greg not only being tom’s attack dog, but his therapy dog, sheepdog, guide dog, watchdog, service dog

Color Rush ; Power Plays and Forced Mindsets (Ep 1-4)

You all know when a show takes you by surprise, you're expecting the same repetition of storylines, the same tropes, the same settings over and over again and then one show stands out; it isn't what you expected. How on earth did you find such a gem. When Korea focused on bringing out new BLs, I was astounded, because that's what we've been secretly hoping for with the talent for production, directing and storytelling even if in a low budget, Korea is the one to beat. And if they start to take BLs stories more seriously, then we were in for a treat. There were phenomenal beginnings and exciting plots, and it felt right except there was also the little minutes and the need for the ambitious plotlines chosen to be concluded correctly, but because of short screen time, the stories ended unsatisfactorily at times. But it didn't matter because as long as we keep getting new Bls from Korea, everything will be fine, one day we'll get to a show that is above all the rest. Is it too early for me to then say that Color Rush is that show we've been waiting for?

An Introduction to Color Rush

Even though it's 15 minutes air time each episode, Color Rush manages to astound and confound us each episode. It's like being on a roller coaster, the thrill, the excitement, the euphoria and the joy that such a plotline was introduced. Color Rush sounds so weird at first; it's soulmate au trope, in a world where some people can't see color and end up finding someone who makes them do so with severe side effects. Like what? Who knew we were also falling into a story with psychological implications mirroring the issues with addiction and obsession, societal issues with prejudice reflecting LGBTQ struggles and minorities, and a terrifying, thrilling and yet sweet romance that seems never to know which spectrum it's on; if it's just a cute fluffy soulmate, au or a more psychological scarier look into obsession and power plays. It's phenomenal, and it takes me on a ride every single episode when it's over, I wonder what on earth did I just watch and why do I want more.

Why do I want these two to get together despite being frightened because of what their relationship entails, why do I feel emotionally torn about the positive and benefits these two have on each other vs the adverse outcomes that could happen the more they stay together. It's a trip. And it's become my own obsession and love too. I think like Yeon Woo I'm also experiencing some kind of color rush with this show because the way I don't want it to end, and the way I'm falling for it more is just something I never thought would happen to a 15-minute episode show. Anyways we're going to be analysing the mindsets and power plays of our soulmates and the negative and positive impact their relationship brings. Could we be falling for a psychotic twisted person (Yoo Han) or could we be being lied to by the media and society on how dangerous monos are? Let's find out.

So what do we know so far in Color Rush? We have Yeon Woo a monochromatic who is neurologically color blind, because of this condition he's been forced to think he's always going to be stuck in a grey, bleak, colourless world alone. He also doesn't want to meet the person destined for him to get out of that prison in his mind, because that person will end up being in danger as monos tend to have aggressive, violent personalities when they get addicted to the color rush they feel with their probes. That person is Yeon Woo, on the other hand, he's also forced to think life is boring because he can't recognise faces, he doesn't have a long-lasting impression with people, he is looking for something to latch onto and when he notices his monos eyes change color or receive color; he gets also excited and determined to keep Yeon Woo by his side despite the pain and suffering it could bring with them being together. Yikes right? There is a weird line between these two that shouldn't be crossed, a line of addiction and passion, the more they are exposed to each other, the possession and obsession grow, and the dependency becomes like a drug killing them on the inside but providing them pleasure because of the feelings they have for each other. Let's analyse the two mindsets of these two characters first, so we get a more in-depth look into what's going on in this world of monos and probes.

Yeon Woo: Alienation and Dependence

So we have Yeon Woo, he has a mindset of a mono. He's been forced by the world to think that he's a monster because of who he is naturally. With the role of the media and society telling him monos are destined to be alone if not they will be dangerous and hurt people. He's cursed essentially and feels that he must stay alienated and alone for the sake of people's safety. He's heard and seen rumours on how dangerous monos can get when they meet their soulmate, they can kill, they can maim, they break the law irrationally, and they even become cannibals if they are forced to a mindset of obsession and addiction to the colors they need to so desperately see. Yeon Woo's world is dark; it's quite synonymous with the feelings of depression, it's heavy, it's grey, it's stagnant. The mindsets of monos are to feel this longing despair and darkness within them because they cannot see anything else, and they are being told they are meant to stay this way forever.

It's incredible how much Yeon Woo has been forced to hate himself. We find out that he's been bullied repeatedly because he's a mono, people don't like what's different, and the prejudice is against monos because the media makes everyone see them as a monster, constantly fear-mongering everyone with rumours of one incident that happened with someone who couldn't hark the addiction to color rush. The thing is monos meeting their probes is even rare, so not all monos are ever going to be stuck in a crazy obsession to see color, they just are told to prevent it as much as possible. With Bullying making Yeon Woo move schools frequently because he reacts violently to defend himself, Yeon Woo doesn't trust or have any friends that he can rely on. This must be such a lonely, depressing, heavy toll on him. But what else can he do? The one person who can help him feel some kind of happiness or difference is his probe, but he can't be with him because he'll hurt him. It's regrettable and depressing when you think about the pain he carries. Not to mention the one person who could make him feel normal, his mother, a mono has gone missing and can't be found, and he probably thinks that again it's because Monos are cursed to be forgotten and in danger. It's awful.

Yoo Han: Obsession and Possession

On the other hand, we have Yoo Han. He's the probe, so he sees color, but he actually is also very similar to Yeon Woo's plight. He has prosopagnosia, face blindness; he can't recognise people or faces. He also has to be walking through a sea of nothing and feel like he can't make connections properly with people because of it. A person with prosopagnosia may avoid social interaction by choice, so he avoids the feeling of social anxiety and just has no interest in making connections with people. He already acts like Yeon Woo, Yeon Woo also chooses to avoid people because of his condition.

This is why it's fascinating because as Yeon Woo is terrified of becoming the mono obsessed with his probe, he doesn't realise that Han is probably more obsessed with him because he can see something different on him. He repeatedly mentions that he likes seeing the different colours enter Yeon Woo's eyes, and I think that he's latched on to that. He also receives a different type of colour rush; being able to have Yeon Woo depend on him and also being able to recognise a feature on someone's face because of colour that is distinctly different each time Yeon Woo goes through a color rush. This is why I find his power-play interesting because he wants to control when Yeon Woo sees colour probably because of trying to prevent him from being addicted and obsessed, but I don't think he takes it seriously how dangerous it is to keep exposing Yeon Woo to colour so easily especially when we can all see that Yeon Woo is experiencing signs of dependency on the color rush; something he's been trying to avoid. As Yeon Woo worries about becoming this monster, he probably should keep an eye on Yoo Han who is more determined to keep him by his side and is also forming some kind of obsession and dependency on his presence.

It's meant to be the mono who's in control, who's the one that receives the most from the probe and is the one with the most power in this relationship but Yoo Han is different. He is the one who's running to his mono endlessly, ignoring the risks and choosing to make his mono get used to color rush. I don't think he's trying to make Yeon Woo go crazy on purpose, or even he knows if he's being too obsessive, but I do believe he's not fully aware of all the information or have the ability to stop the time when they cross that line, and Yeon Woo does become the thing he's afraid of becoming. Han acts like he owns Yeon Woo and wants to control his addiction and outbursts; hence he pulls away and doesn't give into Yeon Woo's demands when he gets scared of losing the color. The basis of the addiction with these two is the fear of losing what they have. This is why in episode 4 although it's romantic Yeon Woo tells Han that he wants to be with him forever, it's also frightening cause that's a sign of addiction and dependency that we know he's trying to avoid.

Being a Mono: Prejudice and Self Hate

Looking into more of the prejudice Monos receive, we can see Yeon Woo's aunt call him and try and prevent him from listening to the media, so he doesn't see himself as a monster. She knows he's always heard and believed in how the media portrayed monos. And this is why it's fascinating to me, are monos really the way people think they are or has it been imbedded into their minds to believe that what they are is wrong. See why this is a metaphor for LGBTQ and minority struggles. Whenever something is different or against societal norms, the group suffers because of growing up with the mindset that something is wrong with who they are naturally instead of actually feeling safe to be who they are and free. Monos are treated this way; they've been told that the love they have for their probes is toxic and dangerous; when really it's probably an exaggeration or can be prevented. But society has made them stop wanting to view themselves and love themselves for who they are, but instead cages them with fear every day on the news about people who aren't them. They even write lazy news reports because they just assume that all monos kill their probes and go crazy from being together. It's really an interesting question to ask. We're feeling the tension and fear Yeon Woo has, but his heart has chosen Yoo Han from the start, he knows it, but he can't help question if it's because of the color rush or because of Yoo Han. And that's where the problem lies, can love ever be good and safe with obsession and codependency?

Macbeth: Madness and Greed

Speaking of Yoo Han's mindset and tendencies. I couldn't help but notice the book that is being mentioned repeatedly in this show, Macbeth could be shadowing him as well. He wears the orange hoody the first time when the book is shown, and this is very similar to the color of the book shown in the show. Macbeth; I've mentioned before is a story about someone who is so obsessed with power that the obsessiveness leads to craziness, violence and madness. Which is similar to symptoms that monos get when they're with their probes. But I can't also help but remember episode 4 when Min Jae says a funny quote about doughnuts in relation to Macbeth. It stuck with me because it may seem like a joke about food but actually think about it. He says the twisted doughnuts become round and the round doughnuts become twisted. And I think that's something to keep in mind we've been told the monos are the issue, the monos are the ones that are twisted and dangerous, but perhaps the probes are also just as dangerous and mad. Or perhaps it's again foreshadowing that Yoo Han is the one with the obsessive dynamics in this couple.

We may be worried that Yeon Woo is the one getting obsessed and addicted to the color rush but as I've said if Yoo Han is also somehow experiencing some kind of color rush when he sees the color in Woo's eyes if he is so desperate to latch onto the idea of someone needing him he may also go into a power trip as he's already showing he is with Yeon Woo. He might want to stay in that state of control and lose his mind. And that's scary and entertaining. I think these two will end up together. They're meant to be together despite the probe mono business. They show other affections and feelings of care, love (non-obsessive), and they both find solace in each other's presence because they both are different and get each other. I'm not saying Yoo Han is going to be a dangerous criminal but we should keep an eye on him to see if there are more signs of increasing dependency and reactions to Yeon Woo not playing by his rules.

Yeon Woo and Yoo Han: Power and Control

We have a theme of control and power with these two. Yeon Woo is trying to control his situation by avoiding ever meeting his probe; he continually tries to avoid the uncontrollable longing and feelings he's starting to have for Yoo Han. Still, no matter how much logically he thinks he can, he's already wearing a jacket and moving to the door towards Yoo Han. He's uncontrollably saying what comes to his head despite trying hard to prevent them from interacting more. People mentioned that he wasn't making sense when he says he wants to avoid people, but he's eating snacks from Yoo Han and Min Jae, and he's going into the lab with Yoo Han. But what he says is just because it's automatic to him to want to say that, he's been forced in a mindset that he shouldn't be with people, so even though deep down he wants the friends, and Yoo Han, he struggles with it yet automatically gives in and does the opposite. For me, that signifies how much control he's losing of himself when it comes to Yoo Han, again the problem is the lack of control monos have when they get addicted to the color rush. Usually with love having lack of control and your walls being broken down, and you are automatically saying how you feel is meant to be a strength to the romance, for color rush, however,  signs of that just mean more worries for Yeon Woo, how long and how much more exposure can he take before he entirely crosses that line and becomes uncontrollable.

We're starting to see even more worrying effects, loss of memory. Maybe Mono's truly lose the control of themselves, their minds and more without meaning to go into a state of mania which by the end they don't recall what happened. Maybe it's in this state that they become the most dangerous. We see Yeon Woo lose his memories of how he cried and screamed to hold onto the colors of his mum in his mind, and that's again a hint that he's entering that cycle that he's trying to avoid. So we also have to keep an eye on that. If Monos are losing consciousness and having no control over their actions when they go too far, then it means it's starting to become even more dangerous for our couple as they interact.

The lack of control and power over themselves, the world and their love lives is heartbreaking and painful when you look at it. Monos have been stuck in this cycle for so long but then why are some monos able to avoid that. I'm certain Yeon Woo's mum and dad did not go through that issue, yes his dad died, but we don't really yet know the basis of his death, and I think if his mum had been involved then, Yeon Woo wouldn't think of her that fondly, so again it brings me to ask if we are all just agreeing with societal opinions on what monos are and if there is a way for them to get out of this powerless and uncontrollable situation. Can Yoo Han and Yeon Woo find a way before the dependency and blackouts increase and cause more suffering? Maybe, Yeon Woo is getting accustomed slowly to Yoo Han's color rush and they know how to reduce the fainting symptoms from too much exposure. Yoo Han may be able to do what he wants to do which is to help Yeon Woo find the control he's so desperately searching for over this condition.

We have two people who felt forced to be seen as abnormal and lonely in the world. Now they've found each other, they could be each other's companion and saving grace, who gives them more meaning to this bleak life they think they have, this happiness they feel, and yet we are also torn because they could also be each other's downfall and lead each other to a spiral of madness and guilt. It's so exciting to see where this story unfolds and what it would bring. There's still so much to analyse and look into, there's the kidnapping mystery of the mother, and with that Macbeth doughnut quote, I'm forced to believe that it might be a probe which is the actual culprit that has taken these six monos, especially for revenge or also an obsession of their relationship with their mono. The aunt is also foreshadowed to get soon hurt, and I wonder how Yeon Woo will deal with that, someone is threatening her to stop looking to the case, and she probably will find the answer before she is sadly eliminated. And we need to know more about Yoo Han, his family, background and how he knows so much about color rush and more. Is there more to his actions than just the desperate need to find someone to be by his side that he recognises or is he on his own journey to lack of control and power and madness because of his need to be with Yeon Woo. Let's find out together.

S2 Finale

for once i’m actually going to watch the episode again and get my thoughts down as i do cuz holy hell was this well done, i think

“Comet” playing first instead of the OP was brilliant. Also, as a note, the full music video of that came out, along with some killer animation inspired by the manga.

A detail i love about this music video is Ibuki spotting Free’s motorcycle light in the side mirror before he stops the car and, well, yeah

They actually show Louis reaching for his gun pretty early on into Ibuki’s monologue. I don’t think the manga showed that, but I could be wrong. He definitely has it pointed to him when it’s pitch black same at the anime, but the fact he reaches for it so early means he obviously knows what’s going on, even if he couldn’t pull the trigger.

predictably, the anime does the “darkness” as it always has, with the dark-blue background and bright lines for the characters. The Comet music video does this part of the scene better imo, but it’s not too much of an issue. Free’s whole bit is obviously rushed, and I think the anime suffers for that, but i understand that they couldn’t fit it in. We do miss him escorting Louis out of the BAM though, and also saying he’ll eat Louis if he comes back. That said, I don’t know how Louis gets back...I guess Free drives him back still but we just don’t see it

The Riz and Legosi fight has Riz getting the idea of eating Legosi in his head now that was seemingly missing before. In the manga he was thinking about how he’d become friends with Legosi by eating him, and that never came up in the anime until kinda now. Like I said before it’s an interesting part of Riz’s character so i’m glad it’s touched on a bit at least.

