remained a staple around her torso, making Bruce feel some type of way.

Okay. Maybe it didn’t keep his mind off of her entirely.

“Alas, poor Yorick!” She studied the skull in her hand pensively, twirling it and staring right at its hollow eye sockets. And then she laughed wryly, turning to her scene partner, “I knew him, Horatio! He’s a fellow of infinite jest—of most excellent fancy.”

The exhaustion was apparent in her thoughtful musing. For a moment, he thought it was a new discovery in her character. But then he spotted her dozing off on Kola’s—who played Horatio—shoulder during the final debrief, and he was equal parts amused that she was genuinely tired, and amazed that she could still pull it off and make the performance make sense.

So when Eden schlumped out of the theater with just a general wave to the company, Bruce didn’t pay any mind. He wasn’t all that relieved to receive a text from her that said ‘Opening night! You excited?’ right out of his Law Adjudication exam the next day (he sent her the Italian hand emoji and got back a ‘noice’ in return.) He certainly didn’t sign into the theater early, knowing she’d be there.

The pit stop at the local florist, however, had no other excuse.

He came in through the audience’s entrance and there she was, sitting by the aisle that split the seats down the middle. Her smile lit up the dark hall, and he was beckoned in.

“Hey, uh…” he shifted on his heels, gingerly handing his modest gift, “Happy opening night.”

“Oh…” Her mouth went agape upon receiving a single-stem sunflower bouquet, tastefully framed with pretty leaves and baby’s breath. She inhaled the floral scent deeply. “I love sunflowers. Thank you!”

He knew that. Her phone lockscreen is a sunflower field and she had a habit of doodling sunflowers with yellow highlighters on her script, but he’s glad to be right anyway.

She scooted one seat over so he could sit next to her. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t. But it makes sense, now that I think about it.”

“Well, this is my church.” Eden motioned around them. “Before opening night, I like to come in early and sit in the audience and just… take it all in. The quiet, the stillness. It’s like the calm before the storm, you know?”

They stared at the empty stage before them. The set was partially set up, but there wasn’t much else. Just dust dancing under the house lights. And for a moment, they just sat there, arms propped on the seats in front of them like they were in church.

“How are you feeling?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, that’s a loaded question.”

Her palm facing upwards on the backrest, he put his hand over it. Finger lightly tracing the lines that twisted and branched on her skin. Thumb resting over the pulse point on her wrist. Hoping this brought her comfort, because it comforted him to be in the warmth of her closeness. It didn’t feel as new anymore, although it perplexed him all the same; the very act still made his heart race.

She kissed him on the shoulder and propped her chin there. “You know… we might not need to wait til closing night.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying…” her lips ventured closer to his neck, less innocently this time. Grazing his freshly shaven jaw before whispering, “We have time.”

Bruce tried to hide his bounding heart with a rare teasing smile for her. Just for her. “Right here, in your church?” he was met with a cheeky look on her face, and his smile widened. “The sacrilege!”

The kiss went so easy this time. Bruce didn’t give himself time to overthink—he simply cupped her chin and leaned in. Savored the sugary taste on her tongue. The little giggle that bubbled up from within her. The shameless wanting that emanated from her—from him, as his cock stirred under his jeans. God, they wanted each other so badly.

He groaned into her mouth. “How do you do this?” anxiously glancing at the closed door, then at the empty stage, “Anyone could walk in here. It’s giving me—” she cut him off with another searing kiss and it took him everything to finish his sentence, “...anxiety.”

“Maybe you’re just a pussy.” she bit his lower lip playfully. “Or maybe, I like putting on a show.”

Jesus.

Bruce must’ve stopped dead in his tracks, because she pulled away with a shrug. “Or not,” she added. She fixed her bouquet wrapping as she said nonchalantly, “Shame, though. I wouldn’t mind sucking your dick right now.”

“What?” his head whipped towards her faster than he could blink.

“It’s cool. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—”

“But I do.”

This time, she stopped in her tracks, surprised by how quickly he’d answered. “Really?”

He swallowed hard. It was a bad, bad idea. He could make a whole list of reasons why; the sheer exposedness of the space, the lack of professionalism, the trouble they’d get into…

But above all, this impossible girl had just offered to go down on him for the first time, right here right now, so… he nodded.

“Okay. Just sit back and relax.”

There was something about the way she kissed him. So simple, so… soft that his worries melted away for a second. It all felt so distant; in that moment, there were just the two of them. Sitting in the empty theater, two hours before anyone’s supposed to be here.

Alone together.

“Fuck,” she cursed as she released his cock out of his pants. All thick and hard and purplish, gleaming at the head. Pulsing as her fist closed in around his shaft. And as she put her mouth on him…

“Eden.”

He didn’t even know whether he was calling her or this. Not anymore. Not when her tongue was laving on the tip of his cock. Gathering, devouring his arousal. Spreading down his length as she took him by every inch.

Heaven.

Heaven was the warmth of her mouth that enveloped him. The obscene wet sounds she made as her cheeks hollowed out around him. The noises threatening to escape from his kiss-worn lips as she took him in so deep. So good.

“Fuck, Eden…” his hand found the back of her head—not quite pushing her down, not quite pulling her back either. Just carding through her hair, finding some solace because he felt his nerve endings going haywire. He couldn’t think. Oh God. “I’m gonna come…”

His quiet plea echoed through the empty hall in a hush, and he knew he should’ve stopped. He really should have. But he was bursting at the seams, arching into her mouth. Her fist. And he tangled his own fist in her dark waves, breathing hard and heavy to keep himself at bay.

And failing.

Not that it mattered.

She kept him close and snug and safe as he surrendered and came apart down her throat. Sucking and swallowing until there’s nothing left but shivers running down his spine.

“Well?” she straightened up, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth with her thumb and kissing him on the cheek innocently. Fuck, she’s unbelievable. “Still think we should wait until closing night?”

Maybe it was the post-nut clarity. Maybe he was just being dramatic, but he swore he’d never seen her so beautiful. “What are you suggesting?” He smoothed out the messy strands of her hair.

“Well, tonight’s opening night. We’ll drink and dance and celebrate…”

And they did just that. The company popped a few bottles of cheap champagne and drank out of plastic cups, blasting late 90’s hip-hop backstage. They had made it through hell week, through a successful opening night, a well-received performance by the audience.

But Hamlet was three hours long, and Eden was onstage for most of it. And as much as she was in high spirits, her energy was visibly—understandably depleted. And Bruce could see that. It was one of the few things he could empathize with.

“You’re not coming in?” she frowned, when he just hovered by when she walked up the steps to her building.

He shook his head apologetically, shoving his freezing hands deeper into his coat.

“But—”

“You need to rest, Hamlet.”

“I’ll get plenty of rest! It’s barely midnight, it’s—” her argument was cut off with her own yawn, her breath fogging up the cold night air.

He threw her a knowing look.

“Fine,” she relented, hiding her face behind the sunflower bouquet—still smelling it fondly, trodding back to give him a brief hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Walking away, melodramatic as it may have sounded, was the most difficult thing he’d had to do all week. Maybe even more so than the first time, in that dressing room. Bruce had to remind himself that tomorrow is Saturday and Sunday is closing night. And come Sunday, they would pick up where they left off without any interruption, any passersby. But until then…

Until then, he would have to share. With the crew getting her ready and briefing her on technicalities in this two-show day (or as everyone called it, two-doe shay). The downtime she used in between shows to take a power nap. The cast that she hung out and warmed up with. The audience that took selfies and gave her flowers after the show. As an only child, this was a massive learning curve for Bruce, but he was doing alright.

He didn’t mind.

He really didn’t mind when a beautiful blonde girl in knee-high boots came up to Eden with a big bouquet of roses out at the foyer. The stranger seemed well-acquainted judging from the warm, lingering embrace they were in, and it’s fine. It was fine that the blonde’s hand stayed on Eden’s waist as they talked. It was no big deal at all when Eden’s hand landed on her arm when she laughed at something the girl had said. So intimate, so… familiar.

She could do whatever she wanted. If he really minded, he was free to leave.

“Hey Bruce, wait up!” she hollered, catching up with him on his way out with barely a quick kiss goodbye on the girl’s cheek. “You wanna walk home together?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, but held the door for her anyway. “Thought you were… occupied.”

“Who, Gwen? Nah, it’s no big deal. She’ll be fine.” Eden stuffed the bouquet into the canvas bag in her hand, along with the other flowers and cards she received that day.

“Hn.” He didn’t know what else to respond, continuing their night walk in silence. But it seemed that not responding only raised more question, because she eyed him curiously and inquired,

“Are you jealous?”

“No.” and he really wasn’t. Eden was just a generally tactile person—she greeted her friends with hugs, leaned on people’s shoulders like it’s no big deal. Why should this be any different?

“Aw, Brucie!” She cooed, linking her arm around his as if it’d ease his mind—although to be frank… it did. But he also hated the nickname with that tone. “She’s an ex for a reason, you know.”

He knew there was something about her, about the encounter. “So she was your ex.”

“So you were jealous,” she echoed his intonation playfully.

He scowled, not liking how he accidentally revealed his own cards. But she smiled, and he wasn’t sure how he could feel better and worse at the same time.

“Oh, that ship has sailed and sunk a long time ago. We’re better off friends anyway,” she mused. “Don’t worry. I’m still yours tomorrow night.”

His heart skipped, although Bruce tried not to shift out of place. What the fuck does that mean? He knew very well that she was talking about their little closing night plans, but those three words echoed in his mind. Pulling all kinds of abstract meanings that he couldn’t quite put into words. I’m still yours. And only for tomorrow night? He felt his gut twist, whether in worry or anticipation—or both—, he had no idea.

***

ACT TWO

In his college life, Bruce had two types of morning: the one where he had to fight five different alarms of varying intensities to wake up, or where he got up before any of the alarms rang (whether he’d had any sleep beforehand was an entirely different matter).

That Sunday morning, he felt like a schoolboy before a field trip as he counted the minutes until his phone would make a peep—way too many— and decided to work off the jittery buzz in his body on a morning run—away from his residential college courtyard and towards Grove Street Cemetery across the street. Avoiding farmer market crowds and whatever sports game was happening in the gym. Steering clear from Eden’s building in case he bumped into her and risked looking like a stalker. No, thank you.

(He did touch himself in the shower thinking about what they did in the dressing room, in the empty theater. Imagining her in her dress. Unlacing her corset. Touching her everywhere.)

“Bruce!” Eden flagged him in the backstage corridor, her bag slung on her shoulder and coffee tumbler in one hand. “I got something for you.”

They stepped aside to a little nook full of stored props, away from the crew setting up for the matinee like they’re sneaking around with a secret—then again, they sort of were.

“Happy closing night,” she beamed, bringing her other hand out from behind her back. Brandishing a flower bouquet—three stalks of red carnations wrapped in coffee-colored cellophane paper.

“But I… I’m not—”

“Flowers are for anyone working on the show. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He smiled sheepishly, unable to hide the rose blush creeping up his neck and ears. She’s gonna be the death of him. “Thank you.” He plucked the card out from the back of the bouquet. It said ‘Hakuna matata!’ scribbled in her cursive handwriting.

“Get it? ‘Cause Lion King and Hamlet…”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “This is lovely. I mean it… thank you.”

Bruce looked up at her, and it’s truly amazing how she looked as happy as he felt (because let’s face it, knowing his poker-faced tendencies, he probably didn’t look it). But there’s that twinkle in her dark eyes, and the smile that lit up her soft face, and all he wanted to do was to lean in and kiss her.

And he did.

Eden gasped, jaw dropped as she pulled away, looking around to check if anyone had seen them. The ghost of a smile still persisted on the corner of her lips, but now there’s a tinge of color on her cheeks, too. “And, uh…” she cleared her throat, backing away into the hallway— accidentally bumping into Louie from Sound, “Try to have fun. Enjoy the show when you can.”

He took her word for it. Part of him wished he was in the audience, watching everything unfold in full view. But he also liked that he could see the inner workings at the same time. He liked hearing the stage managers’ cues, and the actors gossiping about who was in the audience, who’s falling asleep, who’s very cute and attending without a date. He liked watching the crew take out whole rooms from the stage and put together a new one in a matter of seconds. He liked watching the shift from night to day from the lighting above.

But most of all, he liked watching Eden. She walked past him just as the show started, her hand sliding across the small of his back and he’d squeeze her hand in that brief second. And then she stood there in the wing, watching the opening scene. He couldn’t see her face—just her silhouette. So still, almost statuesque as the ghost of the King, her father, appeared before her peers. And as the ensemble, the music, the wedding festivities rushed in…

She crumpled.

Closed in on herself and he could see the breaths struggling against her ribs—almost like sobs.

And then… she straightened up again, making herself presentable for the social event and walked into the scene.

“How is it that the clouds still hang on you?” King Claudius, her uncle-turned-stepfather, put a friendly arm around her shoulder.

But she tensed at the touch, swiftly squirming away towards a waiter, taking some fake champagne from the tray. “Not so, my lord; I am too much in the sun.” She flashed a saccharine smile, raising her glass.

It was fascinating to see her Hamlet; so regal, so imposing in the presence of others. This was the Hamlet who grew up on etiquette lessons, on stuffy outfits and stuffier social functions and was told to grin and bear it. She carried herself like she belonged there, in her silk dress and diamonds on her neck and wrists. But there was something about the way she listened to people; her mother prattling on and on about ‘all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity’ that just screamed… exhaustion. Seething. Like she was close to breaking her champagne flute and shoving the shard into someone’s neck.

