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astraystayyh · 1 month

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The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

“In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

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l1vchuu · 8 months

Text

resentment. part five

part one. part two. part three. part four.

!! warnings: strong language and themes, you know the rest :)

Simon was lying down on his bed, staring at the wall. His brown eyes scanned the ceiling, searching for something to take off his mind. Something to drive him far, far away from all this mess. The mess he had created.

It was unusual, unusual for him to be the reason for someone else's suffering.

He stopped meeting with Amelia.

'Nonsense. You were the one who stuck to me, I never wanted any of this. It is not okay.' were his last words to her.

She nodded and walked away, it's not like love existed in the military anyway.

Look, it wasn't like his teammates drifted away from him or something, they continued to treat him the same- but the atmosphere was slightly different when he was around. It was heavier like the oxygen slowly escaped through the window when he appeared. It was an uneasy feeling, and Price didn't like any bit of it. He talked to him about the situation when you first left, but with your absence, there was nothing to look for in terms of progress.

You were a soldier for years, and have never taken a break since. You have a few honor medals here and there. You for sure were respected on base- that was the reason why you were in the 141. Every recruit adored you.

Captain Price didn't know if Simon had sent any letters before that, and he didn't have the right to see if he had in the first place. It was absolutely Simon's responsibility to fix this, but how will he approach it? It's not like he is not a full-grown adult, he can fix it all by himself. He will send a letter, of course. But he never wrote any letters, what will he do?

Simon was too afraid to ask for any help, he was always like that. Afraid that people will know that he is uncertain, that he doesn't know what to do.

He tried to sit down to write something multiple times, but he never got to anything. There were pieces of paper scattered all around his room all scrunched up, all of the attempts to contact you. It was hard for him to express his emotions, so there was absolutely no hope left.

He closed his eyes, trying to give peace to his mind in order to figure something out. What could he write in this situation?

Hello, how were you?

Hey...

Look, I know...

Good day, isn't it?

Everything seemed so stupid to him. Every word he tried to come up with sounded worse and worse. It felt like he was going to write a business email by reflex. It was like every syllable scraped his tongue like sand. The ideas in his mind were flowing at a rapid pace, like how Formula 1 cars chase each other for victory. Every word felt like a plead. Please come back, please, I need you.

His eyebrows furrowed, physically showing his irritation.

'What do I do?' Is all his mind repeated over and over again

He finally opened his eyes, his pupils adjusting to the darkness in the room. It was the end of fall, the start of winter, and the breeze flowing through the windows got colder and colder as time passed. The outline of the trees colored the walls, letting the light create all types of shapes. His eyes trailed to the window, which was slightly agape. He looked at it for a while before sitting up in his bed. The hesitance was growing in his mind, but he chose to ignore it all as he walked to the window, opening a pack of his old cigarettes- a habit that he tried to quit. There was no one to hide his packs anymore.

He grabbed one cigarette and lit it up, leaning his arms on the windowsill. The guilt in him was growing bigger with every puff he did, but he couldn't focus on that.

'She will get so mad if she sees me.'

But, she won't.

The smoke traveled with the wind, glazing through the wood as the smell faded away. He looked up at the sky. It was past midnight, so the full moon glowing down at him. All big and round, shining at him, making his eyes squint slightly.

He wondered if you were looking at it at the same time- and you were. God forbid, you were looking at the moon every night, hoping for change, hoping that the following day will bring you peace.

In the following moment, the pen was in his hand.

"The moon is pretty bright tonight, isn't it?

You said that when you were feeling unwell you would look up at the moon, and the thought of other people looking in the same direction as you made you feel less lonely. I see you in the moon every night.

Remember that one time we were on night duty? When it was another full moon, and you were looking at it. I could see every star reflecting off of your eyes, like a whole universe, at that moment. The wind blew your hair in front of your face, the pleasant smell of it hitting me in the face with every breath I took. You do smell really good.

This moment alone made me realize that maybe there was a calmness in this whole chaos. The first time where the silence didn't make me suffer. You brought peace into my life, and I took it away from yours.

Letters won't hold up all the things I need to tell you, and no punishment in hell would be enough for the things I've done. You have every right to not forgive me, because I will never forgive myself.

S."

Simon wasn't an award-winning writer, but that was all that he could manage to write. He couldn't bring himself to write more, it would take him days just to finish it. His mind was full enough, and the fact that he had mastered the courage was impressive.

You sat in your kitchen again, a cup of tea on your side as you held the paper in your hands, letting it scrape your fingers. A slight smile on your face as your eyes twinkled in the morning sun.

"Hello from the other side!

How are you feeling? We hope that home welcomed you nicely, (I would kill for a swig of scotch right now- J.)

Base is just as boring as it always was, even more boring without you around. We found these sketches at safe house 132, they are probably yours, they are pretty nice ones. We decided to draw you something as well. Don't you dare sell it to an art gallery, we know it's so beautiful, but it is for you! Unfortunately, that is all are allowed to send in, you know how it is :(

We bet it is freezing in your area, England can be cruel like that in the winter.

Anyhow, we wish you a peaceful break. And don't forget to bring gifts on your way back! Hope to hear from you soon!

All is well,

J, K, A :)"

You saw the small pieces of paper in the envelope- ones you drew on when a snowstorm hit on the way back from a mission, causing you to crash in one of the safe houses. There were drawings of all kinds of sea creatures- whales, sharks, and types of small fishes. Over them you wrote small passages of poetry- it really wasn't anything serious, just small words with big meanings.

The letter also included one piece of paper full of small doodles from your teammates. There were animals, faces, and flowers. It was amusing really- imagine three grown men sitting together and putting this up for you. This small gesture alone made you smile, the first genuine smile in a long time. You left the paper on the table as you took a sip from your tea, the warmth healing your throat. It has been a long week- it started snowing in your area, which you thought you would've liked, but you really didn't.

The thoughts in your head were just as confusing. What the hell was happening? You were a grown soldier, you had discipline, you had a strong heart... what was wrong with you??

It was like everything started melting slowly. You didn't have enough energy to go to the supermarket to do groceries, you barely kept yourself awake, and you couldn't even run a mile. You felt your fingers tighten around the mug, did you really want to open that last envelope? Your heart started beating rapidly, making your head slightly dizzy. You felt your limbs fall asleep, and suddenly your head weighed what seemed to be 100 pounds heavier. Soon enough, you were fast asleep on the table. You had fainted again.

Fainting was a coping mechanism your body was used to before when you were a teenager. Not only because of your eating disorder but also because of the stress you put yourself through. You were troubled at a young age. You forced yourself to suck up all the pain like a sponge. That was the reason you were like that at the moment.

You knew that holding in your emotions wasn't the resolution to your problems, but it was easier. That was why you became severely attached to the first person you shared your problems with. The first person who gave you a taste of what comfort felt like. You were reminded that, indeed, people had their own lives. But you were so... scared. What if you weirded him out? What if he had lost interest in putting up with you? What if he lost interest in you?

You cried so much, you wanted to feel his touch- his fingers up and down your back, his sweet voice in your ear, his dumb jokes, all in order to make you feel better, all while he was suffering from himself.

You missed this attention. Feeling like you mattered in someone's life? Feeling like you were finally valuable? And not just a dirty rag full of pain and emotions??

Were you going to feel like that again? After causing all this fuss... all because you felt bad. You wanted to bang your head against a wall, why did you do that? You should've sucked it up, to forget about everything. But now you were in your old apartment, passed out on the table, the cup of tea- now cold, just sitting over the papers.

A wave of shock went through your body as a thought struck your head.

'What will happen if you return? What if I acted like nothing had happened?'

'What kind of fucking idea is that?!'

Years ago, when you first decided to see a therapist, there was something she had told you about. You couldn't remember the correct name- but it was something along the lines of 'fake it till you make it' sort of thing. It was entirely possible for you to return... to forget about it... maybe change your whole personality- no, cut that- you could try to talk with Simon, you know? Instead of running away from your problems, like the little girl you were.

Running won't save you, not when you are running from yourself. Make yourself known, talk to people, let your anger out, let yourself feel. Instead of cutting yourself in order to feel something external, share a hug from a friend. Pretend like you were bigger than your own problems... because you were.

John Price went into his office, closing the door behind him. He sat in his chair, sighing. It was a long day for him and the coldness just made it a hell lot harder. There was a long pause until his radio went off, which he immediately rushed to turn on. It was a thing that rarely happened, so he became a little cautious.

"..."

"Captain... it's 2104 (your code), do you copy?"

He sighed in relief. It was just you.

"Yes, Sergeant. What is the matter?"

"I would like to request a time for return. Approximately in a few days."

He stared at the radio in slight confusion.

"Affirmative... is there a particular reason?"

"No reason, sir."

You and your reasons...

"Return as soon as you can, I'll inform the team."

You froze for a couple seconds.

'I'm really doing this, aren't I?' you thought to yourself.

"Sergeant? Do you copy?"

You blinked, immediately replying.

"Yes, sir."

There was a slight pause.

"Have a safe travel, Sergeant."

"Thank you, Captain."

There was a bleep, symbolizing the end of the conversation.

It took time to settle in... three, two, one

...

"WHAT DID I JUST DO?!" you whisper- yelled, your hand on your forehead. You stood up, pacing around in your room.

"No, no, no. This is not happening right now."

"What do I do? What do I say?... I should leave the military."

Definitely not doing that.

"Now people are going to think I'm crazy!"

Not far from the truth.

"Why is this happening to me?!"

Girl, you did this to yourself.

"Do I just get in and be like, 'Hi, guys! I'm sorry for leaving without telling you all, probably making you think I passed away! I've missed you!', and pretend like nothing happened?"

Most precisely, yes.

You packed your stuff, leaving the envelope on the bed. You can't just read it now.

The next day was your flight to the base...

What did you get yourself into?

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

I am SORRY for making y'all wait for this long. I accidentally wrote this part way longer than it was supposed to be, so the other half would be in the next part (which is going to be the final one), and then my mind went blank. The ideas just went outside my head!! Anyway, I really hope you forgive me! I love you all, sending a lot of hugs and kisses <3

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty x reader #cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfic #cod mw2 fic #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #cod angst

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soapoet · 7 months

Text

how are you, october?

+3 Taylor Swift songs each because she's striving and so should you.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

Soapy scribbles: I already did a general energy reading for this autumn season here, but there's quite a bit of energies at play this autumn, so I felt the need to look at October specifically as it feels very important.

01.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift ‐ Don't blame me, I did something bad, Red.

How long have you kept the light on? Sitting there, staring at the door, waiting for someone who never seems to come? The radio is on, playing two stations at once. The flower petals all say maybe, not he loves me, he loves me not. You are frustrated and confused, yearning for clarity but outside the sun just won't rise and the only light is the one lit outside your house. Have you given your time at a discount, or is the free trial still running? Someone needs to draw the line in the sand further from the waves that keep washing them away. You want more, and for love to not feel like agony. Red is the colour of passion, both love and hate. I see you wearing their white t-shirt, your heart bleeding and staining it red as you watch them sleep. Safe and sound, whilst you howl to the moon. You're growing territorial. A desperate act to ward off the wolves that prowl your prey. You saw them first, but they don't seem to see you.

It seems as though your thoughts and feelings are silly until somebody else echos them, word for word, and then they're liquid gold. You're not a ghost, but you feel your outlines blur. Where do you end and where do they begin? You haunt their halls, but they're fast asleep and never notice a bump in the night. You've felt powerless, like the quietest poltergeist, unable to move and shake the silverware, never able to rattle the cupboards or the picture frames. Somebody treats you like they would give you their last name, yet make no such commitments, not a single step in that direction. It is all up in the air, and you feel like the rug beneath your feet will get pulled at any moment. Is it not tiring to lie awake, watching the shadows, wondering what beasts may strike if you let your guard down in slumber? Without certainty, you're the one in fear under the covers, certain it wasn't just the wind. Because in your experience, it never really is.