The moth scene is just as confusing here as it was in the manga...and without explanation or confirmation that it’s imaginary chimera (a part of the manga plot that was completely dropped), it just seems like...something. We don’t have Moth-san talking to Riz here or him questioning what he’s seeing so...it could be seen as purely metaphorical but it still remains a mystery (and just like in the manga it accomplishes nothing here cuz Riz just gets up and wails on Legosi) It looks fucking cool though! Word of Power: Respect for Life! It’s all one shot here, so we see every wound inflicted on Legosi, which is only a few slams. In the manga it’s implied he endured way more. That just follows the pattern of the anime, though, where violence is toned way the hell down. I’m not complaining, though. I don’t want to see Legosi hurt...

I knew what i was seeing when it was in motion, but damn does it look fucking good! Orange really is showing how to do CG right by properly stretching models for intense movements and actions! They’ve done this subtly before but here it’s very clear, but not distractedly so (unless you pause frame by frame) However, I still do think the models look a bit stiff when just...like...walking normally sometimes. Like we have this great fight animation but then Riz picks Legosi up and drags him a bit and he looks...off. Ah well

The whole bit about Legosi exposing his stomach doesn’t have the subtleties explained here...and really the anime leaves out a lot of character thinking but i think if they left it in it’d be a bit too hammy and crowded, so it’s fine that they cut it out. But still...tell me more pose isn’t as funny here :(

Legosi’s voice acting shines again here. He sounds really fucking hurt...

The moon cut and then them laying together is nice. Also i do like how there hasn’t been music up until this point at all. Riz talking about everything is nice too...I don’t remember him saying he feels like he could cry in the manga, due to him not remembering anything about Tem but his taste.

Legosi says: “I almost went through the same thing Riz did. If someone hadn’t snapped me out of it, my love for Haru might have made me eat her.” I recall he says something similar in the manga too...but like the only time he ever got close to eating her is when he didn’t know who she was. It really doesn’t seem like the same thing at all...it ties back into Legosi really seeming to have a really firm grasp on everything, all things considered, and he’s just selling himself short. I guess he could also be talking generally but really, he never had a moment where he wanted to eat her again after that first night. And the “someone” who snapped him out of it...Zoe???? Like, I’m just a bit puzzled on this part. I think what it really is is a reference to what he says to Louis later, how he’s the one that guided him and ensured that he is the way he is. Ensured that he did so well to begin with. Like, writing it out like that makes sense, but I guess I’m taking the words too literally.

Anyway, was typing my thoughts out there. I don’t think it’s entirely clear that Louis’s influence is what caused Legosi not to eat Haru after they started spending time together, but if Legosi says that’s what it was, that’s what it was. I felt that Louis’s guidance for Legosi was more about him accepting himself as a carnivore and using his abilities for what he believes in instead of thinking he can only do harm with them...not about controlling his meat eating instincts. I guess it kinda goes hand in hand. Anyway

The hand touch is, well, touching like it was in the manga, however Riz firmly regrasping Legosi’s hand to hoist him up and continue fighting and Legosi sounding surprised isn’t what i pictured. In the manga i saw it more as Riz slowly doing it and Legosi just being too weak to do anything about it. Riz has the advantage, so he can afford to make the action slow and deliberate

Ok here’s where things get interesting. Louis’s appearance is entirely different in the anime, whereas in the manga he appears behind Riz while Legosi is talking to him, with Legosi spotting him and using a distraction to escape with him. HERE!!! Louis actively stops Riz from attacking Legosi again, clearly out of breath as he ran all the way there, but he still has the mind to appear cool and collected and make a lil quip that pisses Riz off. And then when Riz charges him Louis is just walking calmly toward him like!

Like yeah, he does stop and react a bit, but he sees Legosi coming up to stop him so I suppose that’s why he stands his ground (honestly though was he gonna pull his gun? Did he have a plan? I feel like he just got there without one, which makes sense. He just had to stop what was happening no matter what)

And Legosi ragdolls Riz aside to protect Louis. Love wins

Pina scene is the same here. Although previously we didn’t get his thoughts about how he never wanted to get involved with carnivores ever again cuz of these two, but that ties into the whole “anime doesn’t say every single thought that’s in a character’s head like in the manga” thing. I think it’s interesting that they even bother showing him retrieving his phone from the trash bin, since he could have easily just got it from his pocket but it shows that Riz was smart enough to take it away from him (but not smart enough to destroy it or chuck it somewhere or hide it where Pina couldn’t see)

The next scene with Legosi and Louis up on the outcropping..Legosi mentions how this is his last New Year’s. He’s more convinced he’s gonna die than it seems in the manga (although depends on the subs i guess) The part where Riz is looking up while Legosi is talking about their fight to Louis...i never knew if he was supposed to be hearing that or not, here or in the manga. I guess it’s up to interpretation.

Legosi delivering this line in the manga: determined, stoic

Legosi delivering this line in the anime: clearly in love

we finally get one of these scenes for Louis! Season 1 had a few of these for Legosi and Haru when they had moments where they were deep in thought about the other. I thought that Louis’s would have been in his initial meetup with Legosi in the manga, but that scene got cut. It’s cool that they put his here, though! Also correct me if I’m wrong but I think this is the only shot like this in season 2

When Louis’s theme starts here when he’s acting strong, trying not to cry, I thought it’d slowly start to break down as he did and transition into a new track but it just kinda...keeps going. It sounds like a more somber, shaky version at the very least but I think the music at this part is a bit lacking...thankfully the animation and Louis’s voice acting more than make up for it

Boy, does Louis really cry. I’m glad they let him let loose like that but the bad thing about seeing it animated is...they don’t hug! I always wanted a hug here...one that Louis fully embraces unlike the earlier one on the balcony. It makes sense the Legosi doesn’t try to do anything and is taken aback, of course, but damn...and considering how Louis is treated later and at the end of the series...it stings a lot

Idk what to say about this scene...it’s done so well. Louis having his internal monologue, talking to Legosi...Legosi looking so damn guilty that he wants to go back and fight...the transition to the foot reveal...it’s all so good

A change here in the anime...Louis is a lot more steadfast. He offers his foot and is like, completely at peace with it. In the manga he’s still shaking and his expressions are like, more unsure, but here he seems a lot more convinced that it’s what he has to do

jeez

Legosi’s thoughts about how eating his leg feels almost ritualistic and it actually makes him desire and hunger for it is gone...which like, idk why it is. We just hear Legosi say that he wants to but we don’t feel it (we do see his lips pull back and reveal his teeth tho)

Enter: Buffgosi. This happens in the manga but since Legosi’s model is so much smaller in the anime it seems like a much more drastic difference.

intimate...

Legosi doesn’t apologize for not being able to stop growling, but it seems like they did a lot to remove any humor Paru put into these scenes. I guess it doesn’t work that well in one continuous scene vs. chapters broken up by weeks

Louis’s funny deadpool moment is changed with him just...telling Legosi to be a hero again. Guess he really likes that line. The way it’s delivered really feels like a video game, like Legosi is recovering from a hit and Louis pops in to heal him with some words

Seriously, Louis just keeps making this face...after an entire season of being super serious and stone faced he’s looking softer

the Riz and Tem story isn’t changed at all, and can still be read as either romantic or platonic. Seeing it in motion makes it hit harder though, for sure

Legosi still wishes Riz a happy new year here. He seems a lot happier here than in the manga. Also Louis doesn’t berate him for it, instead opting to speak up and talk to Riz here after hearing about his heartbreak. He does it without the pressure of the cops being there, and it truly shows that he really does like carnivores and sympathizes with their struggles now.

Yeah, so the cop scene is gone, which kinda condenses and cuts out a lot (including Pina’s small appearance) but I kinda like it better. It allows all the characters to breathe. Legosi thanks Louis naturally for the meal, and Louis telling Legosi to wipe his face is done in a friendly, joking manner...it just all feels a lot softer and friendlier without the cops being there making it all fucked. Just like in real life

THERE IT IS THERE IT FUCKING IS THEY EVEN GAVE LOUIS HIS LIL SMIRK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

god i keep tearing up around these parts IT’S BEEN ALMOST 2 HOURS SINCE I STARTED MAKING THIS POST GOOD FUCKING LORD

I kinda thought they might put the aftermath in a sort of credits scene, and i think it works, even if it does pave over some important stuff

god it’s just so validating to see Legosi care for Louis and Haru equally. Like we all know it’s the case but they’re both dear to him

Now this is a far departure from his thoughts in the manga. I suppose it only fits with the ending of the season to make it more optimistic, but we skip the while “you can’t marry an herbivore cuz of your record” thing...but here he still cherishes it in a way. Very interesting. Wonder if they’ll backpedal on it in season 3

Legosi actually tells Haru he’s dropping out here too! He still does in the manga but it seems more abrupt there, like he already did drop out and then goes to tell her instead of telling her before he does. He’s also not suffering through his meat withdrawal here like he was in the manga at this scene (or at least the manga’s counterpart at Haru’s house)

The ending convo mirrors what Haru says to him in that scene too. It’s a funny way to leave off on the season without a stinger or anything. It just kinda makes the audience question their relationship (and now that Lougosi is pumping through everyone’s veins...hehehhehehe)

uh, well, anyway, i kinda wasted all of my time off after work writing this so...i hope you enjoyed it? Not gonna get one of these for a while...i know at least some of you like them

Also...what the hell was the extra “broadcast only” scene??????

Well, anyway, I hope you all have a good day, night, whatever, wherever you are. And remember: Legosi and Louis are in love

7 Minutes | Johnny Seo

Requested: no | Word Count: 1.6k | Warnings: thigh riding, nipple play, oral (male receiving), cum shot, swallowing, mouth fucking, deep throating

Genre: smut

Author’s Note: I don’t know, I just wanted to write smut because I haven’t written one in a while.

Summary: Yuta knows how interested you are in Johnny and gets you to hook up in a bathroom for 7 minutes during a game of truth or dare.

Tugging on your oversized zip-up jacket, you scan the room full of people that formed a circle as you all sat on the floor, legs crossed with nothing but playful smirks on your faces as each of you scan for your next victim of truth or dare. You were squished between your best friends who’d convince you to come to this gathering. Did you regret it? No. Why? Because the one person you came for is sitting across of you, sneaking glances at you thinking you wouldn’t notice, but you did. He’s the reason why you were bold enough to ditch a t-shirt and only wore a very expensive bra underneath your jacket. Too busy getting caught up in your own thoughts, you feel a nudge into your side.

“Hellooooo, Yuta asked you something,” your friend says before turning to the blonde haired boy whose hair was long enough to cover his eyes. Slightly splitting his hair down the middle to expose a little bit of his forehead, Yuta repeats his question as you were his next victim. You knew better than to say ‘truth’ as Yuta would ask you to admit who you were interested in fully knowing the answer is Johnny.

One night you were drunk out of your mind and Yuta was the one who took care of you that night. When other guys thought it would be funny to grope your ass as you lean over the marble countertops of a stranger's kitchen, Yuta nearly started a riot when he pinned the guy against the wall and whispered something in his ear before smashing the guy’s face inward, busting his lip. When he drove you home, you casually admitted how you were more than interested in Johnny. What happened after was a blur, but you woke up the next day in your bed with an aspirin and bottled water on your bedside table with a note that read: I bet your hangover is killing you right now, lol P.S. the secret you told me about Johnny is safe with me, until the opportunity to hook you two up arises. Since that night, he’d playfully joke around with you, especially when Johnny was there. He loved teasing you and you couldn’t find it more endearing about Yuta.

“Uh, dare.” You answer, arching your brow.

“I dare you to go into that bathroom with any guy of your choice for 7 minutes,” he chuckles. Your jaw nearly drops before you realized all eyes were on you.

Quickly thinking on the spot, you pull yourself together. “How about this,” you say standing up from your place. “You choose for me and I’ll wait in the bathroom for him.” Before he could answer, you dipped it into the bathroom to wait for the guy Yuta chooses. Jumping onto the sink counters, you place your hand against the cooled tops as you lightly swing your legs.

A knock on the door catches your attention before it slightly opens. Johnny peeks his head into the room and he shyly looks down as he closes his door behind him. “Guess I’m the lucky guy,” he chuckles. Leaning his back against the wall across of you, you smile, silently thanking Yuta for this setup.

“Guess you are,” you giggle. “Are you okay with being here?”

“Yeah, why not? So, what do you wanna do?”

Confidence boiled inside of you, waiting for this moment. “That depends on what you’re comfortable with. We could just talk, we could make out, or we could do more...I’m down for whatever you wanna do.” Putting the decision in his hands, you watch as he perked up at the choices you listed.

“Why can’t we do all of that?” You notice how his hands were now out of the pockets of his basketball shorts and he takes the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Because we have only 7 minutes,” you remind him. “The clock’s ticking, Johnny,” you smirked. “The ball is in your court.”

Walking towards you, you pull him by the pockets of his sweater and his hands find their way to each side of your neck. Without saying a word, you already know what he wanted. Johnny presses his lips against yours and he moves it at the same pace as you do. Your tongues roll over each other as you pull him closer to you. One of his hands trails down your waist, pulling your body so it’s pressed against him.

“You’re sexy as hell,” he whispers before you wrap your legs around his hips, giving you more access to feel his growing bulge. You giggle at him in reply, and you feel yourself being lifted from the countertop. The sound of the closing of the toilet seat cover is heard, you drop your legs from his hips and pull away from the kiss before Johnny takes a seat.

“Come here,” he growls, pulling you into his lap. You spread your legs on each side of his thigh. Johnny hikes your skirt up before you take a seat. “Ride my thigh, I heard you always wanted to try that.” You give him a sly smirk, taking note of how he paid attention to your comments when you thought he wasn’t listening.

“Okay.” Pulling down the zipper of your jacket, you expose your bra and watch Johnny’s eyes widen. “Only if you play with-” You couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt Johnny’s lips gently kiss the skin above your breasts. Gently pulling down the fabric, he sighs in amazement before rolling his tongue over your erected nipples.

Moving your hips against his thigh, you feel the fabric of his shorts rub against your clothed core. You feel tingles shoot through your body as he sucks and bites on your perky nubs. Pushing his head into your breasts, you pick up the pace of your movements. Johnny cups your tits with his big hands and pushes them together, kissing, sucking, and licking your nipples. Biting back your moan, you feel him lightly slap your breasts, surprised he knew it was one of your kinks.