It was kind of hot.

But his most favorite thing? Her version of Hamlet was funny.

And no, it wasn’t just moments of comedic relief deliberately placed after scenes of high tension. Her dry humor was consistent—from her first scene to the last, where she had just witnessed her mother’s death, followed by her uncle and her lover’s brother. Knowing she would be next in just mere minutes.

“I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu,” she blurted out matter-of-factly, laughing in disbelief as she threw a mock-salute. It felt like one of Hamlet’s usual sardonic quips—except it wasn’t.

The audience laughed with her for a bit. But the air of unease was palpable, and for the first time, Eden all but broke the fourth wall, sharing her final moment of vulnerability with the audience as the poison coursed through her veins. “Had I but time…” she mused. She didn’t, as Death was as punctual as it was unexpected. “Oh, I could tell you—” she gushed. It was the first time she didn’t want to die. Just for a split second. Just enough to speak her truth. Enough to make dying actually hurt. “But let it be.”

In a fit of shock and grief and helplessness, Horatio—her best friend and right-hand man— tried to drink the remains of the poison in the cup, but she wrestled it out of his grasp. Knocking it away, and collapsing into his arms afterwards.

“If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart… absent thee from festivities awhile, would you?” she patted his cheek limply, comforting him even though she was the one dying. Softening as he choked out a sob at the sight of her.

Bruce would never consider himself an emotional person, but even his eyes welled up as he watched from the side.

“O, I die, Horatio,” she sighed—not in regret, but in relief. All too glad to surrender to her fate. Her business was done. She had entrusted the future of Denmark in the hands of her very best friend. “The rest…” she rasped out, pushing through her words for the very last time,

“...is silence.”

Horatio’s wailing was gut-wrenching as it echoed through the hall, but Bruce couldn’t help but focus on how peaceful she looked. How breathtaking. How lucky she was for meeting her end so swiftly. And perhaps, on a much lighter note, how amusing it would be if Eden genuinely fell asleep playing dead (she did on last night’s performance.)

He envied her either way, and adored her in every way possible.

The show ended, and the cast took their final curtain call to the raucous standing ovation, amidst the cheering and the applause. But as soon as the curtains came down, Eden all but raced to the wing where Bruce was standing.

And as she came closer, he could see her lips wobbling.

“Hey, are you ok—” his words were cut off with her arms thrown around him, wrapping him into a crushing hug. Her face buried in his chest— and he could feel her tears seeping through his black hoodie.

She lifted her head up, “Sorry about that. This, uh, this happens. Closing nights. Always emotional,” she sputtered around, sniffling a bit. It’s endlessly endearing whenever Eden, ever so eloquent and witty, stumbled on her words because she’s so overcome with emotions.

“That’s okay,” he soothed her with a fond smile, smoothing the hair tumbling down her back as she tucked her face back in his chest.

She was soon tugged away and drawn into a hug after hug by the other cast and crew, but he didn’t mind it. He was happy with the handshakes and high fives and pats on the back and half-hugs (or a full hug from his esteemed department head Laura, who told him, “you’re a solid dude, B.”) His heart already swelled from the fact that in a crowd of openly emotional people, she came to him first.

And when all was said and done, her hand sought solace from the cold in his hand, tucked in his coat pocket, all the way to his dorm.

His dorm. With his worn Gibson J-45 perched on a guitar stand in one corner of the room, the mess of wires and parts and analog cameras on his desk. The small bookcase with books nearly spilling out. The standard-issued twin bed by the window (that he made earlier that morning, thank God.) 

“The room where it happens, huh?” Eden cheekily remarked, glancing around the clutters and the mess that probably told her more about him that he did in the past few months.

“Would you like a…” Bruce gingerly asked, though the words faltered on him as she closed the distance between them with a single step.

She didn’t lean in, didn’t pull him in—save for the hands slipping under his coat and around his waist. There was no more sneaking around. No more stealing time. It’s finally just the two of them.

Alone together.

“You never told me you played guitar.” The fabric of his clothes comforted her hands, but she still chased the warmth underneath. Despite the sudden touch of bare skin, it felt… nice.

“Never came up.” He paused, and then winced, “You’re not gonna ask me to play, are you?”

“Well, not now…” she rolled her eyes playfully, “I think I have something more important in mind.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like this.” she tugged the lapels of his coat to bring him down to her face, making him smile into her kiss.

He never, ever smiled like this. Like some regular person with an uneventful personal history and a normal life. He almost felt like he shouldn’t. But within the confines of these four walls, in the arms of this impossible girl who dragged him around from the woods to the stage (and whom he so happily followed to the ends of the earth)... he allowed himself to.

They’ve stolen kisses countless times, but they’d never kissed like this before. So free, so unfettered, so… devoid of a single care as they unhurriedly shed each layer of their clothing. Scarf. Coat. Sweater. They both secretly wondered if they should make haste —they were so desperate to feel each other up all week— but at that moment, they didn’t mind taking it slow.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

He didn’t outwardly ask, but he was thankful that she took the lead. Backing him up until his legs find the bed frame. Sitting him down and straddling his lap. Tugging her dress over her head as she kissed him so fiercely, so that he could focus on her. Committing every inch of her to memory with his touch. Her lips, her thighs, the curves of her waist, the…

“Is that a—” his hand finished the rest of his question, tracing the hair-thin lines on her skin. Pinkish, purplish orchids blooming from her ribcage, with leaves sprouting and buds blooming on the underside of her breast. “You never told me you had a tattoo.”

“Never came up.” she shrugged, echoing his words. “Do you like it?”

He kissed her there, from the petals to the florets. Tracing the lines with his tongue this time, up the soft swell of her flesh. Sucking her pebbled nipple. Feeling her gasp deep in her core.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she simpered blissfully, one hand buried in his mess of dark hair. Not quite grabbing, not quite pulling, just… playing with it, twirling it around her fingers. Urging him to keep going, keep taking, more more more, because she had so much more to give, if the dripping mess in her panties were any indication.

“Bruce…” she hummed, “Where’s your condom?”

“In the— in the, uh, drawer,” he struggled against the haze in his mind. Motioning at the nightstand next to bed, but refusing to unlatch his mouth from her tits, his hands from her supple thighs, until she had to pry him off of her.

And even then, she had to make up for it in a blinding, heartstopping kiss, before she pushed herself off of him.

If he were smart —and Bruce had always prided himself on his intelligence— he would use this time to undress. But he watched her hips sway, her ass jutted out as she bent over in his full view… and he was hypnotized. The foil packet rustled in her hand, and the radiator creaked in the background, but nothing could tear his attention away from the way Eden shimmied out of her panties. Even if the world was ending outside the window.

He seized her in a flurry of kisses and groping hands, and even as he clumsily kicked off his shoes and got the fuck out of his pants. And as they stumbled back into bed, her hair tumbled down her shoulder just right, and her profile illuminated by the moon.

She looked absolutely beautiful.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she breathed out.

His heart stopped, wondering if he’d accidentally said it out loud. But then, all thoughts went out the door as her hand stroked his hard cock (as if it weren’t already aching for her), lewdly studying the pinkish purplish head as she circled it with her thumb. It took him everything to tear her hand away to make way for the condom along his length; he had to remind himself that he’d be inside her soon.

She ran him up and down her slit, spreading her wetness all over him, lining him up just right. Her opening hovered over his fat, blunt tip, and she could feel herself seizing up as she sank down on him—or at least, tried to.

“Fuck, you’re big,” Eden muttered brokenly, taking deep breaths as she prepared to try again.

There was no hiding his deep blush now. “Thank you…? I, uh, really wouldn’t know.”

She frowned, somewhat incredulous. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t—? You mean nobody’s ever told you…”

“Well, I’ve never been with…” he trailed off, desperately hoping she’d get his point without having to say it. It’d save some of his dignity, at least.

But her face lit up, her jaw dropped, and she all but cried out, “No way. Bruce! Am I popping your cherry right now?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that,” he grumbled, which only made her giggle.

“Okay, fine. Deflowering.”

“Oh my God, this is my worst nightmare…” His forehead fell onto the crook of her neck, and he hid his beet-red face there in embarrassment.

But she lifted her chin so tenderly, stroking his improbable jawline. Dammit, she’s gonna be the death of him. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

How could he? Eden was naked in his bed, perched on his lap, taking his cock inside her. This was his whole dream. “Not really, no,” he lamely admitted. 

“Good. Cause I want all of you inside me.” She smirked, kissing him, although she fell out of it as she tried to sink down on him again. Struggling with the sheer size of him. Still too fucking big. “Fuck…”

“I thought I was the one getting deflowered.”

She shot him a sharp glare.

He kissed her back passionately, rubbing slow circles on her clit to ease her up. Trying to focus solely on her—the way her fingernails dug into his back, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip.

Her pussy taking in the head of his cock in a tight clench.

As their moans united in the silence of this humble room, so did their bodies. It was overwhelming. His mind felt hazy, yet at the same time, never been clearer, and he hoped, dear God, he would remember every inch of her. By feeling, by sight, by touch.

By the breathtaking whine that escaped her lips with every inch she took him deeper. Drawing out again.

Painfully slow, but maybe just as well, because any faster and Bruce might just combust from the sheer pleasure of it all. And as tempting as it was to surrender, he really, really wanted to make this good for her, too.

She withdrew nearly all the way off of him and then plunged herself all the way to the base, eliciting a restrained cry from both of them. He smoothed his callused hand up and down her thighs, leaving hot wet kisses on her bare neck.

“You okay?” he whispered, holding her close to him, around him.

“Mm-hm,” she replied, her voice tight. “Are you?”

He nodded. “Just… stay here for a while.”

“Okay.”

It was strange how… innocent they both sounded, despite the obscene nature of their activity. Bruce had resigned his fate (in the biblical sense) in her hands a long time ago, but what he didn’t realize was that, stripped down to her most vulnerable form, she laid her own fate in his hands, too.

And for a while, time stopped and there’s just the dull, throbbing ache between his legs, comforted and aggravated at the same time by the snug, silky pulsing of her walls around him. And it almost didn’t matter, because Eden kissed and held him like she never wanted anything else. And neither did he.

Almost.

Somewhere between desperate hands and even more desperate mouths, Bruce’s hips started grinding against hers, shallowly thrusting at first, setting the delicious ache inside her alight. It was nothing like he’d ever felt—nothing his hand or even a panic-bought fleshlight could compare. And the more she responded to his motions —the roll of her hips, the moon crescents she left on his skin, the quiet little moans she made.

He bucked up into her particularly deep, pushing out a sound that sounded more pained than pleased, and he stilled immediately. “Sorrysorrysorrybaby,” he murmured, breathless, cupping her face in both hands. “Did that hurt?”

“No, I’m—” Eden chuckled lazily, “I’m good.” She kissed him once on the lips. “Feels good.” and another on his jaw. “I promise.” her mouth veered down to his pulse point and she bit him lightly.

His head lulled back with a groan, she’s gonna be the death of him, as he picked up where he left off. He was so drunk on her, and yet… he wanted more. Devouring everything he could get his mouth on; her mouth, her neck, her tits. Kneading her ass like he wanted to claim it.

Like she hadn’t already claimed him with every thrust she met halfway.

She took his hand, kissing his wrist and palm and letting his thumb drag along her lower lip. Trailing the outline of her soft, kiss-worn flesh, before he tentatively, ever so lightly, inched it inside.

And when she closed in on her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked his finger…

“Eden…” her name came out in a rumble from deep within his chest, and he had to close his eyes. But that didn’t work, because the image was seared into his mind and it melded with the fantasy of having his cock in her mouth again.

Bruce eased his thumb out of her mouth and onto her clit, rubbing it firmly —and secretly thanking God she seemed to like it. His hips started to falter, and with Eden controlling the pace now, he was close.

Dangerously close.

And apparently, so was she.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chanted, shamelessly bouncing on his cock. Unbothered to hold back her noises anymore as she powered through the stretch of his girth.

And as her voice went higher, so did the pleasure coursing through her veins until it coiled deep in her core. Gripping around him like a vice, throbbing, squeezing, and oh God, he wanted to give her that forever, but he couldn’t, he was selfish and he wanted to punish himself for chasing her orgasm with his own, but—

“Oh, fuck!” he lurched forward as he came inside her. Heartbeat rang in his ears, his whole body set ablaze in waves of unadulterated pleasure. Holding her waist in place, riding out his high with one, two, thee thrusts until he rested limply on her chest.

And she rested her chin on top of his head. Holding him flush against her. Alone together.

For the first time in his many restless years, Bruce’s mind was…quiet. There were just breaths slowing to a calm, hands settling on the small of her back. Her fingertips caressing the nape of his neck. He always imagined his peace of mind in solitary, but in that pocket of time of space, he couldn’t imagine anyone else by his side.

Anyone but her.

***

ACT THREE

Bruce saw a lot of Eden that week.

It was the final week of the semester. There were exams to take and essay deadlines to catch, and he spent most of his time hunched over his laptop. Sometimes in the library, sometimes at the Beanjamin, though most of the time he stayed in his dorm. All warm and lively and cozy now, with his new… guest gracing it with her presence on a near daily basis. Hogging his bed, wearing his Nirvana t-shirt she grabbed from his drawer, reading his weathered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

As soon as his Victimology paper was marked ‘successfully submitted’, Bruce shut the laptop and swiveled in his desk chair, stretching his arms and neck with a groan. He turned towards his bed—or rather the girl occupying it.

Legs swinging in the air as she laid on her stomach, shirt riding up to reveal the lace of her panties like a dirty fucking dream.