Do not sign the dotted line without examination of the fine print. Better yet, do not sell your heart and soul to someone who will keep you on a shelf, saved for a rainy day, but will not puncture breathing holes into the lid and care for you truly. Do not let yourself be kept for a season, wings clipped and left to asphyxiate in a jar. You have given enough benefits of the doubt, but nobody is so daft, so oblivious, they would not embrace love they find worthy and good. Do not let yourself be kept as an option or as something good enough until something better, new and shiny, comes along. Close up shop and demand full subscription for your time and effort. If they won't pay the price, you'll find better in no time whilst karma chews them out. Especially if you feel like you can't do better, or have felt like love keeps avoiding you and you're somehow faulty and too broken to be loved, there really is someone around the next few corners who won't play you like a game or stick around only in fair weather but your storms too. So don't settle, you deserve better than okay and fine and good enough. For a select few, there really is love here, but may be drowning in addiction or fears of some kind. Remember that you can't help someone who doesn't want help, because change is made when they want change. This change may very well be coming up in the near future, and wrongs may be made right slowly. If this is somebody you love, whether romantically or platonically, even in a familial sense, make sure you keep your head above water and put your own oxygen mask on first before helping another. You can extend a helping hand, but do so when they ask, not because you're expected to do it because you always have. New beginnings in old relationships are possible if you want it.

Additional details: Amethysts, Ayurveda, moths, mixed signals, love languages, uquizzes and other such tests, purple, blue, red, bus rides, tattoos, job offers, writing, poetry, thesis, message in a bottle, missing an ex, addiction, healing, birds and squirrels, starting over, second chances, reminiscing, old photos or journal entries or ig posts, synastry charts, girl in red, Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Kahan, Bishop Briggs, YA book series, maladaptive daydreaming, BPD, lighters, short trips, parties or other get togethers, double dates, life path 8, birthdays, sanrio, studying, Scorpio/Aries/Virgo/Capricorn/Pisces, 3H/4H/5H/12H, Saturn/Mars/Uranus, Lilith/Chiron, 25/89/222/555.

02.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - Gorgeous, Paper rings, I think he knows.

Luck seems to be on your side, or it soon will be. After a long drought, you have stumbled upon an oasis. Prayers whispered in the dark, sometimes choked out by tears, are now proven to have been heard after all. Endless night and harsh winter is over, even though seasonally speaking it's right ahead of us in the northern hemisphere. In your life, however, you're coming out of a very long and hard winter. You have felt cold and lost, sometimes frozen in place, as though your icicle bones and frosted skin wouldn't let your body decompose when you thought you were dead. You were stuck up to your thighs in snow. Every step was a challenge, and harsh winds threatened you like frail branches bending and snapping in storms. Now the snow is melting, trampled into slush beneath your boots and making way for spring flowers to bloom.

Forward movement is happening in many areas of your life. New beginnings are popping up like wildflowers in a meadow for you to frolic in. You're making changes and changes are making you. Immovable objects begin to roll down the hilltop where you've felt stranded like a lone celltower sending and receiving signals. You may have felt in your heart and soul that the winds are changing. Your intuition has been wide open and receptive for some time now, hasn't it? But rooted in place unable to move you have felt unable to take action. That is changing now as not only can you move forward, but things you have wished for begin to arrive like ships to your shores. You sowed and nurtured the seeds and it is time to harvest your crops. If you have dealt with mental terrors and grief, you should see those slowly begin to heal, circumstances improve, and help becoming available to you and you finally feel ready and able to take it.

If you've been engaging in some good old fashioned yearning, know that it's a case of mutual pining. Someone whose freckles, birth marks, or scars you have mapped out like an astronomer the night sky in stolen glances has stolen just as many of you. Either one of you, perhaps both, have been closing doors as of late, gone through endings and made space for the new and found the keys to the doors once shut and chained and locked. There is a distinct sense of leveling up here, like entering a new region in a game at last when the requirements have been met, and you're now free to explore new and unknown territory. I see unwavering eye contact where before it was a game of cat and mouse. I see a church, two people side by side in the pews sharing quiet confessions. Words previously only thought find a voice and get spoken, not to the moon but the heart they were meant for. There can be some secrecy involved, but less like the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet it's keeping something sacred between two souls, keeping each other like an oath. Sheltering a flame, for some of you one rekindled, between four hands and promising to meet in the woods at night. This secrecy is not one grown from shame, but one of dedication. A solid foundation, a home and sturdy fortress is being built or rebuilt in the dark of the night so its eventual beauty and intricacies may be admired by all in the sun. You may have manifested this, or simply known this was inevitable. All you really had to do was accept it as fate and wait for it to unfold. This is a cozy kind of love, but also devout like two souls looking upon each other in reverence. It feels as close as it feels free. There's something to lean on but also room to grow. You hold each other tightly, but loosen the grip as needed, and always ready to catch the other if they fall. For some of you this marks the end of a third party situation, an entirely new love, and for others this is reworking an existing or past love with a new set of rules and making magic together after tough challenges.

Additional details: Full moon, abundance, sudden income, lottery luck, gifts, receiving or giving flowers, dancing, swimming, guided meditations, listening to higher frequencies, therapy or counselling, lists and plans, entrepreneurship, editing, finishing tasks, cats, rabbits and ferrets or rodents, pancakes and waffles, sunflowers and dandelions, espresso, heavy rain, holding hands, nostalgic scents or environments, coughing, PTSD, neurodivergence, artificial intelligence, fidget toys or stress balls, colouring books, arts and crafts, dainty jewellery, body language, law of assumption, dreams, blue, green, black, glasses, kpop, punk, indie, Stray Kids, Ateez, Dreamcatcher, Daft Punk, Sabaton, Avenged Sevenfold, Korn, Virgo/Leo/Cancer/Aquarius/Sagittarius, 1H/3H/5H/11H, Jupiter/Moon/Mercury/Pluto, North and South Node/Ceres, 12/13/33/555/888.

03.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - The archer, Mean, Anti-hero.

Narcissus and Echo, a tragedy of old. You may have been at the mercy of fluctuating between the two. This can be a dance between you and another, or you and your own reflection. You may have pushed someone away. A friend, a family member, yourself, or an authority figure of sorts. Demanding they leave you alone, left them on read or never bothered to open their letters at all, after so long of clinging to their every word. Certain of your independence, a need to put yourself first, desperate self love wholly unrequited. Or perhaps you fought viciously for yourself, but your voice was never heard. As though you always needed someone else to speak your words for them to be taken as right and true. Perhaps you were sent on a glitched quest, "ask your mother" only met with "ask your father", leaving you in the uncertainty of the in between, alone and filled to the brim with unanswered questions and no sense of direction.

You have sought help, asked for assistance, asked all the right questions and really pushed your own cart forwards though it has been uphill. And something or someone always cast stones on your path forward, shoved stick between the wheels to make the process feel so hopeless. There are wounds that you bear that have been left unhealed for years. Still raw and bleeding you dry whilst you try to keep yourself together like cupping water in your hands as it spills through your fingers. But though your path is full of traps and spikes and is uncertain and winding, you know the way forward all within yourself. Because you carry with you the only light you need to find your way. You may cross paths with kind advisors who unseathe their swords to fight for you, and some of them may already be in your life. Those who see the injustice and tear down the thicket ahead to make way for you and protect you whilst you stitch your wounds and ready yourself for battle yourself. Accept the help, encouragement, and follow these kind mercenaries when you get lost. Allow them to carry your burdens when as Atlas you need a break from carrying the world upon your shoulders. Soon you'll be strong enough to do what you need to do. Be better, stronger, healthier, if not for you right now then for those who need you and cherish you and want you by their side in the quests of life. Eventually your actions will prove to be the best for you, and a faint portrait of a future you smiles upon your present self for your decision to keep moving forward.

If you need to put your foot down, do so in earnest. Shoo away guilt and shame, and let go of the idea that you must suffer in silence and weather unnecessary storms, speak when spoken to and follow another's commands so often not in favour of your own well-being. Fight your inner demons, but know you need not fight them alone. Dip a quill in ink and rewrite the rules. Break into the library which holds the book of life and black out that what does not serve you, and take ownership of your own story. If Narcissus treats you poorly, trample him under your foot on your way out the door. He is only a flower now and seasons change, and he will wilt and wither away as you no longer shine upon his petals.

Additional details: Violins, literature, art galleries, sisters and fathers, divorce, babies or children, psychotherapy, CBT, law, changing your name, lgbt+, jazz, classical music, Regina Spektor, Kate Bush, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, borzoi, dog videos, playing instruments, writing a book, storytelling, unknown address, exotic animals, spiders, ED, OCD, teddy bears, squishmallows, studying for a test, doctor's appointments, funerals, chill covers/lofi, slowed/reverb/acoustic versions, subliminals, affirmations, lace, fuzzy socks or woolen socks, bruises, house plants, monstera, ivy, pothos, tea collection, cold hands, Taurus/Gemini/Libra/Scorpio/Capricorn, 2H/6H/8H/10H, Saturn/Pluto/Neptune/Venus, IC/MC, 17/23/95/11:11/000/444.

#pac #pac reading #pick a card #energy reading #intuitive reading #tarot reading #tarotblr #love pac #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #spiritual guidance #spirituality #love reading #soapy.post

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moonrisecoeur · 6 months

Text

soothing - leon kennedy

a/n: (PLEASE READ) hey! this is moon! this post would not show up in the tags with the long and detailed warning i put on it, so i made that a separate post. please read this post first before you even look at this one (that post will have the normal info like what content is it and word count along with more notes).

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leon knows you’re… obsessive. he’s noticed your harsh glares and you possessively holding his waist when you’re both out together. he doesn’t miss the way you talk to other people, especially other people you know would theoretically be leon’s type. he assures you that he’s yours, he belongs to you, that no one will never get to have him the way you do, but it doesn’t make those feelings go away for you; it only mellows them for a short while.

he can’t say he planned for his partner to be so insanely obsessed with him, but it does make him feel better sometimes. especially when he’s having really rough days. when he feels worthless, like the only purpose of his existence is to be a weapon for the government to apathetically throw at problems, you’re there. you remind him, in your own twisted little way, that he’s valuable to someone. even if it’s in a “i need you like i need oxygen so no one else can ever have you and no one else deserves to lay a finger on you i will cut their hands off if they try” kinda way.

the world is fucked up anyway, who’s to say he gets to judge moral character? you make him feel desired and wanted, so what if you’re not a good person?

he’s rather introverted anyway, so it’s not like he’s going out every night and meeting new people. combine that with low self esteem and trauma from, well, being leon, he’s drained and can’t be bothered to care if you’re a little too obsessed.

hell, his last ‘relationship’, if you could call it that, was with a girl who tricked and betrayed him time after time and yet he loved her despite it all. maybe he has a type for the bad ones.

he loves you now. he knows he loves you. he knew he loved you when you once risked everything to save him, and he knew you loved him when you got very brutal revenge on his behalf. he kinda likes your violent side when it works in his favor.

but he still tries to keep you from doing the worst that he knows you’re capable of. he knows if he said more than a few words, or god forbid smiled at any of his friends who you thought ‘wanted him’ (because why does literally everyone want to fuck him?) you’d lose it. he tries to keep your temper contained, so he plays nice, though it’s worth it to him.

to have someone want him so badly that they’d kill for him and do anything to keep him… the idea makes leon’s knees weak. he’d do anything to feel wanted and needed for you. the more you claim him as yours, marking your territory, the more butterflies he feels in his stomach.

you tell someone, “he’s mine, so either back off or i swear that i will fucking rip out your teeth one by one.” he watches them run away pitifully, before turning his attention back to you. you’re smiling at him, and bring your hand up to play with his hair.

“sorry you had to see that, know you don’t like it,” you say softly.

he brushes it off, because he always does. he knows you mean well (even if you don’t). he knows you only threaten others or act violently because you love him and he needs that love. besides, you’re so thoughtful for apologizing because you know he doesn’t like seeing this side of you (which is not entirely true but he did feel bad for that person).

one day, you stumble upon him in your shared room while he’s crying. he tells you it’s okay, it happens, he’s learned how to get through it by himself. you shake your head, noting that this obviously isn’t okay. you sit next to him on the bed, wrapping your arms around him, and you two sit like that for just a moment.