“Keep going, use me to make you cum,” he whispers, flexing his thigh for you. The hardened muscle gave you friction to grind on and you do as he says. The movement of your body inches you closer and closer and with the help of Johnny giving you more stimulation with your breasts, you reach your climax. Slowing down your actions, he pulls you into a kiss before catching your breath.

Standing up from your position, you tell Johnny to do the same. Moving in front of the counters, you drop to your knees and begin to palm his hardened length.

“May I?” You innocently ask, tugging on your bottom lip.

You watch Johnny’s lips part as a sigh leaves his mouth. “Yeah,” he whispers and nods his head.

Pulling his basketball shorts down past his knees along with his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. His excited member springs up and you take him into your mouth. The warmth of your mouth earns you a groan that slipped between his lips. Quickly covering his mouth with his hand, he places his free hand on the top of your head, slightly guiding you as you bobbed your head back and forth. Covering his shaft in your warm saliva, he lets out a deep groan when you pump his length and swirl your tongue over his tip. “Fuck,” he breathily says. He watches as your perfectly shaped lips wrap around him and his mouth gaped open at the pleasure. His stiff length disappears into your mouth and he feels the back of your throat.

“Fuck my mouth, Johnny,” you order, catching your breath. Flattening your tongue with the tip of his cock resting on top, he does as you say. Moving his hips back and forth, the only noise that fills the small room is the sound of you gagging which turns Johnny on even more. You pull back, panting and trying to catch your breath once more while Johnny pets your hair.

“I’m so close,” he mutters. “Can you hang on a little longer?”

You give him a nod. “But where are you going to cum?” You asked, twisting your wrist and lightly tugging on his cock.

“On the floor?”

Slightly allowing your tongue to poke out of your mouth as you smirked up at him, you shake your head. “Wrong answer,” you reply seductively. Sinking your mouth down his shaft, you use your hand to help stimulate him even more.

“Shit, oh shit, I’m gonna cum, baby. Don’t stop,” he begs. Seconds later, he shoots his load into your mouth and you suck out the last drop before swallowing everything.

Helping you stand up, he pulls up his bottoms as you rinse out your mouth in the sink. Looking at him through the mirror, he lets out a playful laugh and you do the same.

“I thought you don’t hook up?” He lightly nudges as you both wash your hands.

“I guess you’re an exception,” you giggle, nudging him back. A knock on the wooden door catches your attention and you hear Yuta remind you that you two had a minute left. “You’re fast.” You jokingly tease Johnny as he hands you two pieces of paper towel to dry your hands.

“Nah, you’re just really good,” he compliments. “We should do this again.”

“Oh? And what makes you think I’d want to do it again?” A playful and teasing smile is plastered across your face, hinting at a ‘playing hard to get’ attitude.

Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “I’m pretty good with my tongue, I just thought I should show you and return the favor.”

Pausing for a second, you arch your brow as you scan his face. “You know what? I’m going to take you up on that offer.” Placing your hand on the doorknob, you feel Johnny tug on your arm causing you to turn around. Before you could comprehend what was going on, Johnny presses his lips against yours causing your knees to go weak.

“Consider this a thank you,” he smirks. “You’re great.”

The Accident - (2)

Pairing: Yandere!Namjoon x reader, Hoseok x reader, Sope 

Word Count: ~2K

A/N: Special thanks to @kimseokmomjins or helping me out in this chapter!~  

Trigger warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, yandere-themes, threats, death threats, disapproval of sexuality. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics. 

[ Part one ]

“Hi, I'm Hoseok!”

“...”

The small boy stared expressionless at the energetic boy who had introduced himself as ‘Hoseok’. Said boy took a seat beside him on the bench, observing the smaller boy who continued to stare, deadpan and blank-eyed, with no hint of a smile.

“Who gave you that name?” The smaller boy asked, his lifeless voice not affecting the bright boy.

“My mom!” He grinned, his feet swaying back and forth much to the smaller boy’s annoyance.

“Well, I don’t like it.” He put bluntly, moving away from the now frowning boy. Hoseok pouted, folding his arms across his chest as he began to go deep in thought.

“Well… Then how about you give me a name.”

“Why should I?” The small boy retorted, frowning at Hoseok for a moment before laughing. “Alright… I’ll call you Hobi. I’m Yoongi. No nicknames for me.”

Hoseok jumped up from his seat on the bench, rushing away from the boy as he waved goodbye. As Hoseok ran, his feet followed the sidewalk as his eyes scanned from the blooming trees that sprouted exquisite flowers. He scurried up the slopes, his small legs carrying him the whole way.

“Mom, mom, mom!” Hoseok shouted, colliding into his mother’s chest as her arms wrapped around his petite body. “I’m hobi!” He giggled to which he received a gentle ruffle of his hair.

“And who gave you that nickname, hobi?”

“My best friend did!” He beamed.

Hoseok's eyelids fluttered opened up, revealing a flood of light that blinded him. The dreams of the past always tasted bitter, mocking him of his own naivety. Light seeped in from the white transparent curtains as Hoseok groaned. The blurry images around himself finally sharped, exposing the bare back of his secret lover.  

Ah… this is no good.

Hoseok slipped out of bed, brushing his hair to the side as he glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dozen of little red marks, from scratches to bites, littered his skin. It reached from the base of his neck, down his torso, and to the back of his shoulder. He sighed, splashing freezing cold onto his face, water dripping from the ends of his hair as he looked back at the mirror.

He brought his hand up to the bite mark on his neck, looking at it with a fascination. Sometimes he had found himself wondering about the little marks that were always planted on his soft skin. They spoke to him, reminding him he belonged to someone. But, he had submitted himself to fate which told him it was to never happen.

He stood fully dressed, staring at the sleeping figure who breathed evenly. He looked heavenly, his eyes closed and in pure bliss. Hoseok slowly walked over, glancing once more time at his face before pulling the blanket over him. Kissing his forehead, he headed out of the room without looking back.

Before Hoseok could open the front door to the apartment, he learned the loud bang of footsteps as they stumbled down the staircase. He looked back his insides lurching as he saw the hurt expression on his lover’s face.

“You left me.”

“Don't... Don’t make this harder than it already is. You know we can't do this.” Hoseok lifted his arms up in exasperation. “How long do you think we can continue this? How much longer do you want to keep lying to yourself, telling yourself that this will work out? How much more are you willing to hurt yourself?”

“But we both want to…” The older took a deep breath before continuing. “Hoseok I've been in love with you probably since the first time you spoke to me. These feelings are a part of who I am now.”

“Yoongi…please…stop,” Hoseok muttered, gripping the handle to the door tighter.

“Hoseok! Are you not going to fight for this?! For me?!”

Yoongi was no idiot. He knew that his situation could not last but for a short time. He watched as Hoseok grew more distance and melancholic. It hurt him inside, never wanting reality to catch up with their safe haven of dreams. The happiness Hoseok’s eyes held had slowly disappeared, yet he always treated him with melancholy tenderness. It was an ebb and flow of emotions that never reached the peak where they had started from.

“No… we can't.” He choked, his voice broken as he was, unconscious of the stream of tears that slid down his cheeks. Hoseok pulled the door open, once again leaving a crying Yoongi.

That fateful day when you called him, he had never expected to hear your cries, begging him for help. But to him, it was not only helping you. It was a reason to leave. Despite how much it hurt him, he had to leave. He could not make Yoongi happy no matter how selfless he was. He couldn't be the reason for Yoongi’s downfall. If he could prevent it, he would. And so he did. He left.

He never told Yoongi that day. To everyone, Hoseok had disappeared. He had left the older male broken and so terribly lonely. He vanished completely from his life. All he left was pain to the only person he loved, leaving Yoongi as he cried every night. Yoongi never washed the blankets that had once delicately covered both of their bodies together. As Yoongi cried, he would try to make out the lingering scent of Hoseok’s shampoo. But as days turned into weeks, he could no longer make out the scent. There were no more remnants of Hoseok. Not even a mark on his skin.

Hoseok understood the incredible pain he had caused. But Hoseok's guilt was replaced by joy. The joy of a new beginning. It was a refreshing start with someone, catching up on both of your pasts. It wasn't like he regretted his life beforehand, but no longer did he feel burdened with the struggles of his own problems.

The daughter he cradled in his arms was his new joy. His new aspiration. He lived every day hoping his actions would better the future of his child. Yet, even as he stared at the child, he could not help but be restless. This child was not his. He knew that. But as he gracefully passed the child into your own arms, he couldn’t help but imagine him there instead. How his delicate features, his soft eyes, would scan over the baby, a smile forming on his lips.

Was it a lie when he told you he wanted to stay with you? Did he truly want to stay for you? Maybe he just wanted to find a reason to hide from his problems. Maybe he was lying when he said it didn’t matter if the child wasn’t his. But, how could he say that to you when you never wanted it as well?

The man he had met at the park filled his body with anxiety. It constantly lingered in his mind as he worried about the future. His gut had screamed at him, telling him that man was up to no good. But, Hoseok couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t know anything besides his name. Was he to confide in you? You were married, yet there was an obvious separation. There was distance and uncertainty and tears at their fake love.

Who was he trying to fool? Both of you never truly loved each other. It could not compare to the soft touches of Yoongi’s fingers as he brushed through his hair or the caress of his lips that sent pure euphoric bliss through his body. You and Hoseok were an obligation to be together. Both of you were too young and childish, too dependent on each other, yet so helpless. There was nothing left but to accept the separation in between the two of you that was never talked about.

It was as if he was cursed by phone calls. It was a Tuesday afternoon when Hoseok had picked up the phone. After his beautiful daughter had fallen asleep for a nap, you both stayed home, lazily watching the television.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Hoseok?” The voice replied out of the speaker.

“Um, yes it is! Who’s this?” Hoseok answered cheerfully, his eyes looking back at the TV.

“Oh, I’m not sure if you remember me.” The man laughed. “I’m Namjoon. We met at the park last week?”

“Oh, yes, yes! What can I do for you Namjoon?” Hoseok smiled, a hand coming up to his hip.

Unlike your husband’s happy demeanor, your head snapped at the name. Namjoon? You shut your eyes closed as you took several deep breaths. There were too many thoughts that blurred your emotions. Were you to scream out in anger and question why the hell he was bothering you again? Were you to cry and hope Hoseok immediately dropped the call? Were to pretend you never heard anything, but live in fear, knowing that Namjoon is aware of your husband?

Namjoon had been so confusing that you felt the need to eavesdrop, to at least understand what his underlying goals were. The more you knew, you had an upper hand against him.

“Oh, do you know someone named Yoongi?”

Hoseok almost dropped the receiver onto the ground, his hand trembling as his body shook. You looked at him confusing, watching how his lips quivered and his eyes darted around in a frenzy.

“U-um, w-what?” Hoseok stuttered back, suddenly feeling extremely chilly.

“Do you know a person named Yoongi? Specifically Min Yoongi?” Namjoon repeated, his voice steady and calm, yet it held a peculiar tone, something along the lines of cockiness.

Hoseok gulped, the sound echoing in his ears as it seemed to be the only noise he heard despite the loud volume of the television.

“I do. W-why?”

There was silence.

“Hello? Hello?” Hoseok panicked, holding onto the receiver with both hands. “Namjoon? Are you there?”

“Ah, sorry about that Hoseok. I guess he wasn’t lying after all.” Namjoon chuckled.

“What are you… talking about?” He whispered back.

“I didn’t know you had a relationship with a man, Hoseok. Imagine people finding out about this. How sad.”

“Namjoon, what are you- are you listening to what you’re saying?!” He shouted into the phone earning a jump from you. When had he ever yelled before?

“Hoseok, I don’t think you’re in any position to be yelling at me. After all, you stole what was rightfully mine. Min Yoongi, age 26, lives on xx street with his parents living about six blocks away from him, house number 39.”

Hoseok paled, anger building up in his body as he felt like he was going to explode.

“Now listen here, Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon instructed. “You are to leave y/n, divorce her, and make her hate you. If you do not listen to me, I will harm the most important thing in your life. You will have nothing left in your life. I will kill him if you do not follow through. In fact, I’ll tape the whole thing just for you. Do not think this is an empty threat, Jung Hoseok.”

The receiver fell onto the ground, clattering as it harshly collided with the wooden floors of your home. He looked over at you with wide eyes as a tear rolled down his cheek. A chuckle could be heard from the phone before it cut off, signaling the end of Namjoon’s call. Hoseok looked down into his hands as his body shook uncontrollably. Had his mistakes from his past come up to finally ruin him?

His fear had become a reality.

first of all: i promise you this hurt me at least as much as it will hurt you. (but i promise it ends soft!!)

Bad Things Happen Bingo #8: Taunting

"help me,” you whisper, and he does. (steelstep, m!sidestep (it’s Keith but the only namedrop is... you’ll see) trigger warnings galore past abuse, hardcore panic attack, flashbacks, intense dissociation, short identity confusion, grounding techniques and emotional fallout to go with it all. also spoilers.) 3,415 words

You dream.

Oh, you dumb little doll.

You dream of needles in your skin, of the beeping of machines, of rough hands pinching and prodding. Of intrusions of any and every kind while you laid strapped down, restraints at your arms and your ankles and your midriff. This one is quite resilient, isn’t it? Too hazy to struggle, to protest, to scream for help, but not lucid enough to block it out, to retreat to what ruins remain of the safe space at the very back at your mind. The jagged shards of your psyche, torn apart by a little girl’s hands and relentless blue eyes.

Did you really think you could be like them?

You dream of whispers, of barked orders, of venom and hatred you never could understand before. Of dozens of eyes staring at you, multiplying into millions, boring into your skin, little pinpricks of light stabbing you along the orange etched into your skin. Man, I hate how human they make them look. Naked, bared, exposed, stripped of name and identity, of mind and heart. A blank slate, an empty vessel, screaming under your skin but keeping your form carefully blank because that was the only choice you had.

Look at them. Would they be in this situation without you? Miserable and dead?

You dream of news reports, of videos playing on loop till the words and pictures melted together into lights and white noise. Of headlines, blurbs, entire articles scrolling before your eyes so slowly you had no choice but to read them. They should terminate it, put it out of its misery. Pictures, recordings, every little piece of evidence of the fallout scrounged up and presented to you as a grand feast, force-fed to you until you no longer cried choking on the rot and filth.

You couldn’t even defeat one little girl. What use do we have for a broken tool?

You wake up screaming.

Chen is awake and upright before you can wrestle out of your blankets, heart hammering, breath catching, sweaty skin sticking to sheets. Black hair over your eyes, tangling with your eyelashes, blinding what little vision you have in the darkness of the bedroom. Chen reaches for your arm but you bat him away, not stopping until your feet are safely on the ground and you can bury your face in your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes so hard it hurts, so hard the muted fireworks begin firing in the blackness.