“You done?” she asked absently without looking up from the book.

He flopped half on top of her, smushing his face onto her back, reveling in the smell of her shampoo, her scent on his shirt. “Yeah. Are you?”

Eden hummed, stroking his hair a little. Her attention was still glued to the page.

Bruce peeked over her shoulder. He was going to let her enjoy it —it was his favorite part— but his hand was too tempted to explore the curve of her hips, her thigh, her ass, squeezing the soft swell of flesh playfully. He’d never been a physical person, but he was starting to get the hang of it… and he liked it.

“You’re distracting me,” she whined, light-and-half-hearted at the same time, if the little trail of giggles were anything to go by.

He smiled, brushing her hair to the side. “Am I really?” He murmured, nuzzling her cheek. 

His finger traced between her nether lips over the fabric, and she groaned. A low, playful sound that had become an expression of fondness. And out of fondness, he smacked her ass.

“Bruce!” she gasped, turning on her back. The thick book in her hand fell back against her clothed chest and made a muted thud. She turned to meet his gaze, her eyes wide, surprised and pleasantly scandalized. Maybe a little turned on?

“What?” he looked at her, feigning innocence. And she knew he was pretending, based on the sheer fact that he’s working her panties down her hips. 

She stared at him, searching, and then…

“Nothing.” She picked up the book again. And then, as she opened her page again, she kicked the scrap of panties off of her legs. Spreading her thighs. “Carry on.”

There was a command in her every gesture. A directive. He loved it.

Bruce was, by no means, good at eating pussy. How could he be good at something he’d just started doing? But what he lacked in skill, he made up in enthusiasm. How could he not like how wet she was for him, how she arched up into his touch? People spent their lifetime chasing the very thing that would quench their thirst, but his oasis came to him and was all too happy to show him how to enjoy her.

And God, he enjoyed every bit of her.

“Fuck…” she bit back, her grip tight on the book as his teeth grazed the soft flesh on her inner thigh. There was an affectionate little blue mark just next to it, and he remembered how she moaned and grabbed his hair when he did it two nights ago—and maybe she liked it as much as he did.

His tongue dipped between the cleft of her cunt. There was no time to tease her; he needed to taste her now. Needed to lap up her juices, her clit, and feel her pelvis gyrating into him, one leg hiked up on his back. A sign that he was doing it right.

She sighed, seemingly pleased with the motion he’d settled into—because he was certainly more than happy to be licking her cunt up and down, all sloppy and greedy and good.

“Bruce, baby…” Eden put the book aside, fingers carding through his messy hair. There’s that nickname again. He couldn’t remember when they started using it, but they only ever used it in the most vulnerable and desperate moments. And in that moment, all signs pointed to Eden wanting more.

He slipped a finger inside her, wetting it and curling it against her inner walls. Patient and observant as he looked for that spot that made her melt. It never ceased to amaze him how Eden, ever so bold, could ever be so putty in his presence. In his hand.

“More please, stretch me out for your cock,” she moaned quietly.

His eyes closed shut. “Jesus Christ, Eden…”

“Mm.” She leaned into the vibration of his voice, the low growl she never thought she’d coax out of quiet and elusive Bruce. Relishing in the second finger he added, his mouth not letting up from her swollen clit. 

She was fully, shamelessly fucking his face now, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It should make him feel powerful. And while a surge of pride ran through him as he found his bearings in her pleasure, he knew she also had the upper hand.

Even when she came apart on his mouth, his fingers, tugging at his hair desperately. When he eased up and crawled up her body, swallowing her little whimpers and gasps into his kisses. Even when he pushed his cock inside her, fucking her slow until agony had the best of him, and he came in the warmth of her throbbing cunt as he plunged into her so deep.

She had him wrapped around her little finger, and he was more than happy to be there.

“Hey, you wanna take a nap?” He softly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, noticing her eyes growing heavy as they laid there in post-coital bliss.

She looked at him, and then out the window, and back at him. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“Fuck. I have a class in an hour,” she groaned. “But hey, we got the Hamlet party tonight. The Dolphin Den, 8 PM. Don’t forget.” And with a quick kiss on his lips, she rolled out of bed.

He watched her get dressed, unhurried but haphazard anyway, not bothered to return his t-shirt, and his heart swelled at that. God, he was so gone for her. “Would you, um, like to go together?” His heart suddenly started racing for no reason. Why was he nervous about asking her this?

“I’ve already promised to help them set up. But I’ll see you there?”

“Right. Okay.”

“And don’t even think about skipping.”

She must’ve noticed the slightest deflation in his tone, the way he tensed up at her ‘threat,’ because she sat back down on the edge of the bed as she put her shoes on.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I do hope to see you there.” She kissed his shoulder and his nose and his lips one last time, and then she was off.

Shit. 

***

The Dolphin Den was a common room in the basement floor of the Grace Hopper Hall, where Eden lived, the last door on the left from the west staircase—a fact Bruce had looked up in the three torturous hours he had between his final class of the semester and the production-slash-Christmas party he was apparently invited to. Going back and forth between going and not going, even as he got dressed, put on his jacket, and stepped out into the cold. Taking the scenic route on purpose.

(He very nearly turned back. Stopped right in front of the building, wondering if he was underdressed or overdressed in his hoodie, if fifteen minutes was acceptably late or it’s still considered very early for this kind of event, and… he just kept walking.

He walked and walked for a block, and another, and stopped in front of a liquor store. And as the neon sign flickered over the storefront, a lightbulb lit up over his head.)

So, when Bruce walked back to the Eden’s residential building—now a good twenty five minutes after the start time— he felt considerably less nervous. Still nervous enough, though, to count every stair step as he made his way down to the basement, carefully reading every room sign even though he had the layout memorized. Pondering whether he should knock or just walk right in. 

Bassline thumped faintly through the corridor, and he took it as a sign to go for the latter. Half of the production team was there already, occupying the couches and corners of the wood-paneled room. Table tops covered in red solo cups and beer cans. Indistinct conversations going over and under the music, a dance pop song. Some of the people nodded at Bruce as he made his way inside. It was… strange to be on familiar terms with this many people.

But not unwelcome.

Still, he was relieved to see that familiar face waving at him from the drinks table. Her pale yellow skirt flared around her waist like a burst of sunshine, although her long legs reminded him of all the nights he had them wrapped around his waist. He weaved through the crowd, bumping and murmuring passing apologies unlike those dramatic slow-motion scenes, all the way across the room as she excused herself from Kola and Angela, too.

He was probably a few steps away from her, before he panicked. How should he address her? Sure, they were very… intimate in private, but what were they in public? Were they friends, were they together? Oh God, they never talked about it—

“Hey, you made it!” She hugged him and briefly kissed him on the cheek. Okay, standard Eden protocols, at least. Dark eyes flickering down to make sure she didn’t leave a lipstick mark on his skin.

(No matter. She left plenty more lasting marks in more discreet places.)

Her lingering hand on his arm left way too soon, but he supposed it was for the best as her two friends joined them, still engrossed in conversation.

“So I told him, back the fuck off, let me do my double pirouette in peace and— ‘sup, Bruce?” Kola nodded up at him, offering a high-five which he didn’t take.

Not out of ill will or anything, just because he’d already raised the paper bag he was holding in his hand.

Bruce made an apologetic smile that looked more like a wince. “Hey, I got, uh—for the, um…” he gingerly handed him his last-minute… offering.

Kola accepted one and gasped when he took the bottle out of its paper bag. “Vodka!” he cried out like a kid at Christmas, offering yet another high-five that Bruce reciprocated this time. And as he brandished another bottle from the bag, he proceeded to announce to the whole room, “Yo! Bruce got us more vodka!”

He was met with overlaps of whoops, cheers, and Bruce’s name and in various levels of inebriation and excitement. It’s impossible for Bruce to fight the heat creeping up his face now.

“It’s no big deal.” he shrugged a little.

“Dude…” Angela beamed, her hand on her chest like she was about to shed happy tears, “I thought you hated us.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Why?”

“I dunno. We just assumed…” Kola shrugged, trailing off, making a face, hands flailing around in the air.

It was understandable, he supposed. He never hung out with anyone except for Eden (for obvious reasons) and the costume department (also for obvious, albeit entirely more professional, reasons.) Come to think of it, he didn’t think he ever exchanged a single word with these two that wasn’t about the production.

But they were warm and welcoming nonetheless, and it put him more at ease.

“Nah, you guys are alright,” Bruce eventually said casually, matter-of-factly.

Angela and Kola immediately exchanged looks. A moment of silence, before they full-on freaked out, clutching onto each other for dear life.

“Oh my God, you like us!” Kola squealed, while Angela fanned her face with her hand. Despite the dramatic reactions, they seemed… genuinely touched?

“Well…” Bruce went to interject. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He had yet to decide whether ‘like’ was an overstatement. But he didn’t dislike them, that’s for sure.

“Guys, stop it. You’ll scare him,” Eden lightly chided her friends. Then, stepping up to lead him away, forever his knight in a stolen Nirvana t-shirt, “You want something to drink?”

“He totally likes us, dude.” The duo gushed to themselves as Bruce and Eden moved away a little, not bothered by his lack of decorum, apparently.

“Are they drunk already?”

“Nah, this is how they normally are when they’re hanging out.”

“Really? Even Angela?” As stage manager, she was efficient. Level-headed. A bit on the stricter side. Bruce didn’t expect her to be so… goofy in real life.

“Mm-hm. So, we got…” Eden rolled up her sleeves, “Rum and Coke, vodka and Coke, whiskey and Coke, and… tequila and Coke?” she raised a cheeky eyebrow. “Marc’s still picking up the rest of the mixers. Oh, and we got club soda and cranberry juice and… beers of many varieties, good sir.”

She was more animated than usual, and it’s very cute. Like she was amped up from the drinks and the room itself. And perhaps, a small part of him wondered if his presence had anything to do with it.

“What are you having?” Bruce propped himself up with both hands on the table.

“Vodka. We’ll save the tequila for later.”

His heart jumped to his throat. He’d never been much for drinking and partying, but he liked the idea of letting loose with her. So he squared up. “Sounds good.”

“Coming right up!” She flipped a new cup and began preparing his drink. Lightly briefing him on what a cast party was, the things he’d missed in the first 25 minutes of the party, and the potential rowdiness of it all as the night went on. “Trust me, the bonfire had jackshit on this.”

Bruce received the drink she handed and took a sip tentatively, and blink as the sharpness hit his senses. “Wow. That’s… wow.”

“I think I should’ve prefaced this by saying I’m not the best at mixing drinks.” She winced apologetically. “The ratio might be a little bit off.”

“A little?” He side-eyed her, but raised his cup slightly to toast her. “Thank you for the drink.”

“Thank you for coming.” She met his cup halfway.

He wanted to kiss her senseless—and from the way she hovered, shifting on his heels and stared at his lips, he’d guessed she wanted to do that, too. But the room around them still felt too… mild, too sober, and he couldn’t handle the prying eyes. Not when he’d grown so used to being alone with her. So he joined her and her friends, listening to their plans for next semester.

Well.

Until Eden got whisked away, leaving the three of them in favor of song and dance as they played a Motown musical number over the sound system. The conversation halted for a moment as they watched and nodded along to the familiar tune.

(Familiar for them, of course, not for Bruce. He was just happy to watch her sing along and reenact a dance routine with two guys who were definitely not the Dreamgirls.)

“So Bruce, how’s life outside the theater’s treating you?” Angela piped up, snapping him out of his reverie. 

“Well,  it’s finals week, so… busy. But you know, quieter.”

She nodded knowingly.

“Yeah, we were, like, belting fucking Sondheim at, like, 9 in the morning.” Kola huffed. “It was rough.”

“Ugh.” Angela rolled her eyes and turned to Bruce. “Actors, am I right?”

Bruce stammered. The only thing he could relate with that was the time he woke up to Eden making those funny humming, trilling noises in the bathroom for warm-up. Was it too early to disclose that they were having sleepovers?

“Bitches, besties!” Laura suddenly joined them, popping up between Angela and Kola, a bit tipsy. Guess who’s dressing A Doll’s House at the Rep next month! So I guess I’ll be seeing you, Madame Stage Manager.”

The two girls squealed and hugged, and Bruce suddenly remembered what Eden said to him on the first day of tech: it was never just about a show. It could be a gig, a collaboration, another project to keep them in this neverending rat race a little longer. 

“That’s awesome! I auditioned for that.” Kola stared down his drink pensively. “They said ‘Hard pass.’”

“Aww, you don’t even like period shit.” Angela wrapped her arm around her friend in comfort.

“I liked our Hamlet,” he said lamely.

“Yeah, but this one isn’t like ‘period’ period, you know? Like, it’s not… stuffy. I mean, not to suck our own dick or anything, but…” Angela trailed off, eyes scanning over them for validation.

And Laura was right there for her. “Nah, we nailed it with this one. I couldn’t fucking stand Hamlet before this, but our version? All the female rage? Fuck yeah.”

“I just feel like we should accept the fact that Shakespeare, in its true form, is boring now. Nobody wants to watch people in big frocks, speaking in big words for like 4 hours. And it’s fine! We don’t have to like that shit anymore. We like badass corsets and queer relationships and dick jokes and sassy comebacks. And that doesn’t cheapen Shakespeare; that keeps him relevant, and frankly, that’s what we should be focusing on, instead of sucking the dick of some dude who’s been dead 400 years.”

The three of them stared wide-eyed at Kola, watching him take a casual swig of his drink after his unexpected hot take, all 5’7 of athletic muscles and nerd rage.