“you’re okay,” your voice stills the air, brings him back to reality, “you’re not in danger, and i’m gonna be here to protect you, okay? i’m here because i care about you, so let me care for you, baby.”

he nods with tears in his eyes, resting his head on your shoulder. he’s forgotten what it feels like for someone to really care, to hold him and tell him he was going to be alright.

after a moment, he’s able to get his breathing under control.

“thank you…” he whispers.

“of course, baby, i’m here for you. i’m always gonna be here for you, i care about you so, so much, leon. no one else will ever care for you the way i do, as much as i do,” you murmur, and he doesn’t seem to notice something glaringly wrong with what you just said.

he doesn’t notice the thoughts swirling around in your head, adoring how fragile he is right now, wanting him to always be like this so he’s always this vulnerable, this dependent on you. he can’t notice any of it. he just lets you hold him, and holds you back in return.

you hold each other until he starts to pull away first, rubbing his teary eyes with the back of his hand, “god, i- i’m sorry. jeez, nothing even set it off. one minute i- i was fine! and the next…” he trails off, and you tell him he’s okay. he’s allowed to be vulnerable and emotional with you. you like him like this anyway. or maybe you just like the way his blue eyes shine when he cries.

and you’re wayyy too overpowering just as a person for him to ever be in charge, especially in bed. sometimes it’ll be soft, just two lovers touching and fondling each other, gasping and moaning and kissing wherever possible. but sometimes your possessive side comes out. it happens the most when he does something you don’t like, i.e. ‘flirting’ with someone else (he was just talking and joking around).

he does like your possessive side though. he likes being pinned down, and if you think you’re not strong enough, trust me, you can put yourself in the right position to make it so he can’t get out from under you. or you could just handcuff him or tie him up, that always works, but there is just something about being physically held down and kissed until his brain shuts off that makes him into a perfect fucktoy.

he likes when you pull out a marker and write stuff like ‘mine <3’ or ‘property of y/n’ on him. especially if it’s with a permanent marker and in a place that people can easily see, on his wrist or neck. he feels claimed, owned, a sense of being property belonging to someone else, not himself.

despite loving your darkness, leon appreciates that you’re rather… soft on him. you take it slow so he has time to adjust, make his heart jump with love and affection every single time you praise him (which you do often bc how could you not? it’s leon, c’mon now) he knows you have it in you to be harder, to fully degrade and humiliate him if you really wanted to. you choose not to.

one day you come home, covered in what he can assume is not your blood. his stomach drops at the thought of what you did, and he goes through every possible interaction he had that day that could have made you do something so drastic, so terrible and cruel. he comes up with nothing.

“what… happened?” he asks, nervously. he tries to keep distance between his body and yours, but you’re closing in on him.

“killed two birds with one stone… literally…” you smirked as he takes a cautious step back, feeling what used to be butterflies in his stomach turn to this heavy sense of dread, “that girl that told you your eyes were ‘so pretty’ and… that guy that touched your arm like he wanted to fucking bite it. don’t worry, sweetheart. i took care of them.”

were you expecting him to thank you? for… committing murder? he’s… at best he’s disappointed and at worst he’s literally horrified.

and it’s terribly timed, but on a separate note? you look insanely hot covered in blood. maybe the feeling in his stomach is only half fear and half something else, or maybe one of his kinks is being afraid for his life. who knows?

you come closer to him, and he can’t find it in himself to ask you to stop approaching him, closing in on him like a predator does it’s prey, “baby,” you murmur to him, softly like you do when you’re soothing him when he’s crying, your hands both coming up to cup his face, getting blood all over his cheeks. your thumb brushes against his bottom lip and he swears you’re intentionally smearing blood on it, “it’s okay,” you say.

it’s not okay, dude. you just killed two people.

maybe you’ve killed more that leon doesn’t know about, and tonight was the night you felt like having him see you like this. you could have gotten away with it if you wanted to, and he would never have known, but you chose to let him find you like this, clothes ruined from how much blood splattered on them, that sadistic ass smile on your face.

you wanted this. you wanted him to see you like this. you wanted to take him like this.

you lean in, pressing a bloody kiss to his forehead (imagine whatever kinda scenario necessary that fits this height wise for u i’m sorry >.<) before leaning in to kiss his lips, both tasting the iron and feeling the wetness of the blood dripping down your chins as he touches you back gently, his hands caressing your arms as you hold him and landing softly on your hips, like he’s saying it’s okay, i accept you for the monster you are.

he knows it’s wrong, he knows he’s a good person and you’re not and there’s a clear line that you’ve brazenly crossed, but he can’t help the butterflies he gets when you’re the darkest, cruelest version of you. covered in blood and all, you want him. despite all his flaws, you want him. he can’t deny you, not when you’ve only ever soothed him when he has traumatized breakdowns and assured him that he’s more than just a weapon or a tool, that he’s loved and needed and wanted.

you press one of your legs between his thighs, forcing his legs open and he lets you, whining as you continue to kiss him, and your hand palms him over his jeans. he feels weak, cornered, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him when you lean to whisper in his ear, “mine.” and he whimpers pathetically, nodding fast as you kiss his neck just a couple times, gently and bloodily.

despite everything, you’re just so endlessly gentle with him that he can’t help but let you get away with this. maybe if he could just get the image of their faces out of his head, he could get over it. once you’ve made him cum three times in a row, his body on the brink of giving out on him, safe to say that’s when he finally forgets. he can’t really think much of anything.

“oh, sweet little thing, don’t you understand? i had to get rid of her, she wanted to get in the way of our love,” you say. and he’d just nod dazedly.

“o-okay,” he mumbles. his brain is foggy and your touch makes it hard to think, but if you say it’s true, then he’s inclined to believe you. clearly, you were doing the right thing by getting rid of her. obviously.

“and that poor boy, it’s too bad that he was a whore, wanted to grope your muscles so fucking bad, hm?” you smirk, “did you like it when he did that? when he touched you?”

“n-no, i-i only like when you do stuff like that to me,” he says he exactly what you want to hear, grasping onto you for support, knowing without you he’d fall apart, “please, i don’t care what you do or… or who you hurt because you love me! just please love me!”

“of course i’ll love you,” your tone softens, you take the victory with a smirk turned soft smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes behind his ear, “you’re so pretty when you’re obedient.”

conditional praise; truly the best way to manipulate him for example: “you’re such a good boy when you only look at me.” that’s his kryptonite, because leon thrives off of praise. being told he’s a good boy makes him giddy on the inside, even if he tries to control his reaction. praise is how you control him.

and after you’re done with him, you put your clothes in the washing machine, take a shower, and walk out like your normal self. he makes you both dinner and you cuddle him to sleep just like usual. though while you’re fast asleep, he lays awake, thinking about what just happened.

he’s always known this could happen, and maybe this isn’t even the first time you’ve killed someone because of him. he’s known for a while now that you’ve become cruel and violent when it came to his relationships with other people, but he can’t shake the feeling of fear deep inside his soul when he physically saw what you’re capable of.

even in your sleep, you touch is soothing to him, and he remembers that he doesn’t really have any better options. he’s convinced no one will ever love him as strongly as you do (not just because you’ve told him that but because again, he’s got low self esteem and you’re way nicer to him than he feels like he deserves).

does he just let you be? no, that wouldn’t sit right on his conscious. does he continue to try and curb your violent tendencies against his better judgement and morals?

or does he try to leave you? he thinks he knows you wouldn’t ever truly hurt him, and he wonders whether or not you’d let him leave if he tried. (he’s not going to, but he wonders...) he just… doesn’t see what else he would do. find someone else? they won’t love him like you do. be single? sure, and be miserable every day because all he can think about is your love, your touch, you.

“what do i do with you…” he mumbles to your sleeping form, resting his head against your chest, feeling the slow heartbeat pumping inside. he likes how it shows your humanity, your normalcy. the one thing about you that doesn’t feel so far away from him.

leon loves you. truly. he doesn’t want that fact to be overshadowed by how disproportionately and insanely you love him. he loves you, still cares about you, still wants to see you happy. you make him happy, in some ways, even if you really terrify him in others. you comfort him and soothe him, you assure him that he’s safe with he wakes up with nightmares from the horrors he’s seen.

he wants to care for you, wants to be the one to hold you when you’re sad and you’re having a bad day. somewhere deep inside his heart, he wants to protect you and keep you safe. even if he knows that’s absurd (because you’re a killer… god he can’t get over that..) he can’t help that his nature is to care for people. maybe that’s what drove you to such insanity in your love for him: in his heart, he never stopped caring about other people. he is the same selfless hero he always was. his softness and care for everyone around him is what made you fall for him… and what made you insane when it comes to your love for him.

despite how terrible you are, he remembers all that you’ve done for him, the moments where your softness and gentleness really showed. he loves that side of you the most. that’s the one he fell for, after all. but he’d be amiss to think that’s the only side of you, or to not acknowledge the other. your cruelty towards people other than him is a side of you just like your kindness towards him is a side of you. they coexist whether he likes it or not.

he comes to the conclusion that there is no sweet you without cruel you, and he must learn to love both or to love neither. he decides he’ll love both, but still maybe try to keep the evilness contained. maybe he can try to talk you out of killing more people.

and when he begs so pretty for you to focus on him and not on the girl trying to flirt with him at the coffee shop, how could you refuse him? if you pulling him away to suck dark, tender hickeys into his neck is the alternative to you killing that poor girl, then he’d say that’s a win-win.

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adrift-in-thyme · 3 months

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Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless (Wild & Twilight)

Read on Ao3

And so it begins...

I'm super excited for another whump-filled month! Thank you in advance to everyone coming along with me on this wild ride! Your support means the world to me <33

CW for a panic attack

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Wild looks down at his hands. Maybe, that isn’t the best idea at the moment, because they are trembling so violently he thinks that if he picked something up he’d drop it.

And that is not the only thing shaking either. His entire body is. Like the leaves on the trees in Hateno Village, blown wildly about by a hearty wind.

He breathes in and gains no oxygen from it. This…whatever this is has been coming on all day, squeezing his chest and throat and turning his vision fuzzy at the edges. But now, it has broken free.

He is just glad that he made it to camp before it did.

Why it even came, he hasn’t a clue. There’s some reason behind it, he’s sure. But it’s not often that he can pinpoint it.

This just happens sometimes, an outpouring of unpleasant emotion he isn’t expecting. A feeling so like the one that had hounded his footsteps throughout his journey to save Hyrule. The terrible, inescapable certainty that the world is going to end.

But it’s not going to end…at least from what he can see. The sky is a calm, unassuming navy, speckled with stars. The moon glows a golden hue, innocent and merciful. The cheerful voices of his brothers drift to his ears from where they sit, bathed in the warmth of the fire.

They are safe. He is safe.

Yet, Wild feels anything but. He feels like a hinox has just sat down on his chest.

Nearby, someone laughs. Warriors, he thinks. The sound is like a knife driven into his heart.

Wild curls in on himself. He clasps his hands together, fingernails digging into calloused skin. Desperate tears spring to his eyes and slide hot and fast down his cheeks. Breathing feels useless now, impossible. He’s drowning even as he drags in air.

His surroundings blur into shades of blue and green.

Get it together, Link, he tells himself, even as a rushing noise floods his ears, followed up by a high-pitched ring. He remembers that sound from before. He heard it so many times – during ceremonies and dances and every other stuffy royal performance that stuck him at the forefront of the people he would fail. When he kneeled before Zelda too. When Ganon attacked and all he could do was run.

You’re fine. It quickly becomes a chant. Everything’s fine. So, just pull yourself…

The sound of footsteps comes crashing through his tumbled thoughts. Whatever wheezing little air he had been able to drag in sticks in his throat. His pounding heart skips several beats.

Wild scrambles to his feet, eyes wide and feet unsteady. He reaches for his sword. But he doesn’t find it.