You feel the mattress shift as Chen scoots closer to you, a delicate civilian hand brushing your shoulder. You flinch and he withdraws, but you can feel him hover, feel the anxious buzzing of his mind against yours: worry and fear and adrenaline at the violent awakening, and for you, what’s wrong, are you alright, do you need anything, what do you need-- 

You can’t take it.

He speaks your name, a low rumble from his chest that at any other time might calm you, but now it’s the same as the static of the TVs you were forced to watch, the same as the slow scrolling of text, burning black on white searing headlines into your retinas. Whispered taunts, chisels wedging neatly in the cracks of you, exposing every little weakness and mistake, look what you did, it’s all your fault, did you really think you were helping anyone?

You stand up so fast you nearly topple over, headlines in your eyes changing into the slow blinking of stars before your blood catches up and clears your vision. The mattress creaks and Chen’s mind surges and you just can’t take it.

You never helped anyone. You only made it worse.

You snatch your clothes and are out the bedroom door before he has a chance to fully realize what you’re doing. Maybe it’s unfair: he can’t follow you, not as fast as he’d like to, with his legs resting on the chair beside the bed. Where you placed them the night before. Could he reach them? Have they toppled over, like last time? You didn’t look. You don’t care. You need to get out. It’s better if he doesn’t stop you.

He is faster than you expect, though. Maybe you’ve just never seen him put the legs on in a hurry. Maybe your own movements are still sluggish from the dream and the memory of drugs and restraints, muscles straining to discern the past from the present. Maybe it’s the damned trembling of your hands, so intense you drop the shoe you’re trying to put on. Maybe it’s all three at the same time. Nevertheless you find yourself being pulled into a hug when you stand back up, the weight of his arms around you and the warmth of his chest at your back. You flinch, but don’t recoil, don’t fight back, and let the hand reaching for the doorknob fall.

“Talk to me,“ he pleads. 

There’s a whine from around your knees and another warmth presses against your legs, Spoon’s familiar mind somewhere at the edges of your own frayed consciousness. Dog’s mind. A soft mind. Worried. Anxious. Simple. Animal.

Mangy curs. Did you see its eyes? Creeps me out, man.

You choke back a sob and bury your face in your hands again, feeling your mind clamp down on itself, unable to stop it. Unable to do anything, a stranger in your own body, hammering at the door to be let back in but getting no response. Staring at yourself in a broken mirror, a distorted whistling radiating in anger, more jagged edges and impossible angles: you’re a shadow of yourself, crudely painted over, and the paint is flaking off. And there you are underneath: you, not you, a forgotten you, and it’s all the same and yet completely different.

You don’t know how you end up on the couch. You don’t know how long you sit there, wrapped in a blanket and Spoon pressed up against you. You don't know if the hand holding yours has been there the whole time. You're not here; you're burrowed deep inside your mind and you're outside your body, you're numb and you're aching all over. Your hands are static and your heart drums a steady rhythm that means nothing. You’re-- you’re not you.

You're a unit number, without a name, without an identity. Mind and heart stilled to keep yourself safe, to be what you need to be: a blank canvas for them to paint on.

There’s a hand in yours and a voice at your ear, but you have no context for either. You have no context for anything. You are-- Who are you?

State your identification code.

You breathe out numbers. A familiar string, chiseled into your very spine, hiding deep in the marrow to emerge in moments like this. The one thing you can always be sure of, your nature and purpose condensed into ten characters dictating your life.

534-845-966E.

There’s a brief silence, and then the man sitting beside you gently turns your face towards him. He calls out a name that sounds wrong. He tells it’s yours. That you have a name. You’re not a string of numbers. You have a name.

“I know,“ you hear yourself say, voice hoarse, heavy with tears you don’t remember crying and panic you don’t remember feeling. You have a name. You chose a name. Your first act of freedom, first act of rebellion, first choice. First thing not given to you, decided for you, first step on a long road that led you right here. You are--

Well done, pup.

You grasp at the hand on your cheek, trying to dig your nails into the skin, finding it impossible. Hard. Cool. Artificial. You remember. Broken, like yours. You’re not the only one here with fucked up hands. Your fucked up hands. Not a tool’s, broken tools are discarded, and you’re still here.

Or are you?

“I don’t feel real,” you choke out. There are tears on your cheeks again and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing the pain behind them to go away. It doesn’t, there’s still chattering in your mind, your shields are cracked and they’re bleeding in and you’re bleeding out, people all around you, up, down, left, right, everywhere and they’re all screaming in your head. “I don’t--“ You breathe sharply, and when Chen calls your name again, you recognise it. You open your eyes and meet his.

“Help me,“ you whisper.

He does.

He dries your tears and holds your hands as he tells you how to breathe. In deep. Hold. One, two, three, four. Long breath out. Again. Count to four. Then count to ten. Count your breaths, count your fingers. Count his fingers. Four, ten, twenty, back down to zero again. He squeezes your hands when your sobbing quiets to shaky gasps, then soft breaths, an achor that you cling to like your life depends on it. Your sanity just might.

He traces your scars, and his. Remembers them with you, to prove that you’re real. That you exist. Runs his fingers along your collarbone, points out the bump where it fractured when you miscalculated a jump and disappeared before anyone could drag you to a hospital. He lifts his own shirt and reveals the scar on his side, the emergency cauterization you did for him in-- where was it? Somewhere outside the city. Too far to wait. You roll up your sleeve to look past the orange lines, instead focusing on the parallel whites, left by the Catastrofiend. Lines, bumps, ridges and dips on both your skins. Memories. You feel like you can breathe again.

He takes your hands and puts them on Spoon, has you feel his fur, keeps a reassuring hand on your arm when the dog spasms and looks at you with wide eyes, startled out of whatever dream it was having. Smiles when you laugh at Spoit on getting tangled in its own spindly legs jumping up and into your lap, stumbling against your chest in its hurry to lick your face. Slobbery tongue all over you, warm and affectionate, and your heart that had sunk to your toes gradually makes its way back up to its rightful place in your chest. 

The string of numbers retreats back into your spinal cord and settles there.

You don’t even notice Chen has gotten up before he returns, shooing the dog off you long enough to hand you a glass of water. Half full, and even your trembling hand can’t possibly spill it.

“Thank you,“ you croak, free hand holding onto Spoon and his warmth, the simplicity of his mind giving you respite from the void that is your own. Simplicity is what you need now. The echoes in your ears have quieted.

“I put the coffee on,“ he says, reaching down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. You catch a glimpse of the world outside between the blinds: the pale blue of approaching sunrise. You don’t know what time your episode began, but you know it was dark then. A wave of guilt, followed by shame, washes over you. You should be better. You shouldn’t be weak like this. You--

Chen speaks again and you wrestle your tangled mind out of itself, force it to stack back into the fragile tower-like structure you’ve managed to rebuild. “Can you stand?“

You gulp down the water and pull yourself up. You tremble, but don’t fall, and you decline the hand Chen tries to steady you with. He gives you a long look, assessing you, and a part of you wants to challenge him on that, but the tired part of you is much stronger. Finally, he takes the glass from you and nods towards the bathroom. “Wash your face, you’ll feel better.“

Your legs wobble less than you feared as you head that way. You hear Chen flick his tongue and Spoon trots after you, the patter of his paws a welcome sound, the soft brush against your knee keeping you grounded. The bathroom tiles are cold under your bare feet and the sink under your hands as you lean on it, calming the endless static in your fingers. 

You don’t look at the mirror, face carefully angled down the entire time, afraid of what you might see. A shadow, a Re-Gene, or just yourself, as miserable and pathetic as you see yourself. You don’t need a reminder of that.

By the time you get to the kitchen, Chen has set two mugs on the table, each steaming. You sink into a chair and Spoon curls up by your ankles, trapping your feet under him. A faint smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you wiggle your toes, making him bark up at you, tail madly wagging. You chuckle and when you look up, you find Chen eyeing you fondly over his mug. You’re quick to avert your eyes and pull your own closer, inhaling deep, welcoming the familiar scent to your system. It courses through you, nostrils to lungs and from your lungs to your limbs, arms, legs, fingers, toes. Exhaling remnants of your panic and you feel just a little bit better, letting your eyes close, shoulders relax, head drop.

Shit, you’re tired.

“I’m sorry,“ you mumble after a while, laying your elbows on the table to brace them as you lift the mug to your lips. There’s no spillage and you pretend it’s not only because Chen has developed the ability to somehow tell exactly how full a cup you can handle at any given time.

“It’s fine,“ He says, quickly, like he was expecting that. He probably was.

“It’s really not,“ and reluctantly meet his eyes. “Did I hurt you?“ You’re not sure. You can’t tell. You probably did, but he hides it well. Either way, the ouroboros of guilt in your stomach slithers, curls up tighter, digs its venomous fangs deeper into its own tail.

“No more than you have before.“ It’s a jest, a callback: said with not quite a smile, but his features are soft. You respond in kind with what’s not quite a chuckle, just a soft exhale through your nose. “Again, it’s fine.“

You set the mug down and brush your thumb over the top of the handle, trying to hide the slowly heating shame and guilt working their way up through your throat. “I think... I woke half the building.“ You don’t just think, you know: you felt them. Your mind, unguarded, crashed into theirs and you weren’t the only one who woke up screaming and crying. Invaded them and tapped into the darkest part of them, like a little girl with blue eyes did once before.

“You didn’t hurt anyone,“ Chen says, quickly again, too quickly. Eager to reassure you but it’s all empty words, he knows even less than you do - he knows nothing, and you know for a fact. You could know even more, if you reached out, if you had the presence of mind to. But that might just do more damage right now, so you keep a tight rein on your thoughts. As tight as you can, unraveling as they are.

But you have to make a point, because that’s what you would do, you remember, so to make that point, you raise an eyebrow, aiming for some semblance of sharpness in your words. “Really? Did you go knocking at every door while I was in the bathroom?“

“Don’t do this.“ He’s set his own mug down now, expression solemn. You allow him to take one of your hands as he reaches over the table, eyes on his. Gunmetal grey against deep blue. “Focus on yourself for now.“

He’s right, and you hate it. You lower your eyes and untangle your hand to sip at the coffee again, not trusting yourself to hold the mug with only one. You can feel Chen keep looking at you and his mind is calm, a summer pond, a midday shade, morning frost. Musing. A veil between your minds held up mostly by him, because your shields are still fractured, brittle, a fourth floor window breaking against your arms. Welcome home.

His voice drags you back from the edge and you blink. “What?”

“Do you want to talk about it?“

Your hands grip the mug tighter, you see your knuckles go white and the tremors intensify, but feel nothing. You’re drifting outside your body again. Remember: we own you. “I--“

“You don’t have to,” Chen says, reaching out with both hands this time, prying yours off the mug and holding them with gentleness you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to. Cool hands. Hard hands. Artificial. Four fucked up hands between you and you count the fingers, twenty of them, then back down to one. Breathe in. Hold. One, two, three, four.

The air you exhale flutters and you pull one hand back to rub at your eyes, but allow him to keep a hold of the other. “I don’t know if I can,“ you admit, and your voice breaks. You can’t remember, another pair of gunmetal grey eyes, easy smiles, half-finished crosswords and cups of coffee. You can’t. You won’t. Breathe in. Hold. One, two, three, four.

“That’s fine,“ he says, his voice coming from somewhere far away, and through the static you feel a squeeze. His thumb brushes over your knuckles and when you regain enough of yourself to look at him, you find him looking back. He smiles softly, but you're too tired to return it. “More coffee?“

“I think,” you turn his hand over in yours and slip your fingers between his. Easy as lying. As lying used to be. Before you stopped. Before he stopped you. “I want to sleep.“ You don’t know if you can, after all that, after the caffeine, in the daylight, but your limbs are weighing you down.

“Alright.“ He squeezes your hand once more and stands up, grabbing your mug along with his to put away. Your feet have gone numb and you nudge them slowly, awkwardly, until Spoon gets up and lets you go. He circles your chair and barks up at you, and you reach out to scratch the top of his head before leaning on the table and standing up. You keep leaning and shake your legs, willing them to wake up faster. Spoon cocks his head at you, wondering what you’re up to, but his attention is quickly stolen by the rattling of food in his bowl. He he makes a beeline for it, and you smile at the joy he can get from such a small thing. Simple mind. But maybe simplicity isn’t bad.

You don’t realize you’ve zoned out watching his wagging tail before Chen’s hand at your elbow literally makes you jump. “Shit!“ You recoil, then rub at your eyes again. Your mind is starting to fall apart again, but in a different way than before. The blocks on the tower coming apart and floating in every which direction, rather than collapsing under unforgiving gravity. “Sorry.“

“Come on.” You let him take your arm and lead you back to the bedroom, now painted in soft blues where the morning sun shines behind the curtains. He helps you change, out of the clothes you haphazardly threw on so many hours ago, and you help him take off the legs again. You wonder if he doesn’t have anywhere to be later, but you don’t want to ask. You don’t want him to leave. 

You can’t be alone right now.

He pulls you close to him and you curl up, burying your face in his chest. His breath is steady and you focus on that, match yours to his, pull him closer by his shirt and inhale deep. Safe. Safety. A real bed, in an actual apartment, loved by another human. Not a slave in a dampened facility somewhere in the vastness of the silver state.

Did you really think you could be like them?

“They called us dogs,” you whisper, eyes closed. Mutts. Mongrels. So many other things. Chen tenses momentarily and then brushes at your unkempt hair, leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“Try to sleep,“ he murmurs, and you do. 

And you sleep soundly, because you’re not a dog, not a doll, not an identification number: you’re a person, a someone, maybe not exactly human but enough for this little family.

You’re enough.

Chronicles of the Impossible (Miz Cracker x Brooke Lynn Hytes [Miz Crooke?]) - fandomfeministe

A/N: Well, courtesy of Saiph I had enough ideas for my rare pair that they said I might as well keep going. So I did. XD

Chronicles of the impossible; or, five small realisations (Part 1 - Cracker)

Realisation the first - Brooke’s domesticity

Cracker had never anticipated being here. Not the literal here - in the small apartment in Nashville that Brooke called home - although that was kind of a mindfuck, considering they were now here together, alone. No, the strangeness he was contemplating was instead more about how they were here.

The last guy Brooke had brought home, he knew, was a one night stand - one of the quick hookups he’d had post-Vanjie - and their time here had started in a similar way. Invited to Brooke’s homecoming gig back at Play, the first time he’d been on stage there in months, Cracker had been able to truly relax and just enjoy watching his lover perform. And oh, could Brooke Lynn Hytes perform.