“Holy shit, you’re right.” Bruce blurted out.

“Thank you!” Kola lifted his red cup, knocking it softly with Bruce’s—and he found himself drinking to that, too.

Angela was still quiet, though. Thoughtful. “Yeah, but it’s hardly fair to say all historically-accurate adaptations are shit, right? Like, some people just happen to like period pieces, you know?”

“Fuck off with your contrarian shit, Ang! Bruce—back me up here.”

“Uh…” Bruce paused, scrambling for a response. “I think neither is mutually exclusive?”

“Well, that’s a lukewarm take if I’ve ever heard one,” Laura remarked. “Come on, man. Humor us.”

“Honestly? I… like those period pieces, too. I really do. This reimagined version we did was new to me and it’s… pretty eye-opening.”

It felt like a fever dream. Bruce never would have thought he would be engrossed in a conversation about Shakespeare adaptation at some theater cast party, which led to more drinks, which led to tequila shots with this merry band of misfits… and actually enjoying it.

Eden occasionally joined them for a chat and a drink—he suspected it’s mostly to check on him and make sure he’s not feeling ignored. And while it was sweet of her, he also enjoyed watching her do her thing. Sometimes singing along to whatever song they were playing, sometimes simply vibing and cheering on whoever was taking the lead. Sometimes just…

Standing on the coffee table now with Marc, arm-in-arm, raising their drinks, leading the crowd to the big Latin number. And straight out of a movie, people were spontaneously singing and harmonizing to the ensemble lines in Spanish. These theater kids never ceased to amaze Bruce.

And as the beat dropped, they hopped off the table and danced. Despite the close proximity—all the spins and the turns— Bruce didn’t feel a pang of jealousy like he did with her ex-girlfriend. On the contrary, he was simply enthralled. She was truly at home in her body. In the heat, the beat, the people all around her.

And why wouldn’t she be? She was surrounded by people who had made a home out of this little corner of life, too.

“So, what are you up to next semester, Bruce?” Laura asked him.

“I don’t know, just… trying to graduate in time, I guess.” He shrugged. It sounded a lot less exciting than what they had lined up, and he didn’t realize he was a bit… miffed as he said it out loud?

“You can always join us again. The Costume Department’s always open. Or maybe you wanna try something else?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” Bruce smiled sheepishly. “I appreciate it, though.”

“I’m serious. Hamlet was a trial by fire, and you handled it really well for your first time.”

“Whose first time?” Eden showed up, resting her chin on Bruce’s shoulder, and he nearly passed out from sheer shock and panic that she might have slipped on by talking about his first time. But she wrapped her arm around his middle, and the group was considerably more interested in this new public display of affection.

“Ooh, what is this?” Kola motioned between them. “Bruce, did she finally Shake your Speare?”

“Yeah, did you finally go Ham on her Let?” Angela added.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmured into his drink, completely horrified.

His survival instinct should’ve kicked in moments ago and told him to run for his life, but somehow, even as the group made puns out of their expense, turning him beet red, Bruce didn’t feel like running away. Despite everything, they’re laughing with him, not at him. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but he wondered if, perhaps, there was room in these people’s home —Eden’s home— for him, too.

***

ACT FOUR

Gotham City, Bruce’s true home, was quiet. Cold. All too vast in the dining room where he and Alfred had their Christmas dinner, and the halls they wandered through in their own time—dark and desolate in its Gothic nature. But all too cramped and chaotic as he weaved through the streets and back alleys in his beat-up Honda CB, the city too grotesque, too… somber.

Bruce’s phone buzzed in his pocket, twice, just as he worked on the Corvette in the spacious garage basement of the Wayne Tower. He rolled out from under the car, wiping the oil grease off of his hand before he opened the text.

‘Say hello to my new friend!’ Eden’s message said, with a selfie to go with it. She sported a toothy grin, wavy hair blowing in the wind, pointing at a green crab in the sand by the shoreline. A true embodiment of a ray of summer sun on a gloomy winter day.

“Since when d’you text?” Alfred commented.

“Dunno,” Bruce hummed absentmindedly, typing a reply. ‘Ugh, extroverts. Can’t relate.’

She texted back immediately, ‘You’re just jealous you’re not A) at the beach and B) hanging out with me right now,’ with another selfie — this time laying on a beach towel, throwing a peace sign as if her yellow bikini didn’t draw his eyes right into her cleavage and her curves weren’t angled in the exact way he fucked her before he drove her to the airport two weeks ago.

And the worst part of it all? She was right on all counts.

Bruce bit back a smile, forcing himself to look away from the screen because he would definitely pitch a tent if he looked a little too long. It was just his luck that he happened to meet Alfred’s gaze peering from behind the hood, secretly (but also, not so secretly) elated by this new development.

“So I take it you made a friend, huh?”

“Hn.”

“What’s she like?”

“She? That’s presumptuous,” Bruce grumbled, tucking his phone back into his pocket. But Alfred raised his eyebrows at him as if saying he wasn’t born yesterday, and he found himself rolling back and forth in his spot on the wheeled slider. And then… “But she’s alright.”

The older man kept his voice even and his gleeful grin at bay, for which Bruce was somewhat grateful. “And where is she now?”

“Back home in Hawaii.”

“Huh. I hear Hawaii is great this time of year.”

Bruce tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Hawaii’s great any time of the year. That’s why they have a rainbow on their license plate.”

Alfred actually snorted this time —he never recalled this proper British gentleman ever responding to his remark in such a… juvenile way. “And what does Gotham have?”

“I don’t know, rain and—” he motioned around the garage, “Home, I guess.”

“Yeah, what else is new,” Alfred dryly noted. Then, leaning back against the bumper of the car,. “Hawaii, on the other hand… You’ve never been, have you?”

Bruce side-eyed him, an all-too-familiar, non-verbal look that meant, where are you going with this?

“I’m just saying,” Alfred started, “Enjoy the sun, drive a car with a rainbow license plate on it.” He returned the side-eye right back at the younger man. “Hang out with your friend.”

Bruce was ready to brush it off. It was simply something he didn’t use to do —but then again, neither was texting. And as much as he wanted to make another counterargument, his phone buzzed again in his pocket. Alfred returned his attention to the engine in front of him, as if he’d made his point, and it somehow felt worse than being looked straight in the eye.

“It wouldn’t kill you to enjoy yourself every once in a while, you know.”

***

Bruce had a very particular way of texting, which Eden found endearing. He retained that placid —at times seemingly aloof— tone, but his dry humor shined through over a higher word count than his usual spoken conversations and came up at the most random times.

One message came in just as she dried herself off after an early morning surf.

‘Alfred just went on vacation and he doesn’t trust me enough to NOT set the house on fire, so… wanna hang out?’

Eden frowned at the screen. The lack of emoji didn’t usually bother her, but this time, she wasn’t sure if he was fucking with her or not. ‘Wtf are you talking abt?’ she replied.

Her phone dinged twice —first with an incoming picture of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back porch of a house, pristine blue water gleaming in the background; and then a location pin, merely 15 minutes away from her house. No caption, no context whatsoever. And yet, Eden understood it just enough —she always did with Bruce. 

‘NO WAY!!!’ she texted back immediately, and then added, ‘Send me a selfie so I know you’re not an axe murderer trying to lure me into your trap.’

The three-dotted bubble hovered in their chat window for a few seconds, and then disappeared. Popped up, and then it was gone again. Eden couldn’t help but picture him trying to protest, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed as he typed up and deleted his response. She was certain she was gonna get a sardonic Bruce-esque quip in the reply, but instead, she received something better.

Another picture of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach. But this time, Bruce was there, squinting in the sun, lips pulled up —is that a smile he was attempting?—, his sweater hoodie pulled up to the top of his head. God, he was adorable.

‘Don’t fucking go anywhere.’ Eden’s thumbs were frantic against her phone screen and she stuffed all of her belongings into her bag and hauled her surfboard onto her car.

She loved the unhurried pace of her home island. Time moved slower on Maui and so did she. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning and the cars cruised along the road like they had nowhere to be… and Eden would have enjoyed it on any other day. Any other day, God, but this. When this peculiar, funny, handsome boy happened to show up just minutes away from her house, nearly 5,000 miles from where he lived.

She held back from honking the horn on every car in her way along the main road. Instead, she kept her mind occupied with some questions. Yes, she did wish he was here since she arrived, but did she think he was actually gonna do it? And now that he did, what then? Should she bring him home to her parents? That sounds so serious, she cringed at the idea. Oh God, what does this make us?!

“Your destination is on the right,” the navigation AI on her phone startled her. Eden nearly jumped out of her seat and missed the driveway, tucked between palm trees and shrubberies.

A black Porsche Cayman was already parked outside the villa. The white exterior was simple —modest, almost, but the tall glass windows and the sheer size of the building gave away its true luxury. Eden had to remind herself to slow down, give herself time to collect her own thoughts. But as she climbed up the steps to the entrance, Bruce emerged from the front door, wearing the same gray hoodie he took the selfie in, just with a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose bridge this time. He sheepishly waved at her.

Her heart grew three sizes at the sight of him, and yet the first thing that flew out of her mouth was, “You fucking bitch!”

His hand, still held up, was now alert. “Look, I can explain.”

She stopped, just a few steps away from him. “Explain, then.”

“I know it’s…” he took off his sunglasses. “It’s a lot. And… I hope you don’t find it creepy—”

“When did you fly out here?”

“12 hours ago.”

“When did you decide to fly out here?”

He paused. “Remember when you were texting me about the green crab?”

Eden did the math. There’s only a couple of hours gap between his decision and his departure.  “Right, I forgot you were stinkin’ rich.”

“Are you mad?”

He sounded so quiet, so timid, and it had only just dawned on her how new this was for him, too. How nerve-wracking. “Of course I’m not mad,” she immediately brushed it off, closing the distance so she could hold him in her arms again —oh, how good it was to have him in her arms again. “You’re just… gah!”

There was disbelief in her tone, maybe frustration, but it wasn’t the slightest bit venomous. Instead, she pulled him into a kiss. Fervent, as the weight of separation in the last two weeks had been lifted off of her shoulders. Amorous, as the weight of her… feelings set in. The fondness. The longing. The yearning of everything she remembered —his kiss, his touch, his presence— and everything she couldn’t have possibly memorized no matter how much she wanted to. 

The softest scent that lingered on his clothes and his person. The pattern he drew on the small of her back. The ever so surprising strength of him as he hoisted her legs around his waist and carried her into the house.

He set her down on the oversized couch, kneeling between her legs. A silhouette of sharp nose and sharper jawline backlit against the late-morning sun streaming in from the French doors behind him. She wanted to admire him so bad, to get the offending sweater and the pants out of the way. To immerse herself in his lean frames, the taut lines of his collarbones, his torso, the grooves on his hips. Instead, he just… stilled.

“What.”

“I like this.” His finger traced the front of Eden’s rashguard, ghosting at her teasing neckline. Hovering over the zipper tentatively as if asking for permission.

She tutted impatiently, pulling it down to reveal the electric blue bikini top underneath. Peeling the outer layer off and shimmying out of her pants. And throughout all of this, Bruce still stood by, shamelessly ogling her. She playfully kicked him in the back of his thigh. “Take your clothes off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He tugged the sweater off over his head and leaned in to kiss her again, like he was still craving more of her (she couldn’t blame him, she also hadn’t had enough. She’s not sure she ever would.)

The straps behind her neck and in the middle of her back came undone with one pull, and Bruce was all over her newly-exposed tits. Reacquaint himself with her ribcage tattoo as if he didn’t commit every line, every stroke of color to memory. Fluttering as he knocked the wind out of her with every line, every stroke of his fingers on her slick cunt.

After spending most of their last couple of weeks at school together, Eden thought they’d get it out of their system. The novelty of it all. But the sun never shined on Bruce’s pale skin like this. It never streamed in from their dorm room windows quite so warmly in the New Haven winter. They’ve never had this much room to themselves, not having to worry about noises and next door neighbors.

It was just the two of them, naked and hidden away at the same time in this tiny pocket of a cove.

She’d never been shy about anything ever, but somehow the heat got to her cheeks when she heard her own obscene moan reverberate through the entire first floor, over the sharp slapping of skin as Bruce pounded into her through her orgasm. Arching into him to take all of him deep inside, two weeks of pent-up release and all.

“Okay?” he tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear.

His breathing was heavy, too, but his hand on her back was soothing. He kissed her shoulder and neck, barely —mostly just nuzzling his whole face against her like the gentlest creature she’d ever known. And he truly was a gentle thing. She loved that about him.

And for the first time, she entertained the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she loved him, too.

“I…” she started. “I’m glad you’re here.”

It wasn’t what she was gearing up for, but it would have to do.

For now.

***

ACT FIVE

I’m glad you’re here.

Those four words kept playing on loop in Eden’s head as they made out half-asleep on the couch. Standing under the rain shower in the main bathroom (Well, he was standing; she was on her knees, gagging on his cock.) Giggling in the kitchen as they attempted —and failed— to recreate the Beanjamin’s famous grilled cheese for breakfast. Dipping their toes in the sand, leisurely wading into the shallow waters behind the villa.

She meant every word, sure, but that wasn’t all she meant to say. It’s one word less, but weighs more than what she could imagine. But she couldn’t say it. Not now. Not when things were so nice and quiet and good.

“You know you don’t have to spend all your time with me here, right?”

Eden threw him a funny look, hiding the sudden spike of worry inside. “It’s been, like, half a day. Are you kicking me out already?”