Oh, yeah. Because it broke the other day. Great. Just great.

The piercing blue eyes that gaze up at him, however, and the slender gray body that curves through the brush with the grace of a serpent are those he knows. A wolf sits down before him.

The panic that has reached a fever pitch dims slightly. Wild chokes out a half-breath.

“Twi.”

Twilight pads toward him, concern in his eyes.

“Are you alright, cub?” He seems to ask.

“I—” Wild clenches his hands into fists. “I’m…”

Fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.

He shakes his head, defeatedly. Tears burn hot behind his eyes. In the next moment, his legs give way beneath him, landing him in a pitiful pile on the ground.

“I’m not.” It’s a croak torn from a throat too tight for anything else. A truth that Wild wishes he didn’t have to voice and yet, is certain the rancher already knows.

He has never been able to hide anything from him.

Twilight steps forward, as silent as the moon gazing down on them from above. A cool, wet nose presses against Wild’s forehead, hot breath blowing his bangs. Blindly, Wild reaches out. Thick, soft fur meets his clawing fingers. He buries himself in it.

Twilight smells of the forest and shadow magic — wildflowers and damp leaves and the dew that settles in the early hours of the night. Smoke and something mournful.

Wild breathes it in. His fingertips brush back and forth through the fur, feeling the warmth and fluff beneath them.

Twilight inhales, and Wild can feel his chest move. His breath hitches.

The rancher feels real, sounds real, smells real. His presence softens the blows of the terror thrashing about within him, drives aside the sensation that the ground is crumbling beneath his feet.

He is here. Twilight is here. And they’re okay.

“Okay,” Wild whispers, hoarse and desperate, a plea for his words to be true. Tears streak in steady streams down his cheeks. “We’re o-okay.”

Twilight nuzzles him, gently. “That’s right. We’re okay, cub.”

For now, that traitorous voice whispers, the one that squeezes the air from his lungs and overwhelms him. Until the moment when it all falls apart. When you lose them all. Because you weren’t enough.

“Why?” He can only manage a murmur, strangled and hopeless. “I feel—I feel so helpless, Twi. Why do I — ”

Another sob tears his throat apart. He can’t see past the salty liquid cascading down, can’t feel past the terrible, inescapable pressure in his mind and on his chest.

It’s too much. Everything is just too much. The noose around him tightens until the breathtaking pain of it is unbearable.

If he hears one more sound, feels one more sensation, has to fight one more fight, he will explode. He is certain of it.

So trapped in the prison of terror is he that Wild hardly realizes it when fur turns to the soft cloth of a tunic. Arms encircle him and pull him close. A heart beats steadily in his ears.

He clings to that noise and the promise it contains, however temporary it might be. And he clings to the sound of Twilight’s voice washing over him like a wave, assuring him that it will be alright, that he is safe, that he is anything but helpless.

…That he doesn’t need to be invincible to protect those he loves.

“You’re stronger than you know, cub. And you’ve made me proud. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. You can’t and that’s alright.”

And though Wild can’t bring himself to truly believe that — maybe he never will, maybe that horrible tightness will remain a permanent fixture in his chest — he curls into his brother and tries to trust.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday1 #panic attack tw #whump #angst #linked universe #lu wild #lu twilight #trin writes

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onskepa · 9 months

Text

Tstew ch 3

Helloooooooo everyone! Long awaited chapter! This, like the others, I had to re-write over and over. But! I have come to the conclusion that this will be the final chapter. Idk how long this will be but hopefully it shall satisfy everyone. Enjoy!

Ch1 , ch2 , Ch3

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It has been a few weeks since tstew began using her avatar. Things were sooooo much better than before. She can climb better, faster, and farther lengths. Eat meats that tasted delicious on her na'vi tongue! Swim without the need to carry the oxygen filter, to smell things without the mask in the way. Truly the best thing tstew could have ever wanted.

And truly the best thing the boys every wanted too. Every smile, hiss, sound that tstew makes, the three boys just cant help themselves. If they already loved tstew in her human form well they are down for her na'vi form.

Spider, the amazing, adventure seeking sunny boy loves his dear friend tstew. Growing up together, the firsts human pandoran beings. Native in their planet yet foreign. Not being able to truly be with the people. While spider wants to be na'vi, he admires tstew for doing her thing. While she was given a avatar, he admires she doesn't use it to greedy advantage. Still not wishing to connect with the Omatikaya clan but still connect with the fauna around her. Strong, flirty, and loud, spider knows her better than anyone else. They grew up together. He finds that it is only fair he should have her affections.

Lo'ak, trouble seeking, trouble seeks him, and breaks the rules rather than follow. He sees himself in tstew, and he sees her in him. Always pranking, causing chaos where ever they go, not being sorry for who they are. Lo'ak could never get bored with tstew around. She is just that fun! Always making games, cracking a few jokes, or even just scare others for laughs. Every time lo'ak looks into tstew's emerald eyes, it is like a window to a new world. He could never get tired of tstew. She always has something to show, new change and experience. Something lo'ak wants to have in his life.

Neteyam being the oldest of his siblings, wise and calm for his age. But with tstew? he is a melting mess. Tstew is like the sun to his moon. Bringing warmth, life, and color. Her little remarks and quick snaps makes him want to laugh. Not in a bad way. Her witty humor is always so refreshing and welcoming. What he lacks, she provides. When he is with tstew, he can easily drop his "big brother" role and just be a kid like those his age. When he sees her, be it human or na'vi form, he gets those tingling feelings deep in his stomach. Those fluttery feelings when you see someone you like. That is what he gets every time he sees tstew. He loves her for who she is all that is all there is to it.

Kiri wasn't dumb, she knew the attempts her brothers are trying to do. Gift giving, cracking specific jokes only tstew will understand, make things tstew will like. Or even mention something about an animal she likes. Tuk was thankfully oblivious to those things. Best to stay that way.

Tstew on the other hand noticed the boys change of....perceiving things. "lo'ak, not that I am complaining buuuut....I think I have more than enough fruit" she tells him while pointing to 5 baskets full of her favorite fruit. Lo'ak was just ready to fill a sixth basket. "Perhaps its best you give at least 4 baskets to your family? you found some really ripe ones" she continues. Lo'ak puts down the fruits he was holding into the basket before turning to her. "But they don't like them very much. So that is why I am giving them to you" he replies. Tstew holds one in her hand and takes a bite, savoring its yummy taste.

"but it will seem like I am greedy. I can take one basket and share it with the others back at the post. If your family doesn't like them, give some to the people. We cant let these yummy fruits go to waste". That is another thing lo'ak loves about tstew. Her genuine care for others, better to give than to receive.

"yeah lo'ak! just a sad waste to see all those fruits-"

"spider you either take those stones back or I am throwing them at you" tstew says without even turning around. "yes ma'am" spider quickly replies and turns back.

Neteyam was observing the whole thing and took metal notes. Tstew doesn't like it when she is being over gifted, ok so something minimal can do.

"neteyam! that bow better be for yourself or for someone else because I am NOT hunting!" she shouts at him. Ok so the bow was not a good idea. Got it.

Tstew loves the animals too much to kill them. Yes she eats their meats but will do a small thank you for the deceased animal for their sacrifice. She may be tall and a bit athletic, she draws the line on pandora's precious fauna.

Trying to impress tstew sure is a challenge. She either wont accept it or when she does, wont think too much on it and go on about her day. The boys think she is that blind or turning her head away. Despite her flirting, no one knows if she was genuine or just playing around.

"boys will be boys" kiri says as she weaves a simple bracelet. Tstew sighs as she sits next to her. "you tell me, I don't know what made to act so.....gifting? so weird, if only they put the same effort in DOING THEIR ACTUAL SHIT AND NOT PROCRASINATE!".

Tstew looked to her surroundings and noticed tuk wasn't there with them. "hey kiri, where is tuk? I didn't see her leave?" she asks, kiri point to a direction to her left, "she said she got bored and went to play with her friends over there".

What no one knew.....was tuk making a collective BANK.

"two green stones and 5 arrows for neteyam confessing"

Tuk was having a large bet meeting with the other omatikaya children as they are betting on which boy will confess first.

"ok next!" tuk shouts.

Another child steps up, "10 arrows, 20 beads, and 5 feathers on spider!"

Tuk hopes neither confess so she can keep her hoard.

And that completes this tstew tribology! no more of this cause idk where else to go but! either way! I hope you all enjoyed it! until next time! see ya!

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

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Field of Tulips - one

Synopsis - You’re Special Sargent Dunn, having been off on medical leave for quite some time Captain Price has someone he’d like you to meet. He wants you back in the field.

Master page - please read all content warnings on this page before proceeding.

- - - -

There it was again, that familiar sound that pulled you from your sleep. Night after night. The strangled cries of your teammates as the plane fell to the ground. The sheer terror on their faces as they knew this was it, the sweet embrace of death. Martinez clutched his family photo. Adam’s said a silent prayer. Smith let a tear fall from his umber eyes.

The pilot shot dead, the engines blown to shit, the orange glow of flames lit up the night sky.

But you? You accepted your fate. In fact your welcomed it. What did you have to live for? No family. No significant other. No friends. You sat with a disturbingly calm expression on your face. You pulled Adam’s into your chest as he sobbed.

You woke up at the same point in the dream.

Every fucking time.

Shooting upright in bed sweat adorned your skin, the bed sheets sodden with a mixture of tears and sweat. As you tried to catch your breath, a snore from next to you broke you from the dangerous hold the images in your head held you in.

Fuck.

That’s right. James. Your fuck buddy. Or was he a form of self-harm? Impulsive promiscuous sex to make you feel better Though you’re pretty sure he thought it was more. Shoving him awake he met your gaze. Confused. ‘Out’ you demanded. No warmth in your tone in the slightest. He rubbed his eyes ‘what?’

‘You fucking heard me. Out. Get your shit and go.’

‘It’s nearly 4 am?!’

‘Sounds like a you problem. Get the fuck out.’

Rolling over he muttered under his breath. Feeling rage burst within you, you clambered over the bed and pushed him. ‘What the fuck did you say?!’ You face was screwed tight with pure anger, resentment even. Grabbing your wrists he pinned you to the bed, ‘I said you’re a crazy fucking bitch. No wonder no one wants you’ he spat. He gripped you tightly as he lowered himself to your face, his voice low and harsh. ‘Maybe it would have been better if you died in that crash. No one would miss you.’

Standing up he released you, his dull foot steps marched from the bedroom to the living room. Just as soon as he’d shut your apartment door a glass smashed against it. Meant for his head. Oops. ‘Fucking prick!’ You yelled, expelling all oxygen from your tired lungs.

You could feel the tightness in your chest slowly take hold of you. Your heart rate increased by the millisecond as a thick haze descended over your body. Running to the freezer you grabbed an ice block and placed it in your hands, a feeble attempt at grounding.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

He’s right … you should have died … you shouldn’t be here … everyone else had families … yet you survived … pathetic … look at you … disgusting … no wonder no one loves you … you’re a shitty person …

Over and over and over. You tried to breathe. Tried to distract yourself to little avail. The ice block stung your clammy skin, burnt your veins as desperately tried to think of a field of tulips. Your safe image. An image of a happier time when you were a child, before everything went to shit.

After what seemed like an eternity you chest opened up, releasing itself from the clutches of anxiety. Slowly you dropped the ice block into the sink, it fell with a thud onto the beaten up metal. Bent over the sink you looked up into the clear sky through your window. The moon was full, it shone through your blinds casting a shadow in the kitchen. The night always seemed more calm than the day, but it always gave room for over thinking.

Over analysing.

Analysing everyone of their faces as the plane fell. It had been a year. A year on medical leave, a year of going to psychology appointments. A year of lying through your teeth so you could get back to work. A year of living, unrelenting hell.

The blue hue from an advertisement board cast a calm but dim light against the wall of your apartment. The latest skin care you had to have. To stop you aging. The usual capitalist bullshit. It cast thick shadows into the room, fighting against the moon. The shadows danced in your living room, shimmering a long the neglected dusty surfaces.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been stood at the sink, that happened a lot. Slots of time that you couldn’t recall, ending up in places you couldn’t remember getting to. Your phone buzzed to life in the bedroom, taking in a deep breath you walked over to see it was Price. Fuck did he want at 5am.