They’d barely made it inside the door, pulling at each other’s clothes the second it shut, and would have ended up with Brooke attempting to fuck Cracker up against the wall were it not for a pair of inquisitive cats appearing and nearly tripping up the pair of them.

“Shit,” Brooke cursed, pulling up his loose jogging pants and trying to shoo Henry and Apollo towards the living room, ignoring Cracker’s giggling fit as he talked to the felines like they were his babies. “No, you’re staying out of the bedroom… you can meet him tomorrow, but right now, he’s busy…”

By the time he’d turned back, there’d been a trail of clothes leading towards the bedroom, and Brooke followed it with anticipation. The night that came after? Well, the triumphant feeling Brooke had on stage had followed him home, and the energy he still had made Cracker wonder if his wobbling knees were going to let him walk in the morning. Worth it, though, he thought. This man gave him everything - hands down the best sex he’d ever had - and the energy it took from him left him with the distinct need to sleep late the day after.

When Cracker eventually awoke, it was to the sound of a cheerful, laughing Brooke clearly in conversation with someone. The voice sounded female, but wasn’t one he recognised, so he decided to pull a change of clothes from his bag and slipped into something fresh, leaving the Canadian to his conversation while he went in search of coffee. He smiled at Brooke on his way to the kitchen, and Brooke smiled back, wishing him good morning before returning to his FaceTime. He’d taken no more than a few steps towards the coffee pot before the woman spoke again, and Cracker’s jaw dropped as he realised who he’d just been kind-of introduced to.

Brooke’s mom.

Oh shit.

“Who was that, honey?” he heard her voice ask, so sweet and genuine he could tell from the other room. “A… a friend? A boyfriend?” she asked, an undeniable note of curiosity and, dare he say it, hope creeping into her voice.

Oh, shit.

Padding silently to the doorway in his bare feet, he watched his lover respond as he wrapped his hands around the freshly poured cup.

Brooke’s face, mostly its usual self, still had one or two of its tells that all was not quite what it seemed. His nose wrinkled slightly as he flinched, almost as if trying to shrink back from the question, and his hand reached up towards his throat, subconsciously trying to cover the flush to his skin that was slowly creeping up his neck. “Aww, mom, no,” he replied, determinedly trying to avoid looking at Cracker before he went to pieces. “He’s a friend. A good friend,” he added, a little too quickly to be truthful. His mother, however, didn’t seem to buy it.

“Really? One who’s at your place at this time in the morning?” she asked more pointedly, causing Brooke to lower his head to hide the smile that was beginning to grow on his face, lest it give the game away. The game being, Cracker thought, that things this was still just sex between them. That all they were was a pair of fuck buddies. “I know you better than that, baby.”

Cracker grinned. Mama Hytes was just too cute. She reminded him of his own mom, actually. And the fact that Brooke clearly cared about her and her opinion so much? He loved that - loved the fact that he was starting to see what the softer side of the Ice Queen looked like when he melted, as it were. And the look still on Brooke’s face when he turned to smile back at him? He was glowing with affection, for both people he was around right now. Indeed, the bitch was fucking radiant.

He was absolutely done for.

Realisation the second - Brooke’s smile

Cracker had touched down in LA a mere hour and a half ago, and already he was in a cab heading for a hotel with a suitcase at his side and a growing desire to retch burning at his throat. Was this the stupidest idea he’d ever had? Probably not, but it certainly ranked somewhere in the top ten. Its position in the chart depended on one thing - the reaction his lover had when he turned up to surprise him after his gig. Oh, fuck. That wasn’t something you did for somebody who was just a friend, was it? Letting that thought run in circles around his mind as the LA landscape flew by in the cab window, Cracker’s mind turned to the last time they’d been together - both making an appearance at a charity event somewhere out in the midwest, the pair of them so busy that the cities had begun to merge together. It wasn’t like London, Paris, or any of the gigs on their earlier tour where their contact was limited to the few minutes they could grab together - rushed blowjobs in the dressing room; quick, breathy fucks in whatever space they could manage, even once exchanging handjobs immediately after coming off stage, literally unable to keep their hands off each other.

No, their last time had been very different.

It had been slow. Soft.

They’d made more of an effort to control their longing, carefully de-dragging and heading back to their hotel in separate cabs, affording them the opportunity to shower and shed the fog around their minds as well as the grime from their bodies. When Brooke had finally knocked on Cracker’s door, they hadn’t immediately torn at each other’s clothes or gone straight for a release. Instead, they’d lain together on the slightly too-small bed, arms wrapped around each other, the warm kisses making both men feel like they were blushing teenagers again and not grown men in their thirties.

When the intimacies had finally become more intense, and the clothing began to come off, it wasn’t the pressured, driven act of frantic lust that it had usually been. Rather, as soon as one of them had removed something, the other took their own sweet time, exploring the exposed skin with alternating touches from lips and hands. Taking it in turns, both men had found themselves under the covers as naked in their emotions as with their bodies, unashamedly enjoying the slow burn and the build up to the crescendo that they’d never yet allowed themselves to develop.

It had been a night to fuel his fantasies and imagination ever since.

A few hours later, and still thinking he must have been nuts to do this, Cracker had arrived back at the hotel, showered and changed, and was on his way into WeHo. Mickey’s was not a venue he’d frequented as often as some of his friends, being very much an NYC queen as well as a regular touring girl. However, he was still recognised enough by the staff and performing queens - as relatively anonymous as he was in his casual boy clothes - that he was allowed into the backstage area to go hang out with the girls who’d already been on, and those who hadn’t yet. A PA knocked on the dressing room door for him, and a wonderfully familiar voice told his visitor to enter. His lover’s back was turned to him, and their eyes met when the younger queen looked up in the mirror, in the middle of putting on an earring.

“Cracker?!”

Brooke’s face, fully done already, had stilled. Coral painted lips gaped and eyes that opened wide were framed by their usual lashes, the man who owned them touching his mouth, a picture of serenity.

The object of his affection watched him fondly, waiting, and mere moments later was rewarded with what he’d been looking for as Brooke turned around, almost painfully slowly. His eyes trailed over him, climbing up his small but muscular form - still tired from the long flight, with bags under the eyes and skin dull from lack of rest, when the blonde’s eyes found his, a smile spread across his face that seemingly put him at the centre of his universe.

Deliberately, measuredly, Brooke rose from his chair, the long yellow dress he wore making him look like a gorgeous statue made from sunshine. That statuesque figure drifted towards him, the enamoured expression reaching all the way to his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered, putting his hands on either side of Cracker’s face. “You came all the way to LA?”

“From New York,” Cracker confirmed, his voice cracking a little in disbelief that this was going well, and that his plan hadn’t been a total disaster. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, that definitely worked,” Brooke replied dryly, leaning down. If he’d been shorter, or Cracker had been taller, this would have been the moment for an embrace. Another moment of intimacy, perhaps, touching foreheads or noses for a moment as each contemplated the fact that the other was finally there, somewhere he could touch.

When their lips met, Cracker could have sworn he’d felt the fireworks enough for both of them.

Realisation the third - Brooke’s performance

They’d had to tear themselves apart after that, given that it was time for Brooke to go onstage. Allowed to watch from close by, but not so close that he’d be a distraction, Cracker slid into a booth and watched the next queen perform, before it was time for his own guy to come on.

It was definitely worth the wait.

He was lipsyncing to a mashup of Ariana Grande songs tonight - right in his wheelhouse - and it was clear from his body language how much he was enjoying it. The first number, a slow and sensual buildup, saw his body move languidly around the stage as his legs and dress flowed like water. Then, as the music changed to something more fast-paced, the fabric was torn away to reveal a bandage-style costume that glowed under the club’s lights, and if Cracker was honest, barely covered all of the important parts. He crossed his legs without thinking.

Watching Brooke Lynn perform was always revelatory, but tonight, there was an energy to his presentation that was nothing short of glorious. From the moment he’d walked out there playing a naive young woman in love, to the highly-sexed writhing around the stage he was doing after dropping into the splits right into his line of vision, the whole thing was mesmerising. And to tell the truth, when he looked right at him, trailing a finger seductively over his lips and right down over his chest, he couldn’t help but return a wry smile. Brooke was clearly returning the favour he’d been paid all those months ago in London, and the reference did not escape him.

The smile on Brooke’s face as he circled the stage was infectious and beautiful - it was as if he was sharing a particular secret moment of laughter with whoever he made eye contact with. The sheer joy of the performance, its exuberant display of his talent, made Cracker lean forward, unable to take his eyes from Brooke and his spirit. The silent sigh that escaped him then was a signal - a signal that the game the two of them were playing was changing, even though neither of them had noticed.

The desire he felt wasn’t purely carnal anymore.

Realisation the fourth - Brooke’s friends

It occurred to Cracker, as he arrived at the party, that for someone with such a very particular reputation, Brooke had one of the widest variety of friend types of anyone he’d ever met.

There were your Nina West types - the old friends from way back, the ones who provided the emotional support and the kick up the ass that his lover so sorely needed from time to time, without getting too much of a rise out of him. The queens who were the campy, mama bear types, loved by everybody, who you’d never peg as picking out people like Brooke to be their best friend.

There were your Gia Gunn types. The young, stunningly gorgeous queens who had the sharp tongues and sharper reputations - almost the complete antithesis of the Ninas of this world. The types that would have driven Cracker absolutely bat shit crazy and want to slap somebody if there had been too many of them on his season of Drag Race (and the types that made him respect Bianca del Rio all the more for not doing so). Still, Brooke liked her, and that had to be good enough for him.

There were your Vanjies, too, of course. That one Cracker had to be able to understand, because he himself was a friend of the outgoing Puerto Rican queen. It was, of course, a weird subject between the two of them now, what with Vanjie being Brooke’s ex and Cracker still feeling guilty about messing around with Brooke in the first place. And while it was true that Vanjie hadn’t given them his blessing, so to speak (there was nothing between them yet that needed it, nope), at least he wasn’t hostile. As long as the two of them didn’t rub things in his face, they were at a stage where things would be OK. And to have Vanjie’s loyal, boisterous energy in their lives was certainly better than not having it at all.

Cracker entered the apartment - waving happily at a passing Kameron in greeting - and reflected on what all of this said about the man he’d chosen to spend so much of his time with. Each one of the people here thought Brooke was a likeable, fun person and above all, a loyal friend, hence the crowd of invitees in this little place he called home. It showed a kindness that belied his Ice Queen image, open-mindedness that did him credit and a generosity of spirit that made his heart swell three sizes whenever he looked at the younger man.

“Hey, boo,” he heard behind him, the familiar Torontonian twang making Cracker smile before he even turned around. Brooke’s hug - full of warmth, that smelled of his shirt’s fabric softener and the cigarette he’d smoked earlier - was a heartfelt embrace. It was a simple, everyday gesture that still, somehow, felt reckless, new and brilliant. It was quite the step for two overthinkers such as themselves.

Realisation the fifth - Brooke’s panic attack

One in another series of firsts, this definitely unwelcome event was one that had completely sideswiped Cracker. He hadn’t seen it coming.

Their evening in NYC had been coming to a close in perfectly lovely fashion; for once, an evening that had absolutely nothing to do with drag or either of their circles of friends. Cracker had been reflecting on just how good for them it was to just spend an evening at dinner, not just shooting the breeze but really talking - although it was suspiciously like an actual date - when they’d decided to call it a night and get an Uber back to Cracker’s place.

Waiting outside for the car had given them a bit of time, and a slightly tipsy Cracker wanted to use it for all it was worth. He’d stood up on tiptoes to kiss his guy senseless, and there they were, making out in the streets like horny teenagers, when he was shaken out of his reverie by the man in his arms suddenly tensing, and talking over the top of his head.

“Fuck…”

“What?”

Cracker turned his head to follow Brooke’s line of vision when he saw what the taller man was worried about - a couple of guys exiting the bar down the street, one of whom who was definitely using their drag names in excited conversation, flailing arms gesticulating in a drunken manner, pointing towards them both.

“Oh, fuck…”

Letting go of each other and separating before either of the other men could get out their phones in the manner of amateur paparazzi, Cracker could practically sense his lover getting twitchy. Thank heaven that, in what was a blessed coincidence, their car pulled up at that point and the pair of them were whisked away before the accidental voyeurs had too much time to process. It was more of a relief, Cracker realised, when he saw the look on Brooke’s face as the car whisked them through the NYC streets.

Back at his tiny apartment in Harlem, Cracker was practically carrying the Canadian through the door, supporting him as his breathing became more erratic and his body less stable. Cracker knew that Brooke had his difficulties - just like him, had a tendency to get in his head and let the negativity take over - but they’d never yet really been close enough for long enough to experience it in each other. He just about managed to lead him towards the couch, sitting him down and taking his face in his hands.

“Stay with me, OK?”

Brooke nodded, but could do little else.

“I’m going to help you breathe through it.” He took one of Brooke’s strong hands, holding it gently between his own. “First, five things you can see, OK?”

It was an old technique, hardly innovative, but it almost literally brought a sufferer back down to earth in the middle of an attack - something Cracker had to use on himself more than once. Brooke, however, definitely seemed like he’d needed the help, if his heavy breathing and partially closed eyes were anything to go by. Cracker didn’t push it, though. He knew time was not a luxury, but a necessity, in this case.

“Um… OK… the blue of your shirt. The brown of your eyes, and hair,” Brooke began, apparently one to go by colours. Funny, Cracker thought. So was he. “Um, the grey of the couch. The red of that painting on the wall… and your lips, they’re pink, I guess…”

Not too far there, yet, but better than nothing, he supposed. Brooke was talking, now, and able to look at him if he mentioned his face. Cracker reached up, slid off Brooke’s jacket and his own, so they could both get more comfortable, and continued. “Four things you can touch… go on…”

Brooke’s breathing, still heavy, was at least a little slower now, and he took fewer pauses. “Your shirt… it’s soft. The couch… we’re sinking in… your jeans… they’re rougher… and your skin… you’ve gone cold…”

It was no surprise, really, Cracker told himself. He’d felt like his blood was running colder as soon as he’d realised Brooke’s predicament… but there they were. “OK, good, you’re doing well,” he said soothingly, reaching over to rub Brooke’s back. “When you’re ready, three things you can hear.”

Brooke’s breathing was longer and slower now, and Cracker instinctively reached up to cradle the back of his head as his lover clutched the back of his shirt in his fist, head resting on his shoulder. “The traffic outside. There’s a lot of car horns,” he said, the feeling of his breath tickling Cracker’s neck. “The sound of your breathing. And your heartbeat.” Cracker wasn’t sure that the last one counted, but he didn’t have the heart to point that out.

“Two things you can smell, then. Go on.”

“Your cologne. And your sweat.”