“No! God, no. I know that —I mean, you must’ve made plans, right? With your friends and your family while you’re home. I’m just saying…” he took a deep breath, trying to gather his words —and in doing so, gathered her in his arms, too. “You should still do that. I’ll be fine.”

She hummed, not disagreeing. “And what are you gonna do while I’m away?”

“I don’t know, see the sights? Hike? Snorkel?” Bruce looked out at the horizon, where the sea met the sky, and the trees fringing on the side. 

“Snorkel? I didn’t even know you could swim.” Eden grinned at the thought of Bruce swimming with little fish. They found a whole throng of turtles just off of his back deck and he nearly lost his mind over excitement —as much excitement as his range of expressions allowed, anyway.

He made a face, incredulous and just a little offended. “Of course I can swim.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get you a floatie if you want. I think I saw a flamingo one back at the house.”

“Fuck you…” he giggled —a sound so bright and warm that she couldn’t resist being infected by it, even as he attacked her with tickles on her side.

“No, fuck you, Brucie.” She struggled to keep his hands off, even weaving in some pokes on his waist as well, getting into a play-wrestle until they tumbled into the water. Eden came out on top, laughing victoriously as Bruce’s eyes squeezed shut as a wave crashed into his head from behind. “You sure you don’t want the floatie?”

He splashed her right in the face.

Eden had never seen such color in Bruce, such life, and she hoped it would stick around. Happiness looked good on him.

***

Bruce would never admit this to Alfred or Eden, but coming to Hawaii was a huge gamble. He couldn’t remember the last time he went on vacation out of his own volition. He did remember the last time he went to the beach; 14 years ago with his parents. He couldn’t remember if it was this place or somewhere in Southeast Asia, and he regretted that the memory was lost on him.

Part of him was terrified setting foot in the sand would set off an ugly chain of reaction. He was worried that he would be overcome with loss —everything he’d buried in the back of his mind. But he liked the warmth, he liked having the turtles in his backyard —even though one of them bit him in the ankle on the second day and seemed to develop a personal vendetta against him. And Eden was right there to ease him into it.

At this point, he’s pretty sure she could talk him into anything. She successfully talked him into drinking coconut straight out of its shell (which was awesome), surfing (which was awful and he came out bruised and sunburned), and a beach rave on New Year’s Eve (which was… not as bad as he expected.)

“I could get used to this,” Bruce piped up, unsure if he meant the sun and the beach… or playing house with Eden, eating pancakes for dinner on the daybed as the sun set before them.

“Mm, I think you’re having the Last Day syndrome.”

“What’s that?”

“Your vacation’s about to end and you kinda wish you could stay just a little longer —or even like, move here— but trust me, you don’t.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because it’s an escape. The moment you give it more time than it actually has, it stops being a vacation and it just becomes… your life. And you might grow to resent it.”

They were quiet again. And once again, Bruce was not sure if she was talking about Hawaii or him.

“Then again, maybe a vacation is just what you needed. Remind you of what’s important,” she lightly said through a mouthful of pancakes.

She turned to him then, and her gaze nearly made his heart burst. The light hit her face just right, all tanned and golden. The saltwater made waves in her hair, and a cheeky smirk tickled the corner of her lips. In that moment, he knew what was important. And as she opened her mouth, so did he.

“Like wearing enough sunscreen —what?”

“I love you.”

Bruce froze. The smile on Eden’s mouth fell. And he thought it was over. This blissful honeymoon period, the whole fucking situationship between them… done. And it’s up to him to salvage whatever’s left of it. 

If he could still salvage it.

“I’m sorry. Fuck. Forget I ever said anything —”

“No, wait. Hold up.” She sat right up, and Bruce had never been more terrified in his life. “Do you mean that?”

“I don’t know.” That was completely untrue, he does know if he means it. “Yes!” He went way too big, and she could totally hear the overcompensation in his tone. “I think so.”

“You think so?” her eyebrows shot up.

Great, now he sounded like a dick. “Wait, that’s not what I meant. I… Look. I’ve never —”

“Been with anyone, I know. You were a blushing virgin when we met,: she huffed playfully.

He groaned. “Can we not?”

“And this has nothing to do with dating experience whatsoever. I just… I just wanna know if this is the Last Day syndrome talking, or if this is… it.” 

Bruce had no idea how to answer that. He wanted it to be true, but he had no way of knowing which one was wishful thinking and which one was plain old fact. And Eden had no way of knowing how desperately he wanted it to be it.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he eventually said. A relent. Acceptance.

Defeat.

“I know I don’t.” She took a heavy breath, looking out at the horizon. It’s mostly dark now. “I want to, though.”

“Really?”

Eden nodded tentatively. “I just need to figure out if this is it. I hope you understand that.”

“Right. Of course.” And with that, Bruce nodded back, straightening up, giving her some space —well, as much space as they could allow in this daybed. It’s funny how massive it felt before the elephant in the room got between them.

But Eden closed the distance again, planting a kiss on his lips —nothing but warmth between them— and said, “But I really hope it is.”

And God, they really hoped it was enough.

#bruce wayne #battinson #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x oc #bruce x eden #haven fic #ava writes #WE BACK BABYYYYYY

[fanyyy444]

💗💗💗

#barbie #barbie movies #barbie movie #barbie fairytopia #barbie and the three musketeers #barbie and the twelve dancing princesses #barbie mariposa #barbie mariposa and her butterfly fairy friends #barbie mariposa and the fairy princess #barbie and the magic of pegasus #barbie a fairy secret #barbie in a christmas carol #barbie and her sisters in a pony tale #barbie in the pink shoes #barbie a perfect christmas #barbie princess charm school #it girl #it girl energy #cartoon #cartoons #childhood movies #childhood cartoons #childhood #aesthetic #feminine energy #hyper feminine #pink pilates princess #femme fatale #girlblogging #girl blogger

[federicodelacruz]

On JP Rizal

Being the national hero of the Republic of the Philippines, JOSE RIZAL is known by almost all Filipinos. His name and image is widely spread thru street names all over the archipelago, coins, statues, cement brand, millennial shirts and I even live in the province named in his honor.

Popularity wise, he would have been an instant celebrity with millions of followers on social media. But on a sadder note, with the rising illiteracy of our country only a handful of people truly read Rizal's writings apart from his two novels which is a required reading in high school. Rizal who constantly reads and writes in his lifetime is a national hero of a nation that has forgotten to read but has become the most engaged people on the internet.

This is his last poem before he was executed by the Spanish government that once ruled the country...

Mi Ultimo Adiós

Adios, Patria adorada, region del sol querida, Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido Eden! A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida, Y fuera más brillante más fresca, más florida, Tambien por tí la diera, la diera por tu bien.

En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar; El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel ó lirio, Cadalso ó campo abierto, combate ó cruel martirio, Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.

Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora Y al fin anuncia el día trás lóbrego capuz; Si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora, Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.

Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente, Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor, Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente, Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor.

Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo, Salud te grita el alma que pronto va á partir! Salud! ah que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo, Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo, Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.

Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un dia Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor, Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía, Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.

Deja á la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave; Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz, Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave, Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave Deja que el ave entone su cantico de paz.

Deja que el sol ardiendo las lluvias evapore Y al cielo tornen puras con mi clamor en pos, Deja que un sér amigo mi fin temprano llore Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mi alguien ore Ora tambien, Oh Patria, por mi descanso á Dios!

Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura, Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual, Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura; Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura Y ora por tí que veas tu redencion final.

Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí, No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio Tal vez acordes oigas de citara ó salterio, Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto á ti.

Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar, Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada, Y mis cenizas antes que vuelvan á la nada, El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan á formar.

Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido, Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré, Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oido, Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fé.

Mi Patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores, Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adios. Ahi te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores. Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores, Donde la fé no mata, donde el que reyna es Dios.

Adios, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía, Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar, Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día; Adios, dulce extrangera, mi amiga, mi alegria, Adios, queridos séres morir es descansar.

#jose rizal #philippines #social media

[sonecc]

Quem: @edenlemagic Onde: Sala do clube de artes

Era fácil perceber que Asher possu��a certo nervosismo em seu ser, já havia falado com os amigos que pediria Eden para sair consigo no final do ano passado quando eles pontuaram que ela gostava dele, contudo ele tinha ainda certo receio de ser rejeitado. Não que ele já tivesse sido rejeitado antes, mas também tinha certa noção pelo que ouvia de suas amizades que a maioria das pessoas da academia não gostava de pessoas como ele. Por isso, ele bateu levemente na porta da sala do clube de artes e entrou na sala, apenas alertando de sua presença para que não a assustasse. Sorriu assim que avistou a filha de Morgana, um sorriso brilhante e gentil. ❝Eden, eu espero não estar lhe atrapalhando... Bem, eu vim aqui por que... Bom, sei que não é a melhor hora, mas...❞ Acabou parecendo meio torto e errado em suas palavras, talvez por nervosismo ou puramente por perceber que realmente não era o momento ideal, mas quando seria? Por isso tirou de trás de si o buquê de lírios rosas e ofertou a ela. ❝Você aceita ir em um encontro comigo?❞

#inters #Eden Le Fay

[lilaharper]

Parece que DELILAH ANNE HARPER foi confundida com SEOLA enquanto passeava pelas ruas de Eden essa manhã. Com apenas VINTE E DOIS anos, ganhou fama pela cidade não apenas por ser uma PROFESSORA DE MÚSICA, mas por se mostrar SIMPÁTICA & ORGULHOSA. De qualquer forma, espero que mantenha esse pescocinho lindo intacto!

INTRO ♡ CONNECTIONS ♡ TASK ♡ PLAYLIST

♡ Nome completo: Delilah Anne Harper ♡ Apelidos: Lila (por todo mundo) e Casablanca Lily (por seu pai) ♡ Idade: Vinte e três anos ♡ Data de nascimento: 20/02/1999 ♡ Local de Nascimento: Londres, Inglaterra ♡ Espécie: Humana ♡ Signo: Peixes ♡ Orientação sexual: Bissexual ♡ Alinhamento moral: Lawful Good ♡ Família:

Tobias Harper (pai)

Shirley Harper (mãe)

Ara Harper (madrasta)

Melinda 'Mindy' Harper (meia-irmã)

Amanda 'Mandy' Harper (meia-irmã)

♡ Ocupação: Professora de música e escritora ♡ Interesse: Livros, música (principalmente clássica), tocar piano, aprender novas coisas, ensinar novas coisas, datilografia, cartas datilografadas, cadernos de anotação, resolver mistérios, espelhos de mão, sua casa de bonecas, seu colar com crucifixo, medicina, maçãs, gatos, cerveja, café e flores; ♡ Desinteresses: Roupas extravagantes, vaidade, funerais, arrogância, ironicamente chá e falta de empatia;

♡ Inspirações: Branca de Neve, Wilhelmina ‘Mina’ Murray (Drácula), Elena Gilbert (Diários de um Vampiro), Bella Swan (Crepúsculo), Sookie Stackhouse (True Blood), Allison Argent (Teen Wolf), Rory Gilmore e Paris Geller (Gilmore Girls), Alex Dunphy (Modern Family), Tessa Gray (As Peças Infernais), Lucie Herondale (As Últimas Horas), Jo March (Mulherzinhas), Elizabeth Bennet (Orgulho e Preconceito), Meredith Sulez (Livros Diários do Vampiro), Hermione Granger (Harry Potter) e Violet Baudelaire (Desventuras em Série);

História:

Delilah Harper, mais conhecida como Lila, nasceu em Londres, filha de um casal rico e criada em uma casa invejada por todos. Entretanto, mesmo com uma casa incrível, seu intelecto avançado para sua idade lhe fez passar a maior parte da sua infância em uma escola privada para garotas e ainda conseguiu passar em uma idade recorde. Ninguém nunca havia conseguido entrar aos seis anos de idade, mas Lila simplesmente era um prodígio. Mesmo assim, ficando tanto tempo longe, ainda havia sido criada com muito amor, seus pais claramente eram apaixonados um pelo outro e o seu lar era a casa dos sonhos de muita gente. Incluindo os sonhos dela própria, pois tinha noção do quão sortuda era. 

O problema era que nada tão bom e perfeito duraria para sempre, certo? Logo a mãe de Lila ficou doente, com seus sintomas sendo esquisitos e sem sentido para todos os médicos que iam se consultar e não demorou muito para que ela viesse a falecer. Obviamente que isso destruiu o mundo de Lila, porque como iria conseguir seguir sem sua mãe? Mesmo que fosse tão nova, não tinha como imaginar o resto da sua vida daquela maneira. Felizmente seu pai estava ali, e foi somente graças a ele que conseguiu se segurar. Os dois ficaram ainda mais próximos depois dessa triste tragédia, com o homem retirando a sua filha da escola por um ano para poder focar neles dois e para que ele pudesse lidar com o luto. Só que, do dia para a noite, tudo mudou novamente. 

Lila perdeu seu pai. Não como havia perdido sua mãe, ele ainda estava vivo, mas uma bela noite o homem chegou falando que havia prometido algo para seu melhor amigo que havia falecido há poucos meses (com os mesmos sintomas que a mãe de Lila). Havia prometido cuidar da sua viúva quando ele partisse, e aparentemente o “cuidar” significava casar. Mesmo tão próximos, Lila nunca perdoou seu pai por isso. Por trair a memória da sua mãe daquela maneira. E então, para piorar, tiveram que se mudar para a cidade natal da mulher (Eden) e o homem se afastou, se tornando distante e viciado no trabalho, deixando a garota sozinha com sua nova madrasta, que por algum motivo achava que era algum tipo de rainha. 