Reluctantly picking up the phone you pressed it to your ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey kid, sorry it’s so early’ his voice was calm and warm, serene even. ‘No, no it’s fine. I was up anyway.’

‘Dreams again?’ He pressed, concern laced in his voice. ‘No I was up anyway.’ Liar.

‘Hmm ok, well come to base for 10am, I want you to meet someone. We want you back kid.’ A small smile tugged at your lips, finally. ‘I’ll be there sir.’

‘Good, lookin’ forward to seeing you.’

With that he hung up the phone, you knew he could read you like a book. He was the closest thing you had a to a father. You’d served under Captain Price many times, forming a close bond with him. No one had had your back like he did after the accident, he’s the only reason you weren’t honourably discharged. Taking a deep breath you meandered your way to the shower, anticipation bubbled in your stomach.

- - - -

Walking down the clinical corridors your boots squeaked with every step. Whispers and murmurs from fellow soldiers and personnel who recognised you. You kept your head down, eyes to the floor, wanting the earth to swallow you whole. While you wanted to come back, you couldn’t be bothered with the shit that came with it.

As you approached Captain Price’s door you heard loud but muffled voices. One Price, the other you didn’t recognise. A string Scottish accent met your ears, his voice was deep and gruff. The voice of someone who demanded respect, but, they’d have to earn that from you. You weren’t about to roll over saying ‘yes sir’ to anyone.

‘… you’re mad Price. She ain’t ready, not even close. I’m not having her on my team.’

You heard Price sigh, ‘Soap you’re havin her. She needs to come back. She’s a damn good sergeant. She’d be an asset to your team and you know it.’

Soap? Not someone you’d heard of before. Either way he was gonna get an earful from you, who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know you. Prick.

‘She may be good at her job sir, but she’s damaged goods.’

That was enough to make you see red, but, you’d always promised Price you’d always try and keep calm. Your mouth had gotten you into trouble on multiple occasions. Pushing the door open you entered his office. The familiar smell of cigars and cedar wood filled the air, it smelt like home. Prices eyes widened, knowing you’d heard everything, he looked tense. Clearly wondering if you were about to chew Soaps ear off.

Looking over to Soap sweetly you offered him a warm smile and held out your hand. ‘Special Sargent Dunn, sniper and demolitions. Or, I guess my preferred name, damaged goods.’ Soap took your hand firmly and shook it. He was tall, easily 6’2, bulky stature, the most captivating azure eyes you’d ever seen and a very distinctive Mohawk. He chewed his cheek as he watched you take a seat.

As he opened his mouth you raised a hand, silencing him. ‘No need to apologise sir. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Easily done, wouldn’t you agree?’ Price struggled to hide a smirk as you eyed up the Captain. He was pretty sure he saw him take a small step back. Soap flashed a look to Price who merely shrugged, leaving him to fight his way out of the grave he’d dug himself.

‘Aye. Just a misunderstanding.’ He eyed you cautiously, unsure of what to make of you. Clearly headstrong and someone who wouldn’t take any shit. Something Soap felt he could work with, you’d be able to handle your own well. He just needed to make sure you didn’t lose your head. Nodding, you have him another sickly sweet smile, borderline psychopathic. ‘Good. Glad to hear it. Now, what am I helping you with sir?’

Soap looked down at the floor and took in a deep breath, his huge shoulders rising and falling. ‘Gotten wind of one of the most dangerous terrorists known to date. Putting together a team to track him down. You bein one of ‘em. Price speaks very highly of yah.’

You glanced over at Price who was sat behind his desk, watching you both intently, ready to break you up at any second.

‘Oh he does, does he?’ You say smiling at Price, you shifted in the chair, crossing your leg. ‘And what do you think of my record sir?’ Soap wasn’t overly used to being pinned like this, but he knew you had him in a vice courtesy of the comment he made. ‘Top in your class for sniping, impeccable skill and kill count. Not to mention your efficiency with demolitions. You’d fit in nicely.’

‘Hmm. Well, as long as you think so.’ You stoop up and brushed off your trousers. ‘Captain, you can count me in. It’s been a pleasure.’

As you turned to leave Soap coughed, grabbing your attention. ‘Training starts Monday. Just a refresh, you’ve been off for a while. Block B. 8am. Got it?’

You nodded ‘McTavish.’

‘Dunn.’

- - - -

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know

#call of duty #soap mctavish x reader #Captain McTavish #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny mctavish x reader #soap mctavish x you #johnny mctavish #slow burn #09 soap

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whatacaitastrophe · 4 months

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Is It Over Now - Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Don't Speak" - No Doubt

Chapter Warnings: Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Blood Drinking

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter 2: You're Letting Go

She’s standing back on the docks again, watching quietly as the sun begins to rise over what’s left of Baldur’s Gate. All of her companions are there, and everyone is happily discussing the celebrations they intend to have. Everyone, except Gale.

This time, though, Fallon is not in her own body as the scene unfolds in front of her. Instead, she's off to the side, watching as Gale paces in small circles, talking mostly to himself about what it would mean if he succeeds in reforging the crown and wielding it for himself; watching herself slowly realize where this conversation is going.

“Say something.” Fallon tells herself, but her past remains stunned silent as Gale tells her that he’s made his choice.

“SAY SOMETHING!” She yells to herself now, but someone may as well have cast a silencing spell on Fallon, because nobody reacts to the fact that there are two Fallons, and one is pleading with the other to stop her lover from making the biggest mistake of his life.

Panic flares in her chest and bile churns in her stomach as Fallon listens to Gale promise her the moon and the stars again. The window of opportunity to stop him is closing swiftly and Fallon’s past self is still standing there. Doing nothing.

“YOU STUPID WOMAN, FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!! HE'S GOING TO LEAVE! STOP HIM!” Fallon tries to run to herself, to Gale, desperate to intervene but there’s an unknown force holding her back. She thrashes against the force to no avail, screaming at herself over and over to stop her lover from leaving. At the very moment that Gale is about to take his leave, a sharp pain jolts through Fallon’s body, and the scene drifts away.

Fallon returns to consciousness with a start. Her breathing is heavy, she’s covered in sweat, and there’s something wet trickling down her arm. Fallon looks around wildly as she tries to get her bearings, and she’s almost instantly met with Astarion’s face. It doesn’t take long after that to figure out why her arm is wet; she’s bleeding.

“Sorry,” the vampire apologizes as he wipes his mouth on his arm. “You wouldn’t wake up, and you were thrashing about. I was unsure of what else to do, and I figured I woke you up from a dead sleep when I tried to bite you once before, so maybe it would work again?”

In any other situation, Fallon would laugh at the memory of the night she found out Astarion was a vampire, but any notions of humor are dead on arrival because Fallon is too busy trying not to have a panic attack. The suite around her feels like it’s getting smaller and making sure her body receives oxygen takes all of her strength. Even then, it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s an owlbear sitting on her chest and no matter what she does, it won’t move. Fallon closes her eyes, doing her best to shut the entire world out, instinctively curling into herself with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead on her knees.

Fallon can hear the sound of Astarion shuffling around. Not that she blames him, she wants to get as far away from herself as possible, too. The weight shifts on the mattress and, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Fallon realizes that Astarion hasn’t distanced himself from her at all; on the contrary, he’s moved closer so he’s sitting on his knees in front of her. “Fallon?” He speaks her name gently. The last time she can recall Astarion speaking to her with such gentleness was after she convinced him not to complete The Black Mass once Cazador was defeated. Her friend gave up the sun and true freedom in favor of what was left of his humanity, humanity that one could argue he found again after spending time with Fallon and their companions, and Fallon had never been prouder of someone before.

The irony was not lost on Fallon that when she met Astarion, he was power-hungry, revenge-focused, and those around him were objects to be used as he saw fit so long as he survived. Whereas, he was the group’s moral compass most of the time who often disapproved of Astarion’s decisions.

Now, if you were to ask Fallon which of the men she’d traveled with had more of a moral compass than the other, he wouldn’t even make the top three. Scratch was higher on the list.

“Fallon, look at me.” His words are soft, but there is still the underlying tone that this is not a request. An order only amplified by his cold hand reaching forward, tucking his fingers under her chin and forcing her to look up. Fallon does as she’s told and stares back at Astarion, his red eyes full of concern for her. “I need you to breathe for me, darling,” Another soft statement that is not a request. “Don’t focus on anything else. Look at me, and breathe.”

It takes effort, keeping eye contact with the elf in front of her as she focuses on her breathing. Even direct eye contact feels too intimate for Fallon’s liking these days. Even so, the rest of the world falls away as she stares back at Astarion, trying to regain control. The stillness he exudes can only be described as preternatural. He never removes his fingers from under her chin or really even moves at all. After several attempts to breathe in through her nose and out of her mouth, Fallon regains control of her breathing, and she can feel her heart rate slowing as her body exits flight mode.

Fallon’s shoulders relax, and Astarion only moves when she is ready to uncurl herself from the fetal position. Even then, he does not go far, only shifting so he is sitting directly next to her on the bed, their thighs and legs still touching. The silence remains between them while Fallon relaxes, and several minutes go by before Astarion speaks. “How often does that happen?”

Fallon swallows hard. For a moment, she considers lying to her friend. Fallon is not really in the mood to receive more pitying looks from Astarion, but he’s already seen her at her most vulnerable, so there’s not much of a point.

“Every night,” She admits quietly, so only quietly someone with enhanced hearing (such as Astarion and herself) could hear her. “I was back on the docks.” Fallon explains, grateful that Astarion did not need any additional context to understand. After all, he was there when her life fell apart. Fallon forces herself to look at Astarion. His jaw is clenched, and the silent anger radiates off of his body as he lets out a long breath through his nose.

“We should have let him blow himself up when we had the chance.” The vampire’s words are cold and unforgiving, and Fallon flinches. The last time he spoke so coldly about another person in her presence, they were discussing Cazador.

“I was never going to let him.” They both knew that. Falling in love with him happened as naturally as breathing. By the time Elminster showed up to deliver Mystra’s orders, the inevitable had already happened. Fallon hated thinking about the moment she fell for him now, but that stupid wizard had her at the first “Hello!” after she pulled him out of that stupid portal.

“Do you regret it now? Not letting him go through with it?”

It is yet another moment where she could lie to Astarion, but it would be pointless. “You have no idea how much I wish I could regret it.” As much as Fallon wants to be filled with hate and regret when she thinks of him, she’s not, and that’s probably the exact reason he haunts her dreams so thoroughly. She glances over to the window of her suite, and it’s still dark out. Her best guess is that it’s not quite the middle of the night, but the sun can’t be more than an hour or so from rising.

Astarion looks like he has something else to say on the matter, but Fallon can’t talk about it anymore. Her attention is drawn to the now dried blood on her arm and she lifts her arm to Astarion. “When was the last time you ate? Might as well finish what you started, yeah?” If the vampire senses her deflection, he doesn’t push her, and Fallon is grateful for that. His expression softens and he offers Fallon a small smirk. “Just like old times.” He carefully takes her arm in his hands and positions his mouth over the open wound and bites down again.

Fallon closes her eyes and embraces the pain, her mind drifting back to the moment she offered to be Astarion’s personal buffett every couple of days; back when they were little more than acquaintances, and Astarion viewed her as someone to be used to ensure his survival.

”I wondered when you would come back for more.” He smirked at her.

Fallon stared at Astarion with a puzzled look on her face.“What do you mean?”

“Your offer. I’m surprised it took you this long to suggest it.” His answer only furthered Fallon’s confusion, so she just stared at him in silence, waiting for Astarion to elaborate. “Because you liked it, didn’t you? I felt the way your pulse quickened, I heard the way your breath hitched in your throat. The little moan you tried so desperately to suppress.”