Cracker couldn’t help but chuckle then, cradling the taller man in his arms. The bluntness of the reply was pretty funny, and he couldn’t hold it against him… especially as he’d definitely felt the cool sweat running down the back of his neck as he’d wrestled Brooke to the couch. Poor thing.

“And the last one, babe. C’mon…”

“Taste…” Brooke paused, tilting his face down a little, licking his tongue across Cracker’s bottom lip, ever so gently, as the smaller queen held his wrist to feel the heartbeat coming in at a more normal pace. A smile drew itself across Cracker’s face as he stayed there, letting Brooke use him for his own comfort, which was good for both of them, really.

They stayed with limbs entwined on the couch for god knows how long after that, Cracker lying back on the couch with Brooke curled into him. It was peaceful, being like this, and it gave both men time to think. If tonight had proved anything, it was that they understood each other on a level that even they didn’t quite understand. He’d been willing to take the relationship a little further than they’d been enjoying for a while now, but tonight had meant that the pair of them were forced to reflect on how much they trusted each other. Cracker thought back to how they’d started, out of something stupid at first, then been drawn to each other regardless. Now, he knew that they saw the true beauty of each other, far beyond the surface he could see.

He was in love.

Exquisite.

Elaine saw the glint in his eyes whenever he wanted her. His eyes would always follow her every movement, waiting for the moment when she would notice that want in his eyes. He said nothing as he observed her doing the smallest things- making them food and cleaning around their grand suite. Then there were the moments of affection. Elaine liked to give him small, subtle kisses, on his cheeks or bring the back of his hand to her lips to kiss it softly. Those she know he liked especially, for it made it seem like she was courting him.

Elaine also knows that Casimir isn’t one to express his feelings vocal all of the time, which leads to these moments of her analyzing him. Her husband always fascinated her, so she was not burdened by his reluctance to show his affection and want vocally.

When it was truly intimate moments like this, nothing needed to be said, especially when he had enough of her little teases once he knew that she understood what he wanted. Elaine, who was standing in front of a mirror, fixing her hair, sees Casimir approach her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She moves some of the strands of her hair away from her neck, as if inviting him to do as he wished upon it. He takes this invite and, using one hand he’s moved from her waist, tucks the rest of Elaine’s strands behind her ear, and leans down to kiss her neck.

She mewls quietly when he kisses her neck, closing her legs together and taking her arm, wrapping it around Casimir’s neck to reach for his hair and knead it. She hears a low, satisfied growl as response. What she does not expect, however, is Casimir sinking his teeth into her neck, which makes her pupils widen and a loud squeal emit from her. She rubs her legs together, desiring friction, and her hand tugs on Casimir’s hair tighter.

There was just something about him sinking his teeth into her neck, drinking a bit of her blood that made her seem that he was further claiming her as his. Seeing this, right in front of the mirror… Strangely enough, it gets Elaine wild. She whined as he pulled away from her neck slowly, licking the remaining droplets of blood that was present.

He then unhooks her arm from around his neck, and turns her around carefully to where she was facing him. Elaine noticed a bit of her own blood, that was still on the side of his lip but could say nothing as he pulled her in for a rough, bruising kiss while grabbing her waist and hoisting her up into his hold. She wraps her legs around his waist, moaning as she felt how hard he was at the moment.

He wanted her so bad and it was almost therapeutic to her. Elaine loved his desire for her–craved it, even. Only she could do this. Only she was allowed to make him reach this state. When Casimir led, he fully intended on making her see why she only belonged to him, and no one else.

He carries her to their bed, still kissing her as if his life depended on it. Casimir then broke the kiss  to gently place her on the bed, and crawl on top of her. Elaine turns her head, exposing her neck again while looking at her husband with desperate, half-lidded eyes, and once more does Casimir move loose strands of Elaine’s hair out of the way so he could lean down and sink his teeth into her neck, biting into her fresh skin.

Elaine cries out, legs wrapping around Casimir’s waist while her hands reached to tug on his hair. Casimir begins to grind against her, while his hands roam her body, touching as much as he was able. He enjoys his wife’s squirming immensely and wants more of it. He doesn’t suck too much of her blood the second time around and soon pulls his teeth out, licking any leftover liquid.

Casimir’s hands stop at Elaine’s purple silk shirt and with one motion, he rips the buttons apart, exposing her chest. This elicits a gasp from her, surprised at the aggressiveness but she trusts him, and it was turning her on more than anything else. Elaine lifts herself up to help finish removing the shirt, letting it dangle to the floor. While she is sitting up, Casimir unhooks her bra from the front and takes it off of her, throwing it to the floor.

Her breasts now exposed, he cups them, and squeezes them hard enough to make her moan but not hurt her. He knows just how much Elaine loves when he plays with her breasts. He smirks when her eyes become half-lidded. He continues to squeeze and knead her breasts before he eventually comes to lean down and begin to suck her nipples, one at a time. She growled, taking her left hand to pull on Casimir’s hair, while her other fiddled with his belt and zipper.

Having undone his belt and zipper, she reaches inside of his pants to pull out his cock, beginning to stroke it slowly. This makes him freeze in his tracks, unable to focus. He pulls Elaine’s nipple out of his mouth and groans against her chest, legs trembling at her soft touch. It is her turn to smirk lightly, but she is caught off guard as Casimir slides his hand up her skirt, and begins to rub her though her panties. She shudders, pressing up against him while her legs weaken and unhook from his waist.

They tease one another like this, making each other moan, knowing just how to please one another to where their pleasure was not one-sided. Casimir, who shudders at Elaine’s strokes, takes his hand and tugs her hair, staring into her eyes intensely while biting his lip. Elaine can’t help herself, either and whispers his name as he continues to rub her and stare at her so wantingly.

The teasing and small bits of pleasure was not enough. Casimir needs to taste her. His hand loosens in her hair, and he stops rubbing her for favor of pushing her back down on the bed, and eagerly unzipping Elaine’s skirt, with her lifting her waist for easier removal. It is tossed to the side and as he goes for her panties, ready to rip them off, she whines and stops him by grabbing his wrist lightly. Casimir chuckled, knowing how much Elaine loved her lingerie and proceeded to slide them off with her help. He lifts her leg to place soft kisses on her thigh, which makes her giggle.

Elaine’s soft giggles, while rather refreshing and dare he say cute, is still not what Casimir wants. He brings his index and middle fingers to his mouth, sucking on them and thus wetting them. Slowly, he inserts them into her wet orifice, making her gasp. He feels her clench against his fingers so he does not move them, instead waiting for her to give him the okay to do so. Elaine whined, hand moving to tug on his hair. She wasn’t quite ready yet, but she was getting there. Casimir leaned forward and began to lick her, eliciting a louder gasp from before. He hears his name called and that drives him to move his fingers slowly, seeing if she was ready. Her loud moan followed by shaking legs invigorates him. He licks and moves his fingers inside her, while focusing his attention on her clit and providing glorious stimulation.

This is what he wanted. Elaine’s moans increased in volumes as if she was drunk on the pleasure Casimir was giving her. Her hips began to rise and he could feel her insides twitching around his fingers. She cupped her own breasts and began to knead them, wanting nothing but to reach bliss, but then Casimir stops, as to counter her demand and he smirks as he sees a small glare on her face. Elaine did not like orgasm denial. At all.

Her glare increases when she sees his smirk and instantly, she rises and pulls him by the hem of his shirt. Casimir’s eyes widen as she makes quick work of his silk burgundy shirt, ripping it to pieces. It was her turn to lead and Casimir knew what she would do—tease him to no end as retaliation. He has no time to prepare as her delicate fingers toy with his nipples. He gasps which makes Elaine purr in satisfaction. Toying with his pierced nipples was always the best. It was the one thing that could get him to moan over and over again and Elaine loved to hear him moan.

Casimir runs his hand through her hair, unable to stop himself from moaning and throwing his head back. He was careful not to collapse on top of her even though her touch was making him so weak. Elaine smirked again and expertly switched their positions, so that Casimir was now on his back as if hearing his concern. She finished taking off his pants and boxers and took his cock in her hands, stroking up and down without any warning. Casimir moaned loud, bucking his hips and throwing his head to the side. He couldn’t stop himself from moaning even if he tried.

Elaine wants to see how wild her husband can really get and leans down, taking his cock in her mouth. He curses as he feels her bob her head up and down, and can’t stop himself from saying her name over and over again like a mantra. He was at her complete mercy now. Elaine stuck out her tongue, teasing the tip all the while looking at Casimir. She licked up and down the shaft, continuing her teasing before she was sure Casimir was on the edge and stops just as he did earlier, eliciting a growl from him.

She giggled and got off of Casimir to go into their drawer and take out lube. She wasn’t worried about using a condom. The two of them have been together for over seven years, and frequently got tested. On top of that, Elaine used birth control, knowing full well she was not ready for a child, even if the thought did cross her mind several times. She’d remembered getting upset in the past when he outright said he would not want to have a child, but realized it was for the better until the time was right.

Climbing back on the bed, she opens the bottle of lube and takes a plentiful amount out to cover Casimir’s cock. There was enough of teasing from both of their ends. They needed each other at this moment. Now that Elaine was on top of Casimir, she grasped his cock again, tracing her entrance. When she was ready, she slowly inserted it inside of her. She cries out, looking at Casimir desperately.

He grabs her hips and thrusts hard, making her shout his name. Her warmth is exquisite. Everything about Elaine is exquisite. He can’t stop himself now, and thrusts hard and powerful, wanting to bring both of them to bliss. Elaine is a mess as he thrusts, skin slapping against skin. Her hair is all over her face and she sweats due to the intensity of their lovemaking. She cups her breasts, kneading them and teasing her nipples as Casimir fucks her.

To further Elaine’s pleasure, he finds her sweet spot, making her practically scream his name this time. He hits that spot over and over again, making her roll her eyes back. By now she was drooling at the mouth, feeling herself close to orgasm. Casimir too was at the last of his endurance. He rises, wrapping his arms around Elaine and kissing her feverishly. As her moans get louder, Elaine pleads for him not to stop, to make her come and Casimir delivers. He groans her name as he comes inside of her and that’s exactly what makes Elaine come, saying his name over and over in broken gasps.

Casimir pulls out of Elaine and collapses back on the bed, while Elaine follows, collapsing on top of him. All that could be heard for the next couple of minutes is their loud breaths as they calm down from the intensity of their sex. When they’re calm, Elaine rolls off of Casimir for favor of lying next to him, but Casimir gets up, grabs a cloth out of their washroom, and begins to clean the fluids off of her. She sighs contently as he does so.

Lying down next to her again after cleaning himself up, Elaine cuddles up next to him, giving him lazy kisses. Casimir couldn’t help a smile. He loved Elaine so, so much and he wouldn’t give her up for anything. He felt—no, knew that if he had to give up his status just to see her happy, he would do so. When he was with Elaine, nothing else mattered at the moment.

Casimir felt her nuzzle him and chuckles. She could be so cute. He sees her eyes are a bit droopy before they eventually close and Elaine falls asleep, still holding on to him. Casimir follows, closing his eyes and falling into a peaceful sleep.

Lion’s Pride: Chapter 8

10.

Aedion shifts away from where a man throws his guts up over the side of the deck, wincing as the smell hits his fae senses. It’s a side effect that comes with travelling on a common boat. They could have taken a ship from the Terrasen fleet, a private ship just for Aedion and Gavriel to travel on, but that would have caused to much suspicion as to where they were going. And using a private ship for such a personal matter seemed like a misuse of the countries resources. However, it doesn’t change the fact that travelling with a few strangers is unpleasant. Instead of sleeping in the hull Gavriel and Aedion have taken to sleeping up on deck under the stars, both under the pretence of ‘guarding’ the ship and needing their space. The humans don’t seem to mind, eyeing the two large fae males with apprehension whenever they draw near. But the seasickness is overwhelming. Trying to flee the smell, Aedion joins Gavriel where he stares over the side of the ship, admiring the rolling, blue mass of flesh that stretches out in front of them.

“How are you feeling?” Gavriel asks, using a smile to cover his grimace at the man retching behind them.

“Fine,” Aedion leans against the railing, trying to move away from the smell.

Placing a hand on his son’s chest, Gavriel gently pushes him off the creaking wood. “Careful, the last thing we need is for you to tip overboard.”

“I can swim,” Aedion throws a rakish grin.

“I have no doubt of that,” Gavriel rolls his eyes, turning away. “How have you been lately?”

“I’m fine.”

“Every time you say ‘I’m fine’ I get the urge to jump off this ship,” Gavriel raises a brow. “And throw you in as well.”

Aedion chokes on a laugh. “That’s dramatic.”

“You don’t just get it from your mother,” Gavriel smiles, yet it slowly melts off his lips.

Aedion’s mother. The reason they’re going to Wendlyn in the first place. It had been difficult, to make the decision to visit her grave. It was a moment of swallowing feelings as they planned the trip, as Aedion sent the letter to Galan, asking if they could stay the night in Varese before heading to the small, sea side town where she had raised Aedion for the first five years of his life. In a small house, set just a little aside from the town along the beach.

“We have plenty of money to find other accomodation if you don’t feel comfortable staying at the castle,” Gavriel offers, staring out at the horizon.