Ela passou a ser maltratada pela mais velha, mas não deixava que nada realmente a abalasse. Era forte, e durante as duas gravidez que a mulher teve, ela sumia por nove meses para voltar com o bebê já nascido, o que era muito estranho, mas Lila não fazia questão alguma de investigar porque era nesse meio tempo que seu pai voltava ao normal. Era quase como se ele estivesse sob efeito de algum feitiço, porque com a madrasta longe, ele voltava a ser seu pai e parecia que haviam voltado para Londres. 

Só que a sorte sempre estava contra a garota e os padrões que sua vida estavam ali para lhe assombrar ano após ano, então não teve outra: seu pai também adoeceu. O homem estava apresentando os mesmos sintomas que sua mãe e seu padrinho (o melhor amigo de seu pai), por isso Lila nem teve esperanças de uma melhora. Ela já sabia para onde aquilo iria levar. Depois do falecimento do seu pai, a garota perdeu tudo que tinha. De maneira figurativa e literal. Sua madrasta, por ter duas filhas do homem, ficou com a maior parte da herança e praticamente roubou o pouco que Lila havia conseguido como “aluguel”. 

Para resumir a história, Lila continuou vivendo com a mulher por um tempo e tendo que pagar para isso, até que uma noite teve um pesadelo horrível de um homem com olhos negros, pele pálida como de morto e presas afiadas lhe atacando, praticamente tentando arrancar seu coração com os dentes. Esse pesadelo despertou um medo em Lila que nunca havia sentido em toda sua vida. Ela foi protegida pelo colar de crucifixo que havia ganhado de sua mãe no sonho, o que lhe fez imaginar que poderia ser uma mensagem da mulher vinda do além, o que para ela se provou correto quando chegou em casa e percebeu que sua madrasta parecia ter a considerado como um caso fechado. Estava planejando se livrar dela. E foi isso que motivou a garota a se mudar, indo morar com sua melhor amiga e a família dela (além de outros seis amigos). 

Ela eventualmente começou a trabalhar como professora de música e agora mora sozinha em um apartamento bem pequeno, mas tem uma vida calma e normal. A única coisa esquisita que acontece agora são marcas esquisitas (e fortes) em seu corpo que aparecem depois de uma ótima noite de sono, além do fato de ter pensado por um ano inteiro que havia perdido sua melhor amiga, mas na realidade era parece estar muito bem? Ok, talvez as coisas nunca tenham ficado normais. Parece que era impossível ter normal na vida de Lila. E talvez agora ela estivesse determinada a descobrir o porquê disso. 

@nesfantpontos

#♡ ~ blooming. #nespontos #fixed

[xxivlixx]

Não posso dizer exatamente como tudo começou, mas posso garantir que o desejo surgiu desde o primeiro dia que o vi.

Era fevereiro de 2019, início das aulas na universidade, e eu sempre fui tímido, tinha poucos amigos, ficava quieto no meu canto e evitava contato direto com as pessoas, o que era bem ruim para o curso que havia escolhido.

Precisava ser comunicativo, carismático e, acima de tudo, sociável. No entanto, em todo meu histórico de vida acadêmica, tive a sorte de conhecer pessoas na mesma frequência que a minha, o que facilitava muito meu desenvolvimento social. Foi nesse percurso que conheci o que se tornaria meu maior companheiro, amigo e dono dos meus desejos mais perversos, vamos chamá-lo de Gabe.

Ele era um pouco mais alto que eu, devia ter 1,80m, tinha longos cabelos escuros, pele clara, lábios levemente carnudos e avermelhados, e os olhos reluziam como lindas pedras âmbar. Foi paixão à primeira vista, mas tive que me manter no controle. Conversamos, compartilhamos nossas histórias e nos tornamos grandes companheiros em todos os trabalhos e atividades extracurriculares. Todos os minutos ao seu lado faziam meu coração tremer e minhas mãos suarem numa tensão incrivelmente inexplicável, era como se aquele garoto desalinhasse completamente os meus chakras.

No auge do terceiro semestre da faculdade, sentimos que era hora de celebrar nossas conquistas, amizades e todo o esforço dedicado aos estudos. A ideia de dar uma festa começou a ganhar forma assim que nos aproximávamos do meio do curso. O planejamento da festa se tornou uma tarefa empolgante, à medida que reuníamos nossos recursos criativos para criar um evento memorável. Alugamos um espaço de laser com vários quartos, piscina, churrasqueira e uma pequena cozinha, a ideia era passar o fim de semana com boa música e bebida à vontade.

Um de nossos colegas de turma se ofereceu para criar alguns drinks especiais, o que adicionou um toque de sofisticação à festa. Ele montou um pequeno bar improvisado perto da piscina e começou a misturar coquetéis deliciosos para todos nós. Tínhamos opções de margaritas, mojitos, e até mesmo alguns drinks personalizados que ele inventou na hora. Foi uma verdadeira experiência de mixologia, e todos adoraram experimentar as diferentes bebidas.

Passamos a tarde e à noite aproveitando a piscina, relaxando nas espreguiçadeiras e socializando ao redor da churrasqueira. A música estava tocando alto, e a atmosfera estava cheia de alegria e animação. À medida que a noite avançava, o clima festivo se intensificou, e a festa continuou até a madrugada. Já eram quase três da manhã quando a maioria das pessoas estava completamente embriagada e cansada, então decidimos nos ajeitar e dividir os quartos. Eu, Gabe e o amigo barman decidimos então dividir um dos quartos, o único que restava após a confusão na hora da escolha. Era um pequeno espaço com uma cama de solteiro e uma de casal. Eden, o amigo tequileiro, ficou com a cama de solteiro. Gabe e eu decidimos dividir a de casal. Estávamos exaustos, mas só de imaginar dormir ao lado daquele garoto, algo despertava dentro de mim.

Estava frio e eu não conseguia pegar no sono, me levantei e fui até a cozinha buscar um copo com água. De volta para cama percebo que Gabe estava com um short bem curto, ele tinha pernas grossas, com poucos pelos, estava deitado de barriga para cima e pude ver que seu pau estava duro, bem-marcado naquela roupa justa. Me deitei suando frio quando senti ele se virar e encostar aquela vara latejando em mim. Eu estava meio bêbado e me aproveitando disso cheguei mais perto fazendo com que minha bunda ficasse bem colada naquela rola. Ele me deu uma encoxada firme, seu pau trincado de duro me deixou louco.

Eden já estava apagado a minha preocupação era fazer o mínimo de ruido que pudesse acordá-lo. Gabe parecia estar dormindo quando de repente me surpreendeu colocando o braço por cima do meu peito, senti ele se mexendo e dessa vez dei uma empinada quando pressionou com mais força seu pau sobre mim, peguei sua mão que estava sobre meu peito e fui levando-a até a minha bunda, ele então deu um apertão tão forte que quase não consegui segurar um gemido alto.

Percebi que ele acordou, mas continuou imóvel. Meu coração disparou, mas minha cabeça girava e o tesão estava a mil, foi então que ele abaixou meu short e colocou seu pau bem no meio da minha bunda, ficou roçando, fazendo um leve movimento de vai e vem. Continuou o movimento pincelando meu cuzinho, deixando-o todo molhado com aquela baba gostosa. Começou a brincar colocando e tirando aquele cabeção bem devagar, ouvindo aquele som molhado, me deixou mais excitado ainda. Percebi que seu pau baba demais e minha bunda logo estava toda lambuzada.

Ele colocou a mão na minha cintura, segurou firme e forçou a cabeça para dentro bem devagar. Fez isso sem pressa. Conforme ele entrava lentamente em mim, sentia cada centímetro enquanto apertava minha cintura e deslizava a mão sobre minha bunda e a apertava. Meteu bem gostoso, bem devagar, de ladinho com seu corpo colado nas minhas costas, ele me abraçou firme e senti meter mais fundo, mas sempre devagar. Não tenho muita noção do tempo, mas deve ter sido uns 40 minutos, eu queria que não acabasse mais. Quando ele sentia que ia gozar, parava de meter e ficava sentindo o calor do meu buraquinho.

Foi então que me veio outra surpresa, ele abaixou a parte da frente da minha cueca e segurou minha rola que também estava dura igual pedra. Ela pulsava e estava babando também, ele começou a bater uma para mim na intensidade que ia enfiando aquele pau maravilhoso no meu rabo, quase não aguentei de tanto tesão, ouvia ele gemendo baixinho e suspirando no meu ouvido quando ele parou e depositou todo leite quente dentro do meu cu, aguardou alguns minutos com o pau enterrado enquanto continuava a socar uma bronha para mim, cada vez que ele puxava querendo retirar o pau do meu cuzinho, contraia e o mordia com força, até que saiu o cabeção e senti escorrer um pouco de leite junto.

Ele então me virou e faz algo que eu nunca imaginei que fosse acontecer, pegou meu pau e mamou com vontade, deslizava a língua por toda extremidade da minha rola e ia até minhas bolas enchendo a boca e as chupando como se fosse querer engoli-las de uma vez só. Não deu nem dois me minutos e gozei na sua garganta, ele engoliu sem dizer uma palavra, nos limpamos, virei para um lado e ele para o outro. Dormimos e no dia seguinte ninguém tocou no assunto. Nem naquele dia, nem nunca mais falamos sobre aquela noite, até o inicio do ano seguinte, onde tivemos que fazer um trabalho em grupo.

Passaram-se alguns meses desde a festa, e tanto eu quanto Gabe nunca tocamos no assunto daquela noite, até que...

Meio do ano outra vez, quase chegando ao final, os trabalhos e provas se intensificaram, um atrás do outro, e já estávamos quase enlouquecendo. Minha matéria preferida sempre foi rádio e televisão, apesar de ser extremamente tímido para lidar com as câmeras. Um dos nossos trabalhos era fazer uma reportagem sobre um evento que estava acontecendo na cidade, então mais dois colegas se juntaram a nós para gravarmos durante uma tarde inteira.

Gabe morava em uma cidade cerca de 60 km da minha, e naquele dia ele havia decidido vir de carro para ajudar a transportar os equipamentos. Planejamos nos encontrar com Pedro e Marcelo (vamos chama-los assim) cerca de uma hora mais tarde. Desde o começo do ano, construímos uma amizade muito sincera. Conversávamos quase todos os dias sobre diversos assuntos, mas nunca abordamos o tema do sexo, como quantas meninas ele já se envolveu ou quantos rapazes eu já tive experiências, o que era curioso considerando que ele sempre se autodeclarava hetero.

Sempre fui o tipo de pessoa que se preocupa muito com os amigos, e essa preocupação aumentava ainda mais quando esses amigos despertavam sentimentos românticos, o que aconteceu com ele e criou em minha mente uma espécie de relação quase como um casamento fictício. Eu conhecia todos os gostos dele, e por isso preparei um lanche com as suas comidas favoritas para comermos antes de irmos ao encontro dos outros meninos.

O sol estava insuportavelmente quente, e ainda eram apenas onze horas da manhã quando Gabe chegou em um carro prata. Entrei no veículo e percebi que ele estava usando o mesmo short da noite da festa.

"Coma, comprei todos os doces e frutas que você gosta!", ofereci."Não precisava, logo é hora do almoço", ele respondeu."Eu sei que você está com fome, então coma e fica quieto", insisti. Deu um sorriso e apertou minha bochecha. (Nem preciso dizer que o modo perfect illusion entrou em ação, mas fiquei na minha como sempre). Então, ligou o ar-condicionado enquanto tirava a camisa, levemente suado, e disse: "Se importa?""De jeito nenhum, vestindo-a quando chegarmos, pode até tirar o short se quiser." (Maldita liberdade entre amigos).

Gabe sorriu e começou a dirigir, enquanto comia todos os doces de uma vez só. Queria dizer que estava tranquilo vendo aquele garoto sem camisa derrubando geleia de abacaxi no peito enquanto mordia e suspirava de satisfação, como se estivesse comendo o último doce da face da terra.

Eu não conseguia parar de olhar aquela rola naquele short agarrado que marcava todo aquele volume, aquilo parecia um ímã que atraía meus olhos de uma maneira incontrolável. Foi quando ele percebeu que meu olhar não parava de escanear aquele corpo perfeito, pegou a minha mão e a colocou por cima do pau. Naquele momento, eu fiquei em choque, porém, mais do que ninguém, estava sedento por mais um dia inesquecível.

Comecei acariciando levemente, passando a mão com a ponta dos dedos em movimentos suaves e subindo bem devagar. Seus olhos brilhavam e a sua boca, vermelha cheia de açúcar me deixava no mais puro ecstasy, ele encostou o carro e disse que precisava de algo para limpar todo o doce e num impulso o beijei. Um beijo calmo, molhado, doce e delicado, enquanto minhas mãos passavam pelo seu peito, desciam sobre sua barriga, subia e segurava em sua nuca. Que sensação maravilhosa, o sonho que eu não queria que acabara nunca (Pronto, está limpo).

Senti uma liberdade que não sentira antes, ele me deixava tocar em todas as partes e o gosto daquele beijo me deixava cada vez mais louco. Sentindo aquela língua percorrer sobre meus lábios, enchi minhas mãos com aquele pau duro, puxei seu short para baixo e fui descendo, beijando o queixo, pescoço, peito, descendo com a língua pelo umbigo até chegar em baixo. Aquela rola dura, branquinha, com as veias saltando e aquela cabeça rosada babada me deixou ainda mais com água na boca, passei a língua de baixo para cima e chupei, chupei com gosto, deixava que ela entrasse no fundo da minha garganta, engolia cada gotinha daquele néctar delicioso.