Fallon raised her eyebrow at the vampire. “I think drinking my blood might have made you a little bit delusional.” She lied. Fallon barely knew Astarion, and from what she could tell, his ego was already quite inflated. Fallon had no intention of making it worse.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling. I’ll come find you later tonight.”

Even now, Fallon has no plans to admit to Astarion that she enjoyed the sharp, icy pain that occurred when he bit her. There is no denying it’s an intimate gesture, willingly letting the vampire feed on her. It requires a level of trust that Fallon didn’t offer other people, and those other people were not actively partaking in an activity that could kill her if Astarion went too far. When Fallon feels herself becoming light headed, she reaches forward with her free hand and taps Astarion twice on his shoulder, just like she used to do. The vampire (thankfully) hadn’t forgotten their signal, and he pulls away from her instantly.

Astarion leans back against the headboard and offers her a sideways smile. “I’d forgotten how good you taste.”

Fallon snorts. “You don’t need to flatter me,” There’s an apple in her bedside table, she remembers, and she leans over to open the drawer to retrieve it. “I’ve already agreed to help you with whatever it is you came here for.”

“Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten in all of the…excitement,” Excitement was certainly one way to put it, Fallon thinks, and she stares at her friend expectantly. “As you know, I’ve been out traversing the Sword Coast in search of a way to get the sun back. I have a lead, but it’s not exactly local.”

Fallon sits up a little straighter. “Go on…”

“According to my sources, there’s a vampire coven in Asha, and they’re sunwalkers.”

“Asha?” Astarion nods in reply and Fallon lets out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding when you said it’s not local.”

When Astarion said it wasn’t local, Fallon assumed he was going to drag her to Cormyr or Amn. It never even occurred to her that Astarion could be asking her to leave Faerun altogether. Asha, The City of Starlight, was located in the easternmost tip of the Faerun’s neighboring land to the northwest, Velrea. Though calling Velrea “neighboring” was a bit of a stretch, seeing as nearly a thousand miles of ocean separated Velrea from Faerun. Fallon dug through the archives of her brain to try and picture where exactly Asha was in relation to Faerun, and where the nearest port in Faerun to sale to Asha would even be. Though her highborn education was extensive, Fallon’s memory of geography was not the best. Though she did not need to be an expert in geography to know that it would take much longer than a month to get to Asha and back.

“I guess we’re not going to the Winter Solstice ball at Wyrm’s Rock then, are we?” She muses.

“Oh please, I don’t plan on leaving until after the holidays are over. You know me better than that. A full slate of soirees where people are guaranteed to worship the ground I walk on because I saved their lives? Like I’d miss that.” he laughs, and Fallon can’t help but laugh a little too because he’s right. She does know him better than that to assume he’d miss a good party.

“I remember a time when you once told me you hated being the hero.” Fallon teases, shaking her head.

“Yes, well, people can change you know,” he shrugs. “Besides, based on what I’ve observed, you my dear are in no state to depart for another adventure.”

Fallon scowls at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means, darling? When was the last time you went more than a day without nearly drinking yourself to death? Don’t bother lying to me either, because I do hear things from the others…I believe you referred to it as us “gossiping” about you last night.”

Fallon opens her mouth to argue, to tell him that she has absolutely gone more than a day without drinking herself into oblivion every night and their friends are wrong, too. Truth be told, she can’t give him an answer because she legitimately doesn’t remember. Fallon closes her mouth again with a huff, and Astarion smirks at her. “That’s what I thought.”

“So what do you suggest we do for the next month, then?”

“Well first of all, you need to sober up. Then I imagine we need to get you in the sparring ring with Wyll, because your sword is looking quite dusty in the corner over there.” Astarion nods in the direction of Fallon’s most prized possession: the sword she inherited from her father when he passed. Astarion was right. She hasn’t touched it since the day they saved the city. There hadn’t been a need for it. Not only has her living situation since saving the world been entirely gratis, but so has the food she ate and the alcohol she drank; and she rarely left The Elfsong unless one of her friends dragged her out. Needless to say, the pile of gold Fallon was rewarded a year ago was sitting in her vault at the bank, almost completely untouched.

“What about you? Don’t tell me that you’re battle ready, Astarion.” Fallon challenges.

“I’ve spent the last four months traveling across Faerun looking for answers, and it definitely wasn’t a walk in the park,” He counters and Fallon frowns again because, once again, Astarion is right. He’s probably seen battle much more recently than she has. “Besides, you don’t need to ask me to spar if you want me to put you on your back in a matter of seconds, darling. You only need to ask.” The wink he shoots her is gratuitous, but it makes Fallon smile nonetheless. Many things have changed since she met Astarion, but the vampire being an insufferable flirt? That was apparently forever. Fallon rolls her eyes. “Fine. Tell Wyll I’ll train with him.”

As if on cue, a sharp knock rings out against the wood of the door to her suite and Fallon nearly pulls a muscle in her neck at the speed with which she looked to the door and back at Astarion. The smirk remains on the elf’s face and Fallon just stares at him incredulously. “Did you fuckers plan this?”

“In a manner of speaking. I may have mentioned to Wyll that I was coming to see you, and I may have mentioned I had plans to get you out of this godforsaken tavern, and that it might be useful to me if you were in battle-ready shape. Wyll was all too happy to assist. You know how those hero types can be.”

“Bastards.” Fallon mutters to herself as she gets out of her bed and heads for the door, not even caring in the slightest that her legs were completely bare, or that she’d apparently slept in Astarion’s shirt. Wyll is far too cheerful when she opens the door for the hour of the morning it now is, and between the lack of sleep and her hangover, Fallon almost shuts it in his face. Still, she accepts the embrace from her friend anyway, because she missed him.

“Now Fallon, I’m not sure how much Astarion told you about why I’m here, but you will need to put on trousers before we proceed.” Wyll grins, and Fallon can’t help herself when she throws up her middle finger in Wyll and Astarion’s direction as she stomps towards her dresser to find pants.

“Nice to see our girl is still in there somewhere.” Astarion calls after her, and Fallon can’t help but smile.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #female tav #astarion x tav #gale x tav #astarion x gale x tav #love triangle #angst #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #gale fanfic #gale smut #slow burn

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thebibliomancer · 13 days

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Earth X #8

May, stop being in space! You need your oxygens!

Earth X: it’s a Bad Future and it is a mess.

Uatu the Watcher has been blinded and he kidnapped Aaron to be his seeing eye robot. Uatu has bullied and dehumanized Aaron into deleting his own personality.

There’s been a mass empowering event which mutated all of humanity. At first it seemed like it was Reed Richard’s fault but doubt has been raised.

A psychic brat called the Skull has arrived in New New York with an army of thousands of mind controlled people.

Bruce Banner came to Sorcerer Supreme Clea for help contacting dead Mar-Vell. But Clea turns out to be in league with Loki and traps Thor and Hulk in in the Realm of Death.

Everything is apparently the Celestials’ mysterious plan for Earth or alternatively events are off the rails and happening 200 years sooner than they’re supposed to.

Earth X has so much stuff going on. So many subplots. And yet if it was a conspiracy board, all the yarn would connect to the Celestials.

I’ve commented before that Earth X takes the chaotic, kitchen sink Marvel universe and tries to tie it all into the Celestials.

A few issues back, Uatu explained that the Asgardians weren’t gods, they were shapeshifting empathic aliens who looked like Norse mythology because people expected them too.

It wasn’t an explanation I particularly liked.

Then, last issue, it was explained that the Hulk’s various personas were only a result of the Celestial seed in Bruce absorbing more and more gamma and had nothing to do with Bruce’s mental health.

This also I didn’t particularly like.

Now Earth X goes in a similarly weird direction by claiming that Peter Parker’s trademark crushing guilt and responsibility complex are also part of the Celestial plan.

Uatu doesn’t finish explaining how the hell this makes sense because he notices Aaron ask a follow-up question… which means Aaron didn’t erase his own personality!

Yay, Aaron! It would have been a bummer for him to undergo identity death for Uatu’s jerk ass.

In fact, Aaron was pretending to be an emotionless robot because he suspected that Uatu wouldn’t reveal the true secrets behind everything as long as he could still second guess them.

So now he knows (almost) everything. And he is furious.

Aaron Stack: “Who knows, maybe man’s every vice and every hunger can be traced to the Celestials. Maybe the Celestials’ manipulation of mankind’s evolution was in actuality a step down. The fall of man. You’ve damned them, Uatu. You and your Celestial Host. I guess this doesn’t surprise me. You’ve set yourself up as God. So you have the power to damn. But do you have the power to save? Could you redeem what you’ve set out to curse? You could. I know it. But you just don’t want to bother with it. You’d rather sit. And watch.”

John Jameson, moon werewolf astronaut, wanders into the Watcher’s home and right into an argument between Uatu and Aaron.

Which is good because it gives Aaron someone else to talk to when Uatu goes to sulk.

Also, somebody to narrate to. John wants to warn Earth about a scary something approaching from space but Aaron runs through the subplot list to show how everything is a mess and nobody is really available to deal with space invaders.

Captain America uses the Lockjaw teleporter (which I guess he borrowed from Reed) to warp right into Tony’s self-quarantine. Freaking Tony the hell out with fears of contamination.

Cap tries to warn Tony about the Skull’s huge army reaching New New York but Tony is sure the Iron Avengers have it handled.

(They don’t. They’ve been destroyed by the Skull’s army)

The Skull also has his forces wipe out the Hyda. Hmm, I really thought the mind control squid would be more important to the plot. I included it in every recap.

The Skull is confronted by Cop Luke Cage (who I also thought would be more important to the plot after he had that scene with Peter Parker in issue 1) and is irreverent and horrible as ever.

He’s the worst. I love him as a villain.

Meanwhile, Reed and Ben walk the streets. Ben has an emotional breakthrough all by himself while Reed is completely engrossed in his own subplot and doesn’t notice Ben is talking to him.

He altered Cerebro to find Inhumans instead of mutants so he could find the missing Inhuman Prince but everyone on the streets is pinging as Inhuman.

At the same time, in Latveria, Luna starts spontaneously undergoing terrigenesis, the Inhuman transformation process. Which should only happen in the presence of the terrigen mist.

Which finally solves the mystery of the mass empowering event. It wasn’t an explosion at the vibranium radio tower. The entire world has been exposed to terrigen mist!

Somehow. We don’t know how. And the Inhumans seem surprised to realize that this is the case.

Over in the Sanctum Sanctorum, Clea gloats to a captive blind child Bruce but is surprised by Hulk and Thor escaping the Realm of Death with the help of ghost Strange.

She asks for Loki’s help but he’s bailed on her. Obviously.

So Clea decides to explode New New York out of spite but Thor transports her and him to Asgard, knowing Loki will prevent him from coming back.

With the Sorcerer Supreme and Thor out of his way, Loki gloats Earth is his.

Still not sure how this fits into everything else going on.

I’m not sure if Cap found any help from Tony but he moves onto Russia.

Currently ruled by Colossus.

There was a bit in an earlier appendix about how due to the mass empowering event, former superheroes were asked to take leadership positions since they were used to leading those with powers.

It hasn’t come up so I forgot about it but here we are with President? King? Secretary? Colossus.

Colossus doesn’t want to get involved because Russia is the breadbasket of the world and he needs to protect it. But Cap points out that the Skull won’t stop at the ocean. He’ll make his way to Russia eventually and he’s a dumb kid who treats this like a game. He won’t think about controlling people to do agriculture.

(If that’s the case, the Celestial plan for Earth must come about really soon after the Skull. Or at least depending on whether that’s been derailed or not by the terrigen jumping the gun by two hundred years. But my thought is, if the Skull is part of the plan, you can’t have much time between him taking over the world and whatever the Celestials need Earth for. Because the kid isn’t going to bother keeping civilization going.)

Back in New New York, Peter continues to try to convince May not to do anything. She just tells him to grow up and jumps into action against the Skull’s army without a plan.

The Skull sends Iron Maiden to confront May Venom. Iron Maiden begs May to withdraw before the Skull takes control of her but May doesn’t listen.