Aedion sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. “No. We’ll arrive late and leave early, so it’s unlikely we’ll run into many people.”

~~~

In the end, they stride through the castle gates after the sun sets. Aedion strolls through the hallways with his signature grin. Rumours are nothing Aedion doesn’t know, hearing the whispers that trail after them as they walk through the halls. He’s had many words whispered in his presence, encompassing him in a whirlwind of secrets and insults. These are whispers of awe. And he relishes in them. Gavriel keeps a step behind his son, watching his aura swell to fill the space, overwhelming in its intensity. It’s the aura of a warrior, of the wolf of the north, that encompasses everyone that Aedion passes. His smirk, his strong stance, is one of a challenge and a victory.

The last time he was in this country, the last time he walked across these beautiful carpets and soaked in the warm, humid air, he was a bastard child that they were more then ready to expose of. Someone who they were fully prepared to send overseas, to rid themselves of. He was the bastard child of the woman who was like a sister to their king and his sister, Evalin. Their cousin who was so close to the two that they may as well have been three siblings instead of a brother, sister and cousin. But now he’s back.

A warrior in his own right, a self-made general, the youngest general in Erilea’s history to be appointed at nine-teen years old, a blood-sworn member of the court of one of the most renown queens in the world. A male that’s fought against demons besides kings, queens, princes and princesses. He is so much more then what they thought he was. He made himself something, and now he’s ready to let all those bastards know it. The smirk widens as Galan strides towards them, the crown heir of the country spreading his arms in welcome.

“Aedion, Gavriel,” Galan smiles at the two of them, clasping arms with Aedion. “It’s good to see you two again.”

“And you,” Aedion grins, gripping his arm and bumping shoulders in return.

They became close, thanks to the battle. Two young demi-fae princes, kin by blood, working side by side to amass their forces and push back the foe. Going through something such as war can bind two people, especially those as young and bound by past like Aedion and Galan. Not only that, but during his stay in Terrasen the young price, Galan, apologised for the treatment of Aedion’s mother. He’ so far the only member of the Ashryver family to do so.

“You missed dinner, but I’m sure we could scrounge up something from the kitchens for you,” Galan offers, casually smiling at the two of them, Aedion smirking back and Gavriel smiling easily.

“That would be appreciated,” Gavriel dips his head.

They head down the hallway, turning the corner. And right there is the king, his hands clasped behind his back as he admires a painting on the wall, tanned skin lined and black hair beginning to gray, an older image of Galan. King Glaston. Evalin’s brother, and cousin to Aedion’s mother. Or more like a brother, depending on who you ask. All three of them stop, looking at the king. King Glaston turns to them, freezing as his gaze settles on Aedion.

“Aedion,” he murmurs, much like his son once did, with wonder in his voice as if he is a creature that has been magically summoned.

Aedion sneaks a glance at the painting. Three young figures smile back. King Glaston in the centre, his sister Evalin to the left, and Aedion’s mother, their cousin, on the right.

The young king stares straight at the painter, a spitting image of his son with his raven black hair and Ashryver eyes, back straight and shoulders pushed back. Clad in black and blue attire he symbolises Wendlyn, yet a small smile tugs at his mouth. It’s obvious from the spark in his eyes and that small tug of the lips that his attention isn’t on the painter whom he looks at, but rather on the females at either side of him. Such a regal position, yet the youth and joy in his face shines through.

Evalin herself sits on a chair to her brother’s left. Her bland hair is a spark of colour, pulled back from her face by two little braids then falling in a neat waterfall. Her hands are folded over her lap, her shoulders and back also straight, yet a wider smile adorns her features as she leans towards Glaston and Aedion’s mother. It’s obvious that like her brother her attention is diverted, caught in the moment occurring with two of the people she is closest with. The stubbornness lining her muscles, her frame, are startlingly similar to the same ferocious features that create Aelin. It’s so easy to forget how similar the two are, in both spirit and physical appearances.

Aedion’s eyes drift to the right, and land on his mother. She leans back against a piano, looking to the painter yet her body is leaning forward slightly, a clear sign that she was speaking to Glaston and Evalin. Her blond hair, much like in the sketch that Gavriel gave to Aedion, is a short golden mane that brushes her shoulders. Her Ashryver eyes spark with interest her mouth tugged up into a smile. Her clothes are still formal, wearing a black and blue dress that laces at the front, yet the skirt is shorter and her arms are bare. It’s obvious a garment that allows for free movements, her tanned skin shining golden.   But it’s the lines she drawn in that causes her to stand out. Yes, the artist has painted her the same way he painted the others, yet just as she was in the sketch her personality, her very self, seems to be defined in broad, strong strokes. The lines that define her and strong, stubborn, shown in the broad straightness of her broad shoulders, of the way she seems fully at peace and confident where she’s positioned. Not standing to attention or sitting formally, but rather in her own relaxed position that her family no doubt attempted to remove her from.

But they couldn’t. Because, just like her son, she is drawn and defined by steel lines that never break. It becomes clear who Aedion gained his unbreakable will from. This female, this strong, formidable female, who stood against her entire royal family and every bit of shame they threw at her. Who fought her battle to protect her son until her last breath. There’s so much of Aedion in her that it shocks him, to look at his mother and see the same message painted across her skin that he wears like a brand. You can’t break or own me. I belong to no one but myself.

“You look,” King Glaston clears his throat, snapping Aedion to attention, “very much like your mother.”

A near mirror, to what Gavriel had once said to him. It’s become so clear now, however, that they both mean it on multiple levels. Gavriel stays a step behind Aedion, yet monitors him. Glaston and Galan may not be able to hear, but it’s clear to his fae hearing that his son’s heart is beating just a little faster then normal.

“King Glaston,” Aedion lowers his head, bending at the waist slightly.

Galan and Gavriel both copy his movements, the king watching. It’s strange, to look at what Galan may age to be. He’s clearly the spitting image of his father, yet the king himself has lines beginning to groove his deeply-tanned skin, his hair greying at the edges.

He holds his hands out in front of him, taking a hesitant step towards Aedion. The wolf of the north swallows, throat bobbing, as he takes in the male that is the brother to the woman that raised him, the uncle to the female who is basically Aedion’s sister, the man that was like a brother to Aedion’s mother. Gavriel resists the urge to step forward at the way Aedion’s heartbeat picks up once again as the man who should have been like an uncle to him instead of a hated stranger takes another step forward.

King Glaston’s hands hover in the air, as if uncertain to land on Aedion’s shoulders or to cup his face, his expression pained with longing and grief. Aedion can’t help but wonder if it’s his mother who the king is seeing. Glaston still seems uncertain as to what  to do, teetering between moving forward and back. Aedion makes the decision for him, stepping back, hands flexing at his sides.

Dropping his hands Glaston takes his own step back, blinking. “How long have you been in the city? Are you staying with us?”

It becomes clear to Aedion all of the sudden that the king had no idea of their arrival or visit. “We’re just staying the night.”

Is it rude to drop in for only a few hours? Galan had no qualms about it, but then again to come late in the night with plans to leave early…

“Right,” King Glaston nods, still in a daze. “Are you here with news from your cousin?”

Gavriel watches closely as Aedion’s hands curl into fists at his side.

“No,” Aedion keeps his voice bland. “We’re visiting my mothers grave seeing as how I wasn’t permitted to be there for her ceremony.”

Not when they rushed him out of the country, barely giving an explanation before shoving him onto a boat to take him to the only family members that cared about what happened to him.

“Right,” King Glaston looks away, similar to his son. “I assume rooms have been set aside for you?”

“They wished to just stay the night, so two simple rooms have been allocated,” Galan steps in.

As per Gavriel and Aedion’s request. There’s no point in having rooms set up for them when their plan was to only stay for a few hours to gain some sleep before setting off to the small town on the coast, not too far away, where Aedion’s mother raised him. Where, for the first five years of his life, he lived in a house he can’t remember with her, yet can recall that it was on the beach, a little ways seperate from the town. They’ll find it. They’ll look.

“Nonsense,” King Glaston waves a hand, his kingly presence returning. “Take them to the guest rooms; they should be comfortable for the night.”

Aedion appraises the king who was known for fighting besides his men, just as Galan now does. Surely the man knows what it is like to sleep in trenches, sometimes without a tent, curling under your clothes as your only means of protection against the harsh elements. Perhaps by giving them rooms, accommodation with comfortable suitings, it’s the kings way of trying to find some compensation towards Aedion. If only he could mention to the king that soft surfaces, after years on the hard ground and bed rolls, are too soft and cause him to feel as though he is being swallowed. Of course he puts up with the lavish bed back at home for Lysandra’s sake (though it is much easier to sleep and enjoy it with her next to him. Not that he will admit that).

“I would also,” the king clears is throat, drawing attention once again, “like for you to join me for breakfast in the morning. I’d like to know what you’ve been doing.”

Aedion blinks slowly. “Well,” he drawls, “there was the war.”

The king’s wince is almost visible, same as Gavriel’s, even if Galan simply turns away with a hand over his mouth and mirth in his eyes.

“Yes,” the king looks away, still holding back a wince. “I look forward to talking in the morning.”

With that the king turns, and walks away. After a moments pause the three of them continue walking, Gavriel lagging two steps behind Galan and Aedion. Silence stretches between them as they slowly walks up a staircase, everyone processing their meeting with the king.

“You didn’t tell your father we were coming?” Aedion finally breaks the silence.

Galan throws his hands up. “You were only staying for a few hours so I didn’t think you’d run into him!”

“Like hell we wouldn’t!”

Gavriel casually admires the paintings as they walk.

“You could have told me your reason for coming!” Galan hisses, leaning towards him. “I thought you were here for a different reason!”

“It was a private reason!” Aedion growls back. “I wasn’t exactly going to go screaming it from the rooftops! And what did you think we were here for?”

“I don’t know! Murder?”

Aedion jerks, turning his head to stare at his cousin, aghast. “Why would you let us come if you thought we were going to commit murder? And why murder!”

“It was a guess!” Galan throws his hands in the air, scowling. “Look at your personal histories! And it was only a slight hunch!”

Gavriel sighs, smiling and reminiscing as he stares out the windows to briefly catch the sunset. The view over the city is phenomenal, the buildings and ocean reflecting the golden hues.

“You shouldn’t have invited us even if it was just a hunch!” Aedion hisses.

“Would that have stopped you from coming?” Galan snaps, stopping between two doors opposite each other. “Well here are your rooms! See you at breakfast!”

“Like hell I’m going to that!” Aedion hollers after his retreating figure.

“You can’t say no to royalty!”

“I say no to Aelin all the damn time and I’ll say it to you as well!”

Gavriel knows that’s a lie. At best Aedion just adds fuel to the mischievous fire. And then laughs at the havoc that commences. Almost like a demon.

“Well,” Aedion growls, “goodnight.”

Gavriel realises as his son opens his door that Aedion’s heart is still beating faster than normal, his knuckles white as he grips the doorknob. He follows his son through the door. The room is lavish, most likely a room used for when fellow royalty visits. It’s of a more western design then the rooms at Terrasen, the walls a gentle golden colour that catch the sun thanks to the giant windows lining one wall. A bed sits to the side, other pieces of furniture peppering the large space. A door stands opposite the bed, across the room, most likely leading to the bathroom. A long, cushioned window seat spreads beneath the large windows. Aedion stops in the middle of the room, spends a second to take it in, then places his head in his hands. Staring at his son, head in hands and shoulders slumped in such a beautiful space fin for a royal, Gavriel is struck with the sudden comparison of staring at a wild, free creature trapped in a stunning cage.

Beautiful, but still imprisonment. Perhaps that’s what his son’s title as a royal, as a disowned member of the Ashryver bloodline, has always been. Gavriel crosses the room, placing a hand on Aedion’s shoulder to comfort him. His son turns, and at his bewildered expression Gavriel pulls his son into his arms, holding him firmly.

It will take time. Time, to quell the urge to hunt down every fucking Ashryver That dared look at his son in distain. For now Gavriel and only comfort his son when he tired of standing tall. And act that gives him great honour. It’s worth it every time.

~~~

Sunshine is what wakes Aedion, his eyes peeling open as he turns his head to stare out the window, the ocean shimmering past the city. The window seat. A much better option to sleep on besides the bed, where he could easily stare out at the night time city or simply look up at the stars. Better then feeling trapped under a roof while being swallowed whole by soft blankets that grate against his coarse skin, reminding him of a time where a bed was as much of an imprisonment as a cage. The look up at the sky gives a sense of freedom in this palace that itches at the corners of his memories, thank the gods. No, fuck the gods after the hell those monsters put them through.

Sighing, Aedion slowly rolls off the seat to stand, stretching his arms easily above his head. He strolls over to the bathroom, wiping sleep from his eyes as he opens the door. And is met by a large, extravagant bathroom. The shelves are carved into the walls instead of jutting our, a large mirror and bench against one wall. The bath sunken into the round resembles a small pool more then anything, the water already steaming. He shuts the door and turns around.

Only to step outside of the room to be met by Gavriel, who shakes the last few drops of water form his hair, cleaning dressed and presented. Aedion blinks at his father, and Gavriel blinks back, as immaculate as ever.

“Gods damn it,” Aedion growls, and storms back into his room.

~~~

“You didn’t need to bathe just because I did,” Gavriel grins, watching his son button up his colour, leaving two undone.

“Yes,” Aedion glowers, “I did. Let’s get this over with.”

“Aedion, it’s breakfast.”

“Don’t use food to try to make this better.”

~~~

The clock ticks. Loud and clear, the hands move with the passage of time. The large dining room is empty, besides the four males that sit at the table. King Glaston sits at the head, with Galan to his side. the chair opposite Galan is empty, his mother preoccupied. Aedion sits next to the empty chair, Gavriel next to him. A wonderful spread of food has been laid out. Hot, flat morning cakes presented, bowls of fruit, fresh water with ice in large pitchers. Assortments of honey and jams sit, sprawled between the dishes and males. Aedion, having almost no appetite, simply moves the food around on the plate, staring at the little arrangements he makes. Galan for the most part tries his best, picking at pieces of food, eating as he stares out the window. King Glaston himself shows discomfort, steadily eating the food, yet more robotically, as though going by muscle memory more then anything. Gavriel as always sits upright and proper, yet like his son focused on his plate as he uses a knife and fork to cut up his food, golden eyes absent from the present.

“So, Aedion.”

Galan inhales sharply, immediately bending over to hack up a grape. Aedion slips forward, his fork screeching on the plate as his head snaps up to stare wide-eyed at the king. Even Gavriel straightens, slapping a hand on the table while blinking, looking around the room before relaxing again. King Glaston winces at the visible shock his words caused in the midst of the silence.

“I- yes?” Aedion clears his throat, placing the fork down flat and sitting straighter.

“Well,” the king hesitated, clearly searching for words. “How is Aelin?”

“She’s well,” Aedion’s eyes dart away, and Gavriel winces at the rise in his sons heartbeat.

“Good,” King Glaston nods, eyes also sliding away. “We were worried about her state. The way must have been hard on her.”

Gavriel doesn’t miss the way Aedion’s hand curls by his side.

“The war was hard on all of us,” Aedion smoothly answers, voice in control.

The voice of the liar, trickster, deceiver. The voice used to hide all emotions, to conceal hidden plans. A voice that was once used for a different king.

“I’m sure it was,” the king softly amends, looking at the table.

No, not at the table. At the hand Aedion still has spread over his fork, his fingers appearing fine despite the fact that they are crooked in some places. From a distance, they look fine. Up close, they are obviously healed from breaks.

Noticing the stare, Aedion clenches and unclenches his fist, smirking down at the digits. “Each one was broken in two places.”

Almost everyone winces.

“That must have been painful,” the king clears his throat.

It’s too good of an opening to pass out on. “It was, but it isn’t the worst thing I’ve had done to me.”

Gavriel has to hold back from quickly sucking a breath deep down his throat, his heart jolting at the words. It will be a while before the remembrance of how his son suffered as a child will stop stuttering his heart. If it will ever stop.

“Right,” King Glaston swallows thickly. “I am sorry, Aedion, that you had to suffer through that.”

“So am I,” Aedion’s look turn unimpressed. “Especially since no aid was sent, and none of our lovely relatives thought to ask for me.”