Metia goela abaixo aquela vara macia enquanto ele se contorcia de tesão, suspirava e gemia alto. Foi então que ele pegou pela gola da minha camisa, me deu outro beijo e pediu para que eu fosse para o banco de trás, continuamos a nos beijar e a trocar carícias, se na primeira eu já estava apaixonado, agora tinha ferrado tudo. Era a primeira vez que me envolvia com um homem tão lindo, gostoso, do jeito que eu sempre desejava, ele era tudo o que eu sonhava, o beijo doce, macio e molhado me deixava cada vez mais excitado e louco, daquela vez pude admirar cada parte do seu corpo, cada centímetro daquela rola maravilhosa, sem contar na bunda, puta que pariu que bunda linda, aproveitei cada segundo como se fosse o último, beijando e chupando aquele pau maravilhoso.

“Chupa devagar se não vou gozar”, ele disse.

Mas o tesão era tanto que não me contentei e ele acabou enchendo a minha boca com aquele leite quente. Engoli tudo, subi e o beijei de novo enquanto suas mãos desciam pelo meu corpo, ele tocava uma para mim e acariciava meu peito, imaginando aquela bunda maravilhosa roçando e rebolando no meu pau eu também gozei, gozei muito mais do que o normal e para ele que pensava que eu era só passivo, na formatura mostrei que era possível sentir prazer de inúmeras formas.

Era uma noite de celebração, dezembro de 2022, uma noite em que a alegria e a emoção pairavam no ar, anunciando o início da tão aguardada festa de formatura. Enquanto o relógio avançava, um sentimento de euforia contagiava, pois não era uma festa comum. Estavam reunidos ali não apenas para comemorar uma conquista acadêmica, mas para celebrar o poder da amizade e da jornada compartilhada. À medida que os primeiros acordes da música preenchiam o ambiente e risos de camaradagem ecoavam, todos sabiam que a noite prometia ser inesquecível. Era o início da festa de formatura, onde estavam todos os amigos, prontos para celebrarmos juntos um momento que marcaria para sempre nossas vidas.

Faltavam poucos minutos para a cerimônia começar, e ao longo desses quatro anos, Gabe e eu nos tornamos muito próximos, mais do que qualquer um de vocês puderam testemunhar. Estávamos sempre juntos, em todas as palestras e atividades acadêmicas. Foram meses de companheirismo e uma amizade intensamente fiel. Ele estava atrasado, o que me deixava cada vez mais tenso, até porque, como contei no início, minha timidez não condizia muito com o curso ao qual escolhi. Porém, Gabe sempre me dava forças e me fazia sentir seguro.

Não aguentava mais tanta demora, então resolvi procurá-lo. Entrei pelos corredores, salas, auditórios e nada. Fui até o vestiário da quadra de esportes, atrás do espaço onde ficava a piscina olímpica (lugar onde, de vez em quando, escapávamos das aulas para fumar um baseado), mas nada encontrei. Foi então que resolvi ir até o estúdio de fotografia. Ele adorava aquele lugar por ser calmo e ter uma sala imensamente branca.

"Meu Deus, Gabe, o que está fazendo aqui?" Perguntei. "Você parou para pensar que hoje é o nosso último dia neste lugar, tantas lembranças, tantas histórias, você entende?" Segurando sua mão, respondi: "Eu entendo, e isso também me deixa um pouco triste, não só pelo fato de nunca mais voltarmos aqui, mas também pelo medo de a vida afastar as pessoas que gosto. Como você, por exemplo."

Não contei sobre a personalidade do Gabe. Nós combinávamos em muitas coisas, talvez seja por isso que nos demos tão bem. Mas algo em comum fazia com que nos aproximássemos cada vez mais: a paixão por escrever, ouvindo lo-fi e imaginando inúmeras situações do cotidiano, divagando e inventando mundos diferentes, onde vivíamos. Foi essa brisa de nostalgia que o levou até aquela sala. Quem imaginaria, não é? Com uma playlist de lo-fi tocando ao fundo, irônico. Estávamos parados um em frente ao outro nos olhando. Seus olhos estavam marejados. O abracei e pude sentir seu coração disparado. Suas mãos suadas se entrelaçavam com as minhas, e no silêncio das batidas calmas que envolviam o ambiente, nos beijamos.

“Seu beijo, seu cheiro, seu toque, me dão a sensação mais intensa que já tive”. O ouvi sussurrando para mim.

É indescritível a sensação de ser o objeto de desejo de outra pessoa, ainda mais quando essa pessoa também lhe causa o mesmo desejo. Ele então foi se abaixando, beijando meu pescoço, abrindo os botões da minha camisa, beijando meu peito, cada vez mais baixo, umbigo, até chegar no zíper da minha calça, olhando para mim o abrir bem devagar, mordia os lábios e os molhava com a língua, enquanto meu coração parecia querer saltar pela minha garganta. Lentamente ele abre o zíper, para, observa, tira meu pau para fora e começa a beijá-lo de todos os lados, até que com calma o enfia todo na boca e vai chupando lentamente, passando a língua por cada parte, pela glande, pelo corpo, até chegar mais embaixo, na linha onde mora o mais puro e intenso prazer.

Naquele momento eu já estava anestesiado de tesão, medo e a melhor sensação do mundo. Depois de passar minutos chupando cada centímetro do meu pau, ele se levanta e diz que quer me dar um presente, então se vira de costas e baixa sua caça devagar, empinando aquela bunda lisa, branquinha e volumosa.

“Eu sei que você quer ela, sei que todas as vezes que saímos juntos, bêbados ou brisados de maconha você não tirava os olhos dela”. Fiquei corado e na mesma hora assenti que sim com a cabeça.

Então me abaixo e vou beijando um lado, depois o outro, passo minhas mãos, acariciando todo aquele volume macio, até que com os dedos abro e vejo como além de gostosa, ele tem um cuzinho maravilhoso, apertado e bem rosinha, nessa hora minha boca toda encheu d’água e sem pensar duas vezes enfiei a língua, deslizei de cima a baixo, linguando enquanto ouvia ele gemer de tesão. Não consigo descrever a imagem daquela bunda perfeita e daquele cuzinho lindo, todo molhado que fora feito para encaixar perfeitamente com a minha boca.

Meu pau já estava latejando e meu tesão era tanto que eu mal conseguia controlar minhas ações, então me levantei, o abracei por trás sentindo minha rola deslizar por aquele cuzinho molhado e macio, fiquei roçando por um momento, sentindo aquela sensação única com espasmo de prazer até que ele diz: “Quero sentir você dentro de mim”. Foi um pouco difícil, mas com cuidado e calma consegui que a cabeça grande do meu pau entrasse naquele buraquinho estreito e quente, até hoje consigo imaginar e sentir ela entrando enquanto ele a apertava e contraia aquele com aquele buraquinho gostoso.

Em movimentos de vai e vem, meu pau deslizava e ele não parecia sentir dor, beijava seu pescoço, suas orelhas, passava as mãos pelo seu peito, costas, barriga, segurava no seu pau e o pressionava, de todas as vezes que fui ativo aquela foi a melhor de toda minha vida. Num determinado momento ele se afasta, se vira e pede que eu me sente, então termina de retirar a calça e se senta no meu colo, subindo e descendo, me encarando a todo o momento, lambendo meus lábios, minhas bochechas, me beijando e chupando minha língua como se nunca mais quisesse perdê-la.

 No meu ponto mais alto de todo o tesão, segurando aquela bunda imensa sentindo cada centímetro do meu pau entrando e saindo, enquanto o pau dele babando intensamente como fazia, nós dois gozamos juntos, eu bem lá no fundo e ele por todo meu peito, o jato foi tão grande que espirrou até na minha boca, que foda deliciosa, com meu pau ainda dentro daquela bundinha ficamos abraçados por um momento, nos olhamos novamente, rimos e percebemos que havíamos perdido metade da cerimônia.

Nos arrumamos o mais rápido que podíamos, corremos e chegamos até o salão da festa. Todos estavam preocupados e nervosos, mas nossa turma ainda não havia sido apresentada. Então, nos sentamos junto com os outros, nos olhamos, e com um riso disfarçado e tímido, fomos buscar nossos diplomas. Aquela noite foi a última vez que o vi pessoalmente. Hoje, ele namora uma garota e como temia, a vida acabou nos afastando. Vez ou outra trocamos mensagens pelo WhatsApp, nos cumprimentamos em nossos aniversários e desejamos boas festas de fim de ano.

Ainda nos seguimos no Instagram, e quando eu vejo nossas fotos antigas eu tenho a sensação que não vivemos tudo que temos que viver, que foi um hiato e não um final.

FIM

[nesfant]

— plot drop: CHUVA DE SANGUE.

Para os mortais, vampiros são monstros, mas também heróis, a encarnação de metáforas sombrias e de desejos reprimidos, a aristocracia dos contos de fadas tão amados pelas crianças. Uma superstição infundada, um gênero artístico, uma condição psicológica, um anseio feito carne, uma exteriorização do complexo culpa-desejo-violência, e muitas outras coisas. E poucos eram os mortais em Eden que tinha consciência da existência de tais monstros sob seus narizes, mesmo com todos os sinais que começavam a aparecer.

A enormidade da festa da Amaranth Company poderia render comentários para uma semana ou mês inteiro, se não tivesse sido ofuscada por um acontecimento naquela mesma madrugada, depois que os últimos convivas esvaziavam as garrafas restantes. Em princípio, gotas tímidas, como as de uma garoa fina, despencaram do céu que já começava a clarear. Depois, os pingos se tornaram mais grossos e pegajosos para aqueles que ainda estavam desabrigados. A “água” tingia de vermelho tudo o que tocava, lavando as ruas de Eden, desaguando o líquido viscoso no Giom.

Com o clarear do dia, o cheiro metálico era pungente no ar, sem que os meteorologistas locais fossem capazes de atribuir uma causa para o fenômeno antinatural. Embora de causar horror, também não parecia ser caso de Polícia, já que nenhum crime havia sido denunciado. Ainda assim, autoridades foram acionadas para redobrar a segurança nas ruas, com oficiais a cada cruzamento, inclusive com pedido de reforços para a Polícia do Condado. Além disso, cientistas da Universidade também foram contratados para desvendar a origem da estranha chuva.

Mais incomodados com o problema do que os próprios mortais, contudo, estão os cainitas: uma alteração daquelas só podia significar mau agouro – e as previsões que acompanhavam a mudança no trono do Sabat eram péssimas. Nunca era uma boa hora para se perder um Príncipe, afinal, e a perda de Antonio só parecia estar acelerando a guerra que se anunciava há tempos.

Quando a notícia se alastrou para o Condado, atraiu a atenção de gente que sabia ler muito bem tal espécie de sinal e sabia ao quê estava atrelado. Se sangue chovia sobre Eden, então era porque a cidade não estava tão livre de pecados como seu nome sugeria. E se havia algo que a Inquisição abominava era o pecado. E vampiros.

CENÁRIO

Não importa se você estava saindo do píer após se esbaldar às custas da Amaranth Company ou se levantou pela amanhã e resolveu olhar através da janela. A partir do momento que seus olhos acessaram as ruas de Eden, tudo o que via era vermelho. Paredes, plantas, asfalto, estátuas... A cidade sangrava, tingindo o cenário outrora aconchegante, em tons de terror.

Você viu pessoas se desesperarem e saírem de suas casas aos prantos, outras se mantiveram dentro das próprias paredes, negando-se a tocar no líquido inexplicável. O fim do mundo havia chegado. A frase se repetia incessantemente, aos gritos e em sussurros, em variados graus de ceticismo. Claro, não havia outra explicação para o que os olhos humanos enxergavam. Detalhes escapavam de suas mentes limitadas, que se recusavam — que não podiam — absorver ainda mais absurdos. Mesmo o mais racional dos humanos, aquele que se atinha a lógica e explicações científicas, falhava em aceitar a verdade. O sabor metálico da chuva ao tocar em seus lábios, o odor familiar... Não era possível que se tratasse realmente de sangue. Certamente o cérebro estava pregando peças, dada a saturação do tom carmesim por todos os lados.

A prefeitura e os bombeiros se mobilizaram para limpar a cidade, a polícia se desdobrava para conter os mais histéricos e aqueles que se aproveitavam da confusão para instaurar anarquia. Supermercados estavam com as prateleiras esvaziadas e conveniências apresentavam um cenário pós apocalíptico. Escolas não abriram, muito menos lojas e bares (com exceção do Gehena’s Bar). Você também ouviu dizer que o Genesis Hospital Center registrou diversas entradas nesse dia, a maioria relatando mal súbitos e alguns ataques de animais. Enquanto isso, o Hotel Paradisus brilhava em meio ao caos, tendo seus quartos ocupados a ponto de recusarem novos hospedes. Estranho? Não se considerarmos a quantidade de jornalistas nas ruas. Aposto que você nunca viu tantas câmeras por metro quadrado como agora e, apesar dos esforços das autoridades em descartar a ocorrência como um fenômeno natural, curiosos ocupam cada curva e beco pelo seu caminho.

Não foi até o início da noite que Eden começou a voltar às suas cores originais — horário que, coincidentemente, a maioria dos vampiros saíram às ruas. A ordem era clara: dispersar o pânico e afugentar os olhares intrometidos. Como em poucas vezes acontecia, Camarilla e Sabat trabalhavam em conjunto para conter os estragos e inconvenientes causados pela chuva de sangue. Vale ressaltar que o toque de magia presente no líquido pegajoso não passou despercebido pelas crianças da noite, que o sentiam vibrar com um poder desconhecido, antigo. 