May beats Iron Maiden with a little asphyxiation and then immediately falls under the Skull’s control.

His creepy, creepy control.

Away from the action, Peter is at a loss for what to do now. He contemplates a Peter Parker Spider-Man costume he sees in a shop window but walks away very “Spider-Man No More” ish.

I guess Peter’s identity is out.

The appendix has a bit where John Jameson asks after his father. Aaron tells him that Jonah has himself locked up in the Daily Bugle building, the paper having gone out of business when it was revealed Spider-Man had been taking Spider-Man pictures all along. Jonah also keeps Jack Russell Werewolf By Night locked up with him, under the belief he’s werewolf astronaut John, since NASA lied to John and didn’t tell Jonah his son was going to the Moon.

Phew.

And the issue ends with the Skull and his top peeps cornering President Norman Osborn in his office.

Unless this goes in a completely unexpected direction, I also thought President Osborn would be more important to the plot than he was.

Was he just a Bad Future signifier? Things are so bad, Norman Osborn is president, but also he’s not really important?

Odd.

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i-fondued · 1 year

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Ghost | Sinners in Secret | Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two - The Examination Incident Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin x Papa “Terzo” Emeritus III Rating: Explicit Warnings: Plot, smut, etc. See AO3 for full list of tags! A/N: AHAHA I MANAGED TO FINISH IT! Next chapter will be the long awaited Prime Mover ritual and then after that will be the ritual threesome binding 👀

As always, this chapter is has been reviewed by my beta, @lurancyvenom whom I love! However, as always I snuck this out only half edited because I'm a terror and you should all know how terrible I am!

Full Chapter List - HERE AO3 Link - HERE

The first thing I remembered was the sound of hushed whispers, the crackling of the fireplace, and a slight purring. I was aching all over, barely able to steady my breathing let alone move, so for the first few moments I came back into my mind and my body, I just listened to the sounds of life around me.

I could hear Imperator and Papa Nihil speaking softly somewhere off to the lower right; Papa Nihil’s oxygen hissing off and on. To my far lower left was what sounded like Secondo and Primo, speaking softly in Italian and playing something that sounded like it might be chess. Without even looking I knew it was Swiss at my feet, I knew the feeling of his contented purrs rumbling against my legs better than anything else. I could feel someone was holding each of my hands, and my heart constricted with affection as I knew exactly who was holding which hand.

Copia was on my right, his mustache slightly tickling the palm of my hand as he mumbled something into it. Terzo was on my left, the unmistakable feeling of his silk clad thumb brushing back and forth over my knuckles. I couldn’t exactly make out what they were saying, but I had a gut feeling they were praying for me.

Slowly, my bleary eyes opened up and I fought the urge to hiss at the low light and the headache it was already causing. My vision was hazy at first as I tried to focus on the faces of those that I loved. Neither man had noticed my open eyes yet and I couldn’t help but soak in their disheveled, handsome faces. Copia’s hair was falling in his face and he was lacking his Clergy paints, which made him look sinfully handsome. Terzo’s hair was also a mess, doing its best impression of a 90s boy band member, his Papal paints so smudged and marked by tear tracks his face looked gray more than anything else.

I looked down at my feet and I saw Swiss curled in an almost half moon around my feet and legs. He had his face buried in my calves and I couldn’t help the small smile that slipped out. At first I thought he was wearing a long sleeve shirt, but the longer I looked at him the realization dawned on me; he wasn’t wearing a shirt…he was covered in bandages from his wrists to his neck and down his torso. My heart clenched painfully as I remember what he’d gone through with me, how close we came to losing each other. A hazy smile spread on my face as I squeezed both my companions’ hands, however I wasn’t prepared for the snowball effect that one minute action would have.

Both Copia and Terzo shot to their feet at the same time, knocking their chairs to the ground in almost synchronization.

“Lucifero all'inferno!” Both cried simultaneously, looking between each other and my smiling face.

“Hi boys…” I croaked, voice thick with lack of use and emotion as tears bubbled up in the corners of my eyes.

In an instant they started towards me on the bed; tears falling from their tired eyes, cursing me for being reckless in Italian that I only half understood. However, in all the comotion they woke my ghoul. Swiss leapt onto all fours like a startled cat; hissing and growling at Terzo and Copia as they continued to shout at both me and the other family members present. As he prepared to tackle Terzo, who was starting to crawl up on the edge of the massive four poster bed, his eyes locked on mine through the silver of his mask.

“Sun…shine?” he asked quietly, hand slowly reaching out towards me. I couldn’t help the enormous smile as I nodded at him.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” I teased

My big, soft, sweetheart of a ghoul let out a little whimper before practically pouncing on me, burying his face in my stomach and purring so loud it felt like my teeth were chattering in my mouth. I let out a little grunt from the force of him landing on me but nothing really hurt, so much as startled me; however Copia and Terzo were instantly like two mother hens. They both leapt onto the bed, attempting to grab at Swiss who would growl and swat at their hands as they attempted to separate us.

“La schiaccerai, grande idiota!” You'll crush her, you big idiot! Copia snapped. “She needs time to recuperare, Swiss Ghoul.”

All that earned him for his efforts was a hiss from the ghoul, and Copia threw his arms up in frustration, muttering under his breath about him being unruly as Terzo decided to try his luck. He held the morning newspaper in his hand, rolled up, as he kneeled with his hands on his hips next to us.

“Il Cardinale ha ragione, Ghoul. Se non lasci andare ti batterò con il giornale di stamattina…” The Cardinal is right, Ghoul. If you don't let go, I'll beat you with this morning's paper…

“Non pensare che non farò venire un altro ghoul e ti trascinerà nella tana dei ghoul se non sai comportarti bene, sì?” Don't think I won't make another ghoul come and drag you to the ghoul den if you don't know how to behave, yes? Copia growled, narrowing his eyes at my ghoul as he tried to hide in my arms while I tried to hold back full laughter now.

“You don’t understand how it felt…” Swiss whined, sounding like an oversized baby. I couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out. “I’ll never let her out of my sight again.”

“Might I remind you, Multi Ghoul, that she was in your sight when she was drugged?” Terzo teased, giving him a playful shove.

“Low blow, Papa…” Swiss hissed, and I could tell he was frowning under the mask.

“Alright, you three, enough. I’m okay, and what happened is nobody’s fault but Veritas.” I sighed, reaching out to take the paper from Terzo before he could get any ideas. “We should all have anticipated that he would try and take advantage when we least expected it.”

There was a murmur of conversation that broke out between the older Emeritus’ and I could see the flash of something like guilt on Secondo’s face. I knew I needed to speak with him, but knowing how strong willed he was I knew he wouldn’t like to be cornered in the room with family. I tucked a mental note to the side to remember to see him before the next ritual.

Copia and Terzo scooted to sit right next to me, snuggling me between them as they each took one of my hands and placed them in their laps. Something told me this had been their default position while I was unconscious. Slowly but surely the rest of the Emeritus clan joined us on the comically huge bed.

On the right side nearest their brother, both Primo and Secondo sat. Both seemed content to let me ramble on about what had happened and how I was feeling. Primo especially, his face had a deeply worn and haggard look as he spoke with Terzo.

“He has been struggling a lot with everything going on, Amore. He has been remembering his own riti e cerimonie with his Prime Mover this whole week,” Copia whispered in my ear, noticing my curious and concerned face as I looked at the eldest Emeritus brother. “Almost losing you brought back a lot of bad memories and long buried emotions for Primo…”

My heart beat painfully as I leaned into Copia’s shoulder; while I had been thinking about how close we were to losing each other, I hadn’t even stopped to consider what it would have done to the rest of the family. I squeezed his hand tighter, Copia pressing a soft kiss to my forehead in response.

On the left side, nearest Copia was Imperator and Papa Nihil. Originally they had kept to their spot at the loveseat by the fireplace but now they had moved closer to us and something on Imperator’s face made me pause when she and I locked eyes.

“Sister…” I started but she held her hands up to pause me. She looked between the three of us and Nihil before sighing, already rubbing at her temples.

“Papa Nihil and I have been discussing the idea of postponing your Prime Mover ritual…”

“W-What?” I sputtered, heart thundering anxiously. Did something more happen while I was out? Did I miss something about my credibility? I felt my hands grow clammy and both Copia and Terzo started to say something, but Imperator silenced them again.

“We’ve been discussing the idea of postponing because of your attack, it’s nothing you’ve done. We spoke with the Clergy healer. They would like to visit with you before they approve for you to go through the ritual,” Imperator continued. “They would come by first thing in the morning to check on you, and ultimately they would make the final call. As it is, it's already 3am the morning of the ritual. There is much to be done if we are to continue as planned.”

“No but I…” I started to speak but again, Imperator cut me off.

“We are just worried about you, Sister. You’ve been through something traumatic, I mean you quite literally died. Though thank Lucifer that he saw fit to send you back to us. You need rest and to gain your strength back…”

“We cannot, will not, postpone.” Even I was taken back by the tone of my voice, heart thrumming strong behind my sternum. I sat up to my full height, posture poised and strong, as I spoke up again quickly before Sister Imperator could continue. “If we postpone the ritual, anyone still loyal to Veritas would have all the ammunition to pose an opposition to the Emeritus line and my ascension. They may decide to take a bureaucratic approach or they may follow in the footsteps of their leader. I, for one, am not willing to find out if Lucifer will bring either Papa or the Cardinal back from the dead as well.”

It was silent when I finished speaking, nobody quite sure what to say. Terzo and Copia looked equal parts shocked and turned on at my tone, a deep smirk on Terzo’s face told me exactly what he was thinking and I struggled to prevent myself from blushing. Primo looked proud of me, his tired eyes and grandfatherly smile making me feel strong and more sure of myself. Secondo looked impressed that I'd had the guts to put Imperator in place. Papa Nihil looked at me like he was just seeing the leader, the Prime Mover, I would become over the years. He also was looking at me like he actually agreed with me for once, my face clear in the surprise from the eldest Emeritus family member.

“Sorella is right, Seestor,” Nihil sighed, taking a rickety breath from his oxygen mask. “As much as I too would rather she rest, get her strength up beforehand, I can’t help but admit she has a good point.”

“Papa Nihil…” Imperator sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she looked at the men around us. “We don’t want her to push herself too soon…”

“Sister, with all due respect…” I started but Terzo placed a hand gently on my shoulder, causing me to pause before going off on my planned rant.

I looked up at him, his warm eyes and soft smile finally making me squirm slightly, with a blush on my cheeks. His mismatched eyes left mine and locked with Copia’s as the other man gave him a swift nod. Both turned to look at Imperator, eyes growing hard like hot steel after being dipped in cool water, and Terzo was the first to speak.

“I am Papa, am I not, Sorella Imperatore?” This wasn’t Terzo’s voice, warm and light. No this was his Papa voice. It was hard and sharp, barbed with needle-like talons, as his white iris seemed to flash with impatience.

“Of course, Terzo but I-”

“Papa, Imperatore. You will address me as Papa, si?”

“I apologize, Papa,” Sister spoke sheepishly, almost a ghost of a blush on her cheeks as Terzo cocked his head to the side in an imp-like manner. “I mean no disrespect to you, Cardinal Copia, or to Sister of course. I am merely worried about the two coming rituals and long evenings ahead of her.”

“Seesor!” Nihil groaned, looking almost embarrassed for me as she spoke of what came after the binding ritual.

“I’m sorry but it's the truth! We all know what is coming at the end of these long days, you’ll be on your honeymoon in a matter of days either way.” Sister said, frustration leaving out of her very fingertips as she waved her arms around. “She is the future of this family, Papa, and not just for the papacy. She is also responsible for continuing the Clergy line as well. Beyond that I know how deeply you both care for her, we all care very much for Sister… I do not want to see another Prime Mover end in tragedy because we couldn’t think beyond the optics.”

Nobody spoke at first as the truth of her apprehension hung in the air; Imperator couldn’t help but flicker her gaze to Primo, who looked more shocked than any of us. His face was slightly pale under his paints as he solemnly looked to his hands for a movement before gazing forlornly out the large windows onto the moonlit countryside.

“Let the healer check me over at first light. If they think I am truly unfit for the ritual then we will postpone,” I said softly, giving Imperator a small nod.

“What if they don’t feel you are fit for it?”

“Then we’ll postpone a day, but nothing more. I do not want anyone to take advantage of the situation.”

“Of course, Sister…” Imperator sighed, clearly put out by my taking command, but as I tried and failed to stifle a yawn, Copia shifted into action.

“I think we have had enough excitement to last us a lifetime, si? We will let you rest, Terzo and I can stay here with you along with your multi ghoul so there is no funny business. Then, come first light, we have them check you out and we know what we will do. Okie Dokie?” Copia clapped his hands together as he stood up from the side of the bed, practically shooing the Emeritus clan out the door.

“Yes, Cardinal,” I yawned, suddenly exhausted as Terzo helped lay me back against the pillows.

“We will be back in the morning, Sister. For now, just rest,” Secondo spoke softly, reaching to squeeze my hand before he too left.

As the wooden door shut, it dawned on me it was the first time I’d been alone with my lovers in weeks. I smiled sleepily at them, reaching out with my arms wide open for them. Neither man needed much convincing as they both quickly worked to kick off their shoes and come to settle on either side of me. I sighed contentedly as Terzo buried his face in my neck, pressing loving and gentle kisses to my skin. Copia cupped my cheek and turned me to look at him as he rested his forehead against mine.

“You scared us all, Topolino…” He whispered against my skin, the sound of tightness in his throat causing my chest to ache.

“I’m sorry.” I sighed, feeling worn down and drained emotionally. “I scared myself…”

“It was not your fault, Amore. We know this, si?” Terzo whispered as he curled around me, his hand curling around my waist and holding me tightly. “Veritas is getting exactly what he deserves from the sounds of it.”

“He very much is. I can promise you that, Sorella.”

I felt someone curling up around my legs, a warm heat soothing the sore muscles in my thighs as someone rested their head. I looked down as Swiss looked up at me with worry deep in his eyes, his tail flicking back and forth agitatedly.

“You aren’t allowed to leave me, I don’t ever want to feel like that again…” Swiss murmured, I couldn’t help the wobbled smile I gave him.

“I don’t plan to go anywhere for a long, long time.”

…

The soft sounds of movement in the hallway outside our room woke me from a deep sleep.

I startled slightly, disoriented and feeling foggy, as I sat up and looked around for a familiar face. The bedroom was warm with a fire blazing in the fireplace and the heat of my companions surrounding me like a warm blanket. I smiled softly as my eyes drifted across Copia and Terzo’s sleeping faces. Both men stirred as I moved but we had spent all night with our limbs tangled between each other. I tried my best to slip out of the bed unnoticed, but as I was just about off the bottom of the bed, scooting on my hands and knees, a hand wrapped around my ankle.

“Back to sleep, Amore.” Terzo’s voice was deep, grumbly, and thick with sleep. His hair was messy and falling in his heated gaze.

“I have to pee…” I giggled as I tugged my ankle half heartedly from his warm hand. “Plus I think they are waiting outside our door.”

“Bene, vai in bagno…but then right back in bed, si?”

“Yes, Terzo.” I smiled at him as he let go of my ankle and stretched out lazily.

“Good girl.” He chuckled as he slipped from the bed, wrapping a black silk robe around himself and heading towards the bedroom doors as I shut the bathroom door.

After taking the time to use the bathroom, wash my face, and stare at my reflection in the mirror I finally came out to find Swiss had joined us again with not only two visitors but a spread of breakfast items on a cart. I felt my mouth instantly watering and stomach growling as I ignored the rest of the people in the room and made a beeline for the buffet.

“Glad to see you awake, Sunshine.” Swiss teased, hip checking me playfully as I snagged the plate he was holding out for me. “Imperator and the Emeritus brothers are in the living room with Copia. The healers are here to examine you, they told me to tell you they’ve been trying to kick Papa out since he answered the door but he won’t leave you…”

“I’m not alone, I have you with me.”

“He won’t take that as an answer, though I’ve tried.”

“Terzo, get out!” I snapped grouchily, stalking over to where he was pouting with two other Sisters of Sin. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get a move on for the ritual today.”

Terzo looked at me with an unreadable expression for a moment before sighing and tugging me into his arms. I practically hissed at him as he forced me back into the bed, placing my plate on the nightstand as he tucked me in.

“Do not leave her side, Multi Ghoul.” was all Terzo said before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead and heading towards the bedroom doors. He paused and looked back at me, smiling softly. “I will be waiting just outside here for you, Tesoro.”

“I’ll be right out when I’m done, okay?” I felt my heart ache for the longing and worried look in his eyes as I nodded at him. “No more near death experiences. I promise.”

“Si, si. I will go.” He laughed, finally heading out of the doors as I listened for the sound of his retreating footsteps as they shuffled down the hallway.

I turned back to the two women who had now moved to bow their heads to me before sitting on the edge of the bed. They both were dressed relatively modestly compared to the other sisters I’d seen roaming the halls here. They were wearing shin length black dresses, both with A-line skirts and scalloped lace trimmed petticoats underneath. The dresses had snug fitting sleeves that stopped right at the crux of the elbow, from there down was form fitted linen sleeves that had buttons from their wrists all the way up, allowing them to be able to unbutton them and roll them up as necessary. Over their dresses they both had a white pinafore, the white section over their chest pinned in place, and wore both the wimple and habit in the same white fabric. I was surprised to find they looked more like catholic nuns than siblings of sin; I smiled and waved awkwardly from my spot on the bed.

“Your Grace, I hope we are not disturbing you at such an early hour.” One of the Sisters spoke, she was the older of the two and she looked to be around forty or fifty years old. “My name is Sister Cynthia, this is Sister Amelia. We’ll be the ones to do your examination.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, but you can just call me Sister…I’m not exactly used to the Prime Mover titles yet.” I blushed as I spoke, Sister Cynthia smiled kindly as she spoke to Sister Amelia in Italian.

“I understand, Sister, whatever you are more comfortable with of course.” She said, taking the clipboard that the other Sister held out to her. “Now I just want to go through a few things before we start the physical checks, yes?”

“O-of course.”

“You can continue to eat, it will only help bring your strength back.” Sister Amelia said, her voice sounding even younger than she looked.

“Oh, okay. T-thank you!” I stammered, suddenly anxious. Swiss, sensing my apprehension, came to sit on the other side of the bed next to me. His long legs crossed as he scooted close.

“Now Sister, we want to make sure you are feeling up to this event in all possible ways. Physically of course but also emotionally, spiritually and mentally.”

“I understand.”

“Secondo had told me that you’d been practicing quite a bit with him over the last several weeks, are you feeling prepared for the ritual?”

“Yes, I am.”

“There are quite a bit of complicated latin and ritualistic practices with this particular ritual. Do you feel ready to perform these things? Especially in front of an audience?”

“For the most part,” I chuckled sheepishly. “I won’t lie and say the idea of the entire monastery watching me doesn’t freak me out. But it's something I’ve been working on tackling my anxiety and learning to be more comfortable in a crowd. I know it comes with the territory of being the Prime Mover.”

“You are very perceptive, Sister.” Cynthia chuckled, marking something down on her clipboard. “I have to ask, you seem so calm considering not only your kidnapping but your near death experience.”

“I…” I started to say before pausing, tilting my head to the side and pausing to try and consider what she was saying.

I didn’t really have a response for that one. Why was I feeling so calm? I couldn’t help but think about the other times I’d had something miraculous happen to me since I joined the siblings. Between finding out I’d been handpicked by Lucifer and guided to the Abbey back home for the two men that slowly grown to mean so much in my life, undergoing a blood ritual only to meet Lucifer myself, summoning a full body ghoul of my own, and having Lucifer step in and save my life…a kidnapping seemed mundane.

“I think after you’ve been through what I have the last six months or so…being drugged by a scorned childhood friend of your satanic cult leaders - slash - future fathers of your children seems…underwhelming in a way…”

Sister Amelia had to cover her sudden laughter with a cough as Sister Cynthia wrote down a few notes on the clipboard before raising an eyebrow at me. “Intervesting view of the situation, Sister.”

“I’m pragmatic at best, totally mental at worst.” I chuckled, putting my finished plate back on the nightstand. "I'm sure that reality will catch up with me in a few days once the adrenaline wears off."

After a few more rounds of questions, filled with times where I felt I may have not answered the questions in the way they expected or wanted, Sister Cynthia had Sister Amelia put away the clipboard. I sat up straight as she had me slip my robe off leaving me in just my normal knee length silk nightgown.

“Your ghoul, Swiss, explained that Signor Veritas used the link between you two to hurt you without marking you, yes?” Sister Amelia asked, cautiously placing her hand on top of mine as she spoke. “He did not try anything physical with you?”

“Unless you call sinking an antique hunting knife into my sternum physical…”

“Be nice, Sunshine…” Swiss growled, though I could tell he was fighting back a smile.

“Apologies, Sister.” Sister Amelia blushed, clearly unsure of what the protocols were for asking me about any physical trauma. “What I mean to say is…did he force himself on you?”

Oh. OH.

“Oh Satan, NO.” I blushed bright red, shaking my head and chuckling awkwardly. “Good Lucifer help him had he tried.”

“He would have ended up missing a rather important part of himself.” Swiss grumbled, giving me a wink and I gave him a playful shove as Sister Amelia seemed relieved before continuing with the exam.

I was poked, prodded, and checked over not once but twice before she came to the scar on my chest. I hadn’t seen it yet as it was covered with a large piece of gauze and tape. Carefully and slowly, she wet the paper tape and peeled it back. I winced slightly at the pulling sensation before I peaked at the scar myself.

“Assolutamente affascinante…” Absolutely fascinating… Sister Amelia mumbled, leaning in close to the shimmering gold scar. I could even admit that I was shocked at not only the size but the color too.

Settled between my breasts about two inches below my clavicles was a long spindly line about four inches long. There was a slightly raised scar line, barely noticeable at a distance, but the most shocking part was that it looked like someone had painted over an old scar with gold metallic paint. It was shimmering slightly in the flickering firelight as Sister Amelia and Cynthia had me move around, mimicking what might happen with my movements during the rituals. Both women seemed surprised that it was cool to the touch and that, in a few places, the gold was following my artery lines.

They paused and spoke back and forth in Italian, both seeming like arguing at points, before turning to me with a small smile. Sister Amelia busied herself with packing up all the supplies as Sister Cynthia sat next to me, taking my hand gently.

“I’d love to say we could take the credit for how wonderfully you’ve healed but the credit for that has to go to His Eminence below.” She laughed before turning her eyes on mine, suddenly very serious. “I am going to give my blessing for you to be prepared for the ritual today, however I will be making the stipulation that you are to do the Prime Mover ritual and only the Prime Mover Ritual today. I know that the original plan had called for the binding ceremony tonight on the eve of Yule, however I worry you will be too worn out for any rituals by sundown.”

“Y-yes of course, Sister Cynthia.” I sputtered, slightly shocked she approved me at all after our mental health portion.

“Yule has a better forcast for a marriage anyways.” Sister Amelia teased, winking at me. “Better predictions for childbirth.”

I blushed bright scarlet, Swiss bursting out laughing next to me as my face grew hotter and hotter.

“Congratulations, Prime Mover.” Sister Cynthia laughed as both of the healers headed towards the bedroom doors. “Hopefully the next time we see you is for a prenatal appointment, yes?”

“I will never get used to everyone wanting to know and knowing about my sex life…” I groaned burying my face in my hands before slipping my robe back on.

“You are the sole person responsible for carrying on the Emeritus name,” Swiss continued laughing, throwing an arm around my shoulders as we headed to the living room to share the good news. “If you don’t think those two men of yours are going to make it their sole mission to get you knocked up before they go on tour next year, you’ve got to have your head up your ass.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

#ghost #the band ghost #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #copia x reader x terzo #copia x terzo #copia x reader #sinners in secret chapters #my writing

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