A única parte boa do dia, alguns diriam, foram os boatos sobre visões e profecias envolvendo a Amaranth Company, que se alastraram como fogo de palha pela população. As teorias variam e vídeos na internet podem ser encontrados com facilidade sobre cada uma delas, mas você certamente já deve ter escutado algo, nem que seja sobre como a nova CEO do conglomerado pertence aos illuminati. Os clãs Nosferatu e Gangrel também acabaram alimentando os rumores, contentes em ajudar a denegrir a imagem dos rivais parceiros a fim de desviar a atenção dos sussurros que realmente preocupavam as seitas. Afinal, a reputação de um pequeno grupo jamais valeria a segurança d’A Máscara.        

INFORMAÇÕES ADICIONAIS

Bem-vindos ao primeiro episódio de “o que está acontecendo nessa cidade!?”

Esse drop não tem data de término, visto que seus acontecimentos tem impacto permanente na cidade e pode ser usado e abusado por vocês em todo tipo de interação!

Caso não tenha ficado claro: a chuva de sangue não é comum, muito menos se assemelha às que já ocorreram na nossa realidade. Não é uma reação química nem consequência de uma tempestade de areia, realmente se trata de sangue, mas essa informação fica em off para os humanos! A causa por trás dela, porém, nem os vampiros tem certeza;

Reforçamos que nosso sistema de pontos já está valendo, então confiram os tipos de postagens que pontuam e aproveitem para arrecadar algumas moedas! Lembrem-se que o curso do plot pode ser alterado conforme as pontuações de grupo, hein... Se liguem! Ah! Postagem de starter aberto na tag #NESTARTER vale 30 pontos e eles são essenciais para a movimentação da dash;

Qualquer dúvida, por favor, encaminhem à central;

No mais, se divirtam!

#plot drop #pd: chuva de sangue

[corneille-moisie]

i was tagged by @im-sometimes-sparkles to spell my url with song titles and did not want to reblog the long reblog chain (you can reblog this one or make your own, either's fine by me :) )

candis - sukekiyo

obscure - dir en grey (cw for gore and other gross stuff, just in case)

rink - blam honey

nas ne dagoniat - tatu (not gonna get us works too :D)

energize me - after forever

inner universe - hora

l'horloge - chanton l'amour

last hallucination - schwarz stein

even in death - evanescence

-

maze - velvet eden

ophelia - kaya

if i could turn back time - cher

senzafine - lacuna coil

iidk - vidoll

edema ruh - nightwish

im tagging @moonjaehwa, @ans-main, @technicontrastron, @kurumeki, @jade-curtiss because im curious but you're under no obligation to actually do it lol :3

eta : no need to link everything, im just extra like that ^^

and if you were not tagged and wanna do it, go ahead, do it !! (tag me though, i wanna see 👀 !!)

#i tried to go for -some- variety #mostly it just means its not all japanese LOL #its still mostly all japanese oops #candis is my last love at first listen :3 #obscure is a timeless classic at this point (and i mean the original version !!!) #rink is because i wanted an excuse to mention blam honey :) #not gonna get us is honestly the first thing that came to mind #energize me is also the first thing that came to mind #inner universe i really do mean the hora version the another cell version is good too but hora's version. !!!! #l'horloge is one of my favourite song of all time and yes its because of how she sings 'please let me die' :D #last hallucination is my favourite schwarz stein song :D #even in death is also one of my favourite evanescence song #the newer version is ok but i prefer the old one #maze because please look it up on youtube and thank me later ^^ #ophelia well tbh i just wanted to mention a kaya solo song and ophelia is good ;w; #if i could turn back time is because i thought itd be funny to add cher to this pile lmao #senzafine is one of my favourite from lacuna coil~ and any version is probably fine #iidk is my favourite vidoll song #edema ruh is the most recent nightwish song i liked i guess but also the syth gets to me everytime aaaaaaaaaa #lmao infodump post #an audhd post #im sorry if i tagged you and you hate these kinds of things T^T

[no-wings-no-angel]

MEGAPLAYLIST DE ORDEM

Okay, essa vai ser longa… Essas são algumas músicas que eu associo com personagens de Ordem Paranormal, mas elas são incoerentes entre si, criando uma aberração musical quando postas juntas. Agora algumas coisinhas:

1. Esse é o meu gosto pessoal e o que eu gosto de escutar. Talvez tenha coisas super conhecidas, talvez uns bagulhos completamente obscuros e nichados, vai saber! Mas estou aceitando sugestões!

2. Vou editar esse post várias vezes para por mais músicas e mais personagens. Vou dar rb quando fazer isso. E talvez tenha rbs de extensão caso o wordcount ACABE. São muitos personagens, cara.

3. Obrigada @sunnybergamota / @dailyordem por me incentivar à criar essa monstruosidade de post!

Agora, seguindo para as músicas depois do corte…

KAISER

Again de Crusher/Crusher-p

Every inch of me is charred / God what happened to my heart? / I’m about to fall apart / Again! Again!

Pra mim, essa é ele TODINHO, tanto que até eu fiz uma fanart na época dele como na arte da música. Eu colocaria na época de Desconjuração, especificamente na mansão endiabrada, quando ele duvida de si mesmo, perde memórias e constantemente se pergunta se as pessoas vão sentir falta dele quando se for, além das menções sobre fogo/queimaduras/isqueiros que é bem a imagem que eu tenho do Kaisinho.

Sweet Hibiscus Tea de Penelope Scott

And I’m not your protagonist / I’m not even my own / I don’t know anything / I don’t even know what I don’t know

Completamente desesperançoso. Um pouco de desrealização (?). Nota especial ao verso sobre ter “chá morno de manga e hibisco em cima do lixão onde eu durmo”, pois eu veria isso um pouco da relação dele com o Joui (eu tenho um hc forte sobre o Joui ser o maluquinho dos chás).

Sleep Paralysis de Elita

I stay up too late / I’m everything I hate / Play video games / until I melt away

Outra pras horas tristes da noite, tem a ver com o Espreitador também. Tem menção de pensamentos intrusivos e demônios da paralisia do sono, então bem o nosso rapazinho. Just let me fucking rest é algo que ele diria canonicamente (isso se não disse isso mesmo)

Grocery Store de Cavetown

I’ve been trying not to cry in the grocery store / little bully inside me pinning me to the floor / It must be easier than it seems / but I can’t get these thorns out of my teeth

Eu (pessoalmente) vejo o Kaiser bem mais como um nerdola fumante que não lava o cabelo faz um mês, mas interpretações dele mais “suave” e fofo são comuns e também vivem de aluguel na minha cabeça. Get Cavetowned, bitch. Enfim, é ele e o Arthur.

Cold Cold Cold de Cage The Elephant

Doctor, look into my eyes / I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life / Doctor, the problem's in my chest / My heart feels cold as ice, but it's anybody's guess

Auto-explicativo. Tá frio. Tá frio por dentro também.

ARTHUR

feelings are fatal de mxmtoon

I'm always sad and I'm always lonely / But I can't tell you that I'm breaking slowly / Closed doors, locked in, no keys / Keeping my feelings hidden, there is no ease

Honestamente, essa cabe pra muitos personagens, mas é bem ele. Ele é o solzinho. Ele é triste. Ele é um fofo. Ele viu os maiores horrores que o Outro Lado pode oferecer. Ele tem uma found family. Boa parte da mesma está morta. É perfeito!

start//end de EDEN

Cause I've been looking at the sky to show me where I went wrong / Been looking at the sky like someone was looking down / But it keeps raining on me

É sobre arrependimentos. É sobre coisas que deram errado. "You can't take back that you did nothing / how could you do nothing?" É ELE MANOS. Vamos pra casa, não há esperança, tá tudo errado, o que estamos fazendo? DEAD. HOME. TOWN!!!

#ta nos meus rascunhos faz mó cota #finalmente to com um pouco mais de tempo #megaplaylist de ordem #ordem paranormal #ordoblr #ordemblr #aop

[lostbash]

POV: BOY MEETS EVIL — PART II

“'Cause I'm a fucking mess sometimes and I'll say what I don't mean, just 'cause I wanted or maybe I need it. Swear lying's the only rush I need”, Drugs — Eden (recommended soundtrack)

tw: morte, sangue

Mesmo que tivesse ouvido cada uma das palavras sair da boca do próprio Merlin, Sebastian ainda não conseguia acreditar naquilo. Ainda sentia as pernas bambas e seu estômago completamente embrulhado. Só a breve descrição do que havia acontecido com sua mãe já era o suficiente para fazê-lo correr para o banheiro e vomitar. Uma, duas, três vezes. Ainda estava trancado no local desde que havia sido mandado para casa para se limpar e descansar. Os irmãos aparentemente estavam fazendo o mesmo, mas ele não compreendia como as pessoas podiam simplesmente aceitar aquela informação. Como sua mãe poderia estar morta? Como isso poderia ter acontecido se ela até pouco tempo estava na tal viagem do Conselho para fazer sabe-se lá o que? Não, deveria haver alguma explicação. 

Apoiou o corpo fraco sobre o vaso sanitário e ficou de pé, encarando a própria figura no espelho. Parecia mais magro e frágil que o normal. Tão pálido quanto um azulejo de banheiro, exceto pelo sangue que ainda estava por toda parte, assim como na cena onde sua mãe supostamente tinha morrido. Nas roupas, mãos e até mesmo em seu rosto, como se tivesse lutado bravamente para impedir que ela fosse dilacerada em praça pública. Mas, não. Sebastian não tinha feito absolutamente nada para salvar sua mãe. Ele sequer tinha visto o que tinha acontecido.

Não entendia, ou melhor, não aceitava que sua mãe nunca mais voltaria para casa. Ela não podia ir embora sem se despedir. Ela nunca abandonaria os próprios filhos como Peter Pan fez um dia. Tinha certeza, do fundo de seu coração, que sua mãe não morreria sem antes deixar claro que ela o amava. O universo não podia ser tão cruel assim. 

Mas afinal de contas, quem Sebastian estava tentando enganar? Sua mãe estava morta. Wolf havia matado Wendy Darling na frente de todos. Sem motivo algum, aquele monstro tinha acabado com a vida de uma mulher inocente e deixado três filhos órfãos para sempre. Bash bateu com força contra a bancada da pia enquanto lágrimas escorriam pelo seu rosto. Fechou os olhos com força, mas não conseguia deletar de sua mente a imagem dos defensores carregando o corpo feminino para dentro do castelo.   

Aquele sangue parecia queimar sua pele enquanto o próprio corpo fervia por dentro. Precisava se livrar daquilo imediatamente. Abriu a torneira em desespero, esfregando uma mão na outra enquanto via a água ganhar um tom avermelhado. Nada parecia adiantar, era como se mais sangue jorrasse pela torneira. Como se suas mão nunca fossem ficar completamente limpas, porque no fundo Sebastian tinha culpa naquela morte. 

Arrancou as próprias roupas com pressa, jogando pelo chão do banheiro. Em seguida, entrou rapidamente no chuveiro, deixando a água gelada cair sobre sua cabeça até que lavasse o corpo por inteiro. Abraçou os próprios ombros enquanto sangue e lágrimas se misturavam e finalmente desciam pelo ralo. Ficou naquela posição por um bom tempo, não sabia dizer ao certo quantos minutos, talvez até horas. Já tremia de frio e a pele estava completamente enrugada. A voz de sua mãe pedindo para que não demorasse demais no banho invadiu sua cabeça. Ela sempre reclamava quando era mais novo. 

Pegou uma toalha e enrolou na cintura, enquanto os fios de cabelos molhados grudavam em sua testa. Agora, ninguém mais reclamaria dos banhos longos ou da toalha molhada em cima da cama. Por que nunca escutava a sua mãe? Por que insistia em ser uma decepção para Wendy? Encarou a própria figura no espelho novamente. Não havia mais sangue, havia apenas um filho que não tinha feito nada para salvar a mãe. Um filho que tinha deixado a mãe morrer sem pedir perdão por tudo que tinha feito. Por ter nascido. Talvez se as coisas fossem diferentes ela nunca teria fugido e voltado para morrer. Desferiu um soco tão forte contra o espelho que o estrago foi inevitável, espalhando pedacinhos de vidro por todo banheiro. 

Mesmo agora com um corte na mão, os punhos de Sebastian continuavam cerrados conforme caminhava em passos firmes para fora do banheiro. Maldito Conselho. Eles tinham dito que sua mãe estava em uma viagem de trabalho, não tinham sequer explicado quando ela voltaria e agora ela estava morta. Arthurianos estúpidos. Por causa de uma tradição ridícula, um monstro foi trazido do castigo para ceifar a vida dela. Sentia nojo, ódio e culpa. Todos eram culpados pela morte de Wendy Darling. Começou chutando um pequeno gaveteiro, até que uma raiva incontrolável tomou conta de seu corpo. Jogou tudo que havia por cima da mesa no chão e revirou o colchão da cama. Móvel por móvel, Sebastian foi arruinando o próprio quarto em questão minutos. Por fim, com os batimentos acelerados e a respiração ofegante, ele se sentou no meio do cômodo, cercado por todo aquele caos. Era exatamente assim que se sentia, totalmente destruído.

#🎸 — development :: maybe it's a blessing in disguise // #lhqssaviorday #eu só quero saber de depressão e coisas pra baixo