Both Galan and the king tense, Galan’s eyes looking at Aedion with desperation, the king looking away. Gavriel’s spoken to Aedion of this. He doesn’t blame his cousin; not when Galan was as young as he was when the war broke out. Not when his cousin was also a child when Aedion was sent away. There was little he could have done, and when he was old enough to send aid he did. But the king, on the other hand. The king could have used his power to do something. Anything. Any of Aedion’s older relatives could have vouched for him to be removed from the war. It’s difficult for Gavriel to swallow down his own anger. Especially when he himself was absent, so far away on an opposite corner of the world that he had never even heard his son’s name.

“Thank you for the meal,” Aedion says after a few more minutes of silence, pushing his chair back.

“Aedion, wait,” the king also stands, Galan and Gavriel sharing concerned looks from where they are seated. “We should talk.”

Aedion rests his eyes upon the king, and waits.

“Alone,” King Glaston mutters.

Everyone can nearly see the bristles that rise on Aedion, yet he simply grins, that dangerous whirlwind aura of his swirling through the room. “Alright. That should be fun.”

King Glaston stands and leads the way, Aedion lazily following. The door clicks shut behind them.

“I really hope this doesn’t end in murder,” Galan mourns lowly, placing his head in his hands.

“If it helps, that wasn’t our original intention,” Gavriel shrugs helplessly. “Neither was this breakfast.”

“That doesn’t help. And you don’t need to try to use food to make this better.”

Gavriel sits back in his seat. Ashryver’s. The similarities can be startling.

~~~

“I really was surprised to see you here,” King Glaston leans against a desk, allowing Aedion to stand by the closed door of the office. “Especially with Gavriel. I see that the rumours are true.”

“Right,” Aedion crosses his arms, keeping his composure relaxed. “Did you have any idea that he was my father?”

King Glaston responds after a minute. “No. If I had, I would have…”

“What?” Aedion snorts. “Appraised my mother instead of kicking her out?”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” King Glaston very nearly growls, leaning forward. “I wasn’t happy with your mothers predicament, but it’s also something she had chosen for herself. She could have stayed.”

“And let me be sold to Meave?” Aedion levels a look, voice low. “And faced ridicule all throughout her pregnancy? Be shamed by her own family at every which turn?”

“It was never that simple!” King Glaston’s voice nearly takes on a begging tone. “What was everyone supposed to think when a princess of Wendlyn announces that she’s pregnant and won’t give a damn clue as to who the father was?”

“She told Evalin!”

“Only when she had to!” King Glaston snaps, standing straight. “She never told me!”

Aedion falls quiet, appraising the king. “Were you as close to her as Evalin was?”

“She was like a sister to me.”

“I see,” Aedion’s voice takes on a quiet, hushed tone. “But Evalin was your sister, and you never did a damn thing to help her country in a time of war. To help me.”

“Aedion, please,” Glaston’s voice weakens as he rubs at his eyes. “The politics were difficult. Terrasen had fallen, we believed Aelin to be dead, and by the time we were informed about you Adarlan had already started introducing you into their camps. What were supposed to do with a prince raised in a foreign county and captured by an enemy land?”

“Do you even understand,” a growl rises in Aedion’s voice, “how difficult it is to situate yourself in a country you are not native to? How many times I had to listen to the lords of both Terrasen and Adarlan sneer in my face that I was a foreigner unworthy of my titles because of it? And now you’re saying, what, that I will never have a cemented place in the country I am native to? That I am to be stuck, never belonging properly to a any country thanks to my childhood that was torn thanks to forces out of my control?”

“I’m sorry, Aedion,” King Glaston takes a remorseful approach, sagging against the desk. “It’s unfortunate, I know.”

“So many things in my life could have been avoided,” Aedion doesn’t bother keeping the tremble from his voice, unsure if it is from rage or sorrow, “if it wasn’t for the bastards that plagued me. That gripped my fate in their hands and chose my future without giving me a say. Maybe if you had all loved her, supported her and trusted her, had made her feel that you would have protected us from Meave, then none of it would have happened.”

Aedion stalks a few steps closer, staring the king in the eyes. “But it’s a damn good think it did, because Terrasen would have been fucked if it wasn’t for me, and I wouldn’t have had the chance to prove every single damn bastard wrong. To smash glass palaces form the inside, to rally armies and legions that had been slain in the snow, to stand while wrapped in chains. So you all just remember who’s son I am when they speak of me in legends. And I don’t just mean Gavriel’s.”

With that he turns, soundly closing the door behind him, leaving Glaston with his head in his hands.

~~~

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Galan asks, blowing out a breath. “Even just in the city-“

“It was good to see you again,” Aedion smiles, clasping hands with his cousin, but we do need to go.”

“I understand,” Galan nods, the sun shining down from where they stand at the edge of the city.”

The farewells are sparse, Aedion and Gavriel setting off. The small town is just a little further down the coast. Gavriel keeps a close eye on Aedion for the most part. What kind of struggle must it have been to so bluntly speak with an unfamiliar family member? The very fact that Aedion has yet to utter a word of it is cause for concern. Where is the rage? The yelling? This silence doesn’t sit well. Not as they stroll down the road, Aedion throwing off his jacket to leave himself simply in his shirt, the first real thing he’s done since they’ve started. Would it be a good idea to push? Or should he simply wait for Aedion to release information on the ordeal himself? Most likely the later, considering past experiences. But things such as this can be difficult. So damn difficult. So Gavriel leaves it.

~~~

It takes another hour before Aedion freely talks once again, joy seeping into his tone as he takes in the humid air and admired the flora and fauna Gavriel points out. As he strolls along the sea side, glad for the costal trek they’ve chosen, even going as far as to take his shoes off to walk through the water. So much warmer compared to the waters of Terrasen, which can kill in an instant. Even if the Wendlyn locals keep insisting that it’s currently much more ‘cold’ then usual.

“How do you stand the humidity?” Audio nearly growls at one point, wiping sweat rom his brow.

“You get used to it,” Gavriel chuckles dryly. “At least you know now how different the temperature here is from Terrasen.”

“No wonder you old bastards get cold all the time,” Aedion seethes, popping free two more buttons of his shirt, resisting the urge to shield his eyes from the sun. “Gods, it’s late in the afternoon. How is the sun still this strong?”

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you complain about something,” Gavriel tries to fight back his smile, failing desperately.

“Because I hate this sun,” Aedion growls, eyes narrowed.

“Hate is such a strong word,” Gavriel shakes his head, feigning disappointment.

“It’s a giant flaming orb in the sky that burns my skin and eyes,” Aedion glares. “I’m allowed to say I hate it.”

“Fair enough,” Gavriel chuckles, then quietens. “We’ll reach the town in a few hours. Are you sure you would like to find the house right away? We could find a place to stay for the night and wait until the morning.”

Aedion looks down. “I want to see her as soon as possible.”

“I understand,” Gavriel nods.

“Did you ever visit her?” Aedion’s voice reaches a quiet point, turning husky as he looks away.

Gavriel tries to rein in the guilt rearing in his chest. “I never thought I had a right to. Not after she asked me to leave.”

“Right,” Aedion swallows, staring at the town that’s slowly coming into view. “I don’t...”

Gavriel stops, placing his hand on Aedion’s shoulder to urge him to do the same. “Aedion?”

“I don’t remember this place,” Aedion’s voice grated harshly, looking out at the water.

Something in Gavriel’s chest cleaves at the way guilt laces his son’s words, as if his forgetting is the gravest of crimes. cracks. As if he should be punished for not remembering a place he hasn’t visited in nineteen years, that he was ripped away from against his will. How much did his son cry, alone on that boat as a small child heading to Terrasen?

“Maybe you’ll remember some things once you return,” Gavriel resists wrapping his arm around Aedion’s shoulder, easily identifying the strain lining his body.

“Maybe,” Aedion stares along the shore. “It’s somewhere along here. It was so close to the city, to them, but they still never realised.”

“Sometimes it’s not the physical distance,” Gavriel’s voice drops, his baritone soft.

“Right,” Aedion keeps his gaze on the horizon. “Right.”

~~~

It’s a small square house, only one level, sitting right where the grass begins to grow in the sand. Its white walls are rimmed by the brown wood, a window next to the door looking out at the beach that’s only a few meters away, the waves serenading the area. Aedion and Gavriel stand just a meter away from the small house, looking at it with trepidation and awe as the sun begins to set. Gavriel looks over to his son, and is immediately startled by the clear terror written across Aedion’s face, his son’s complexion pale as he stares at the house.

“Aedion-“

“This is where she died. She’s buried in the garden at the back. I- I used to help pick the tomatoes we grew.”

Old memories, resurfacing like the tide washing over the sand. Gavriel watches as Aedion walks towards the house, steps robotic, and ducks inside. Sticking close to his son, Gavriel takes in the bare minimum of furniture in the room. Two dusty, deteriorating bed rolls pressed together, a paper divider separating it from the side of the room that contains a sink and toilet. A door leads out to the back garden.

Such a small space, but all that was needed for a mother and her small child hiding from a dark queen.

A quiet, peaceful place.  Aedion stares at the bedroll, and ducks down, pushing the frayed pillow to the side. Underneath it a black cord sits, an obsidian stone with white dots attached to it. A snowflake obsidian, a necklace he suddenly vividly remembers sitting on his mother’s chest. Swallowing, Aedion fiddles with the small clasp, reaching behind his neck to adorn the simple piece of jewellery. The stone sits just below the hollow of his throat, able to be hidden by his shirt or jacket if needed.

Aedion leaves it viewable.

Gavriel doesn’t say a word, watching as his son aimlessly stands in the centre of the room, staring at everything with a glazed look. Gavriel notices that one of his hands is wrapped around the snowflake obsidian, dwarfing the small, smooth stone.

So much like the stones that were used to enslave thousands. Yet so different, with it’s white dots breaking apart the darkness. Gavriel can’t help but wonder if it’s the universes idea of a cruel joke, guiding his son towards the stone his mother owned. A stone that looks so much like a Valg stone, only to be broken by pin pricks of light. Much like his mother, who was chased by darkness yet made her own illumination.

“Aedion,” Gavriel says his son’s name, still standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t say it to catch his son’s attention. No, he says it to feel the name on his tongue, to clearly pronounce each letter. To exercise the beautiful gift that the woman who once lived in this house have him. He knows why she didn’t tell him. He knows that she may not have even known when she sent him away. He knows that everything she did in her short life was to keep their son alive, to give him a chance to bring new actions into this world. To affect it in the only way he can, to become a new variable created solely by them. And Aedion has done more and above. What would the Ashryver family had done if they knew that Gavriel’s son would be one to help defeat Valg kings and princes? To help end decade long wars?

“The garden,” Aedion jerks around to look at the back door, ambling through it.

Gavriel trails him without a second thought. There’s nothing else in the small space anyway.

It’s so heartbreakingly empty.

But there are signs the garden was once well cared for. Some spikes that were once driven into the ground still stand, crumbling under the weight of growing vines. Weeds spread along the ground, and it’s nearly impossible to tell where the patches of small crops once were if not for the filing apart pieces of wood. Nineteen years has let the garden overgrow in an explosion of green, engulfing the small garden patches into an overall sea of leaves.

“She,” Aedion laughs through his tears, choking for a moment, “I think she would have liked this. Would have liked the fact that it all kept growing.”

Gavriel nods, taking in the flourishing flora. “I think she would have to.”

“She’s up here,” Aedion’s voice is quiet in the dying sunlight.

Gavriel follows his son up the small sand dune, firm thanks to the grass and plants splitting through the groans of sand. It leads into the first behind the house, the trees thinned out and thickening the deeper they delve. Aedion stops, nearly causing Gavriel to walk into him, at the opening of a clearing.

They can so clearly hear the ocean behind them, and a stream off in the distance. With the sun finally setting the fireflies come out, dabbling across the sky in whizzing bursts. The headstone stands in the centre of the clearing, a few weeds and flowers growing around it thanks to being neglected.

Yet it is clean, no doubt checked on from the time to time. No doubt by Aedion’s other Ashryver relatives, who knew where she was.

Aedion doesn’t move, staring at the headstone, shoulders trembling with his tears as he jerks with every held back sob.

“It was all my fault,” Aedion whispers, staring at the grass. “If she never had me she could have gone to the healers. She wouldn’t have become so sick so fast.”

“Aedion,” Gavriel wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Aedion, it reads ‘loving mother.’ Even if she never had you she would have fallen ill, and the healers may have been able to do nothing. But she wouldn’t have that title if you never happened.”

He feels his son’s body shudder as he reads the words elegantly engraved in his mother’s stone, just below her name. They walk towards it, Aedion kneeling to speak.

He speaks of his life. Of the horrors and miracles, of the lovers and the haters, of all the times he has been marked a sinner and a saint. The words spill free from his lips as he buries his fingers into the grass, tugging gently as the words tumble forward as if to keep himself grounded. Gavriel kneels next to his son, listening to every word that Aedion unleashes.

They share their story together when they talk of their first meeting, both Aedion and Gavriel laughing slightly when the Lion admits to how utterly terrified he was. The last battle is hard to speak of, Aedion unable to say how Gavriel had nearly died, the words choking in his throat. So Gavriel does it for him.

They speak of their friends and allies, of Aelin, of Lysandra and Rowan and Evangeline and Kyllian and everyone else. So many years poured out towards the woman who have always been watching from the stars.

Gavriel takes Aedion back inside after their words have run out. He knows that they should find an inn, that they should walk into the town he can hear just a little further down the beach, but his son is utterly exhausted. Not physically, no, the journey was nothing to them. But speaking until the stars were spread above their head like a blanket, the sun far away from their side of the earth. Aedion doesn’t sleep near the bedrolls, looking near sick at the idea of resting in the place he once did as a child. Instead he curls up against the wall near the door to the gardens, his look making it clear he’d rather be sleeping under the sky, yet he relents.

“I think I used to have a toy lion,” Aedion mentions, voice thick with sleep, his head resting on his folded up jacket.

“Really?” Gavriel looks from where he leans against the wall, one leg propped up with his arm resting upon it.

“Yes,” Aedion’s eyes drift closed. “She gave it to me. Maybe as some kind of joke.”

“I don’t think it was a joke,” Gavriel says softly.

When receiving no reply he finally realises that his son is asleep. Standing, Gavriel silently exits to the garden, leaving the door open slightly to allow the fresh night air to seep in easier. The moon glows down as he walks back to the grave, kneeling in front of the woman he loved with his head bowed. Shame and love quarrel inside of him as he finally does what he has never been allowed to do before.

He thanks her. He thanks her for gifting him with something all fae struggle to have. The odds of Aedion being born of two people with fae blood, who spent so little time together in that sense, is miraculous. He thanks her for protecting him, for giving them time.

It will never be enough, not until he can sweep her into his arms and dance across the stars with her.

But for now it will have to do.

He’ll enjoy the gift he has been given, will enjoy every second of it, before moving on.

And he intends to make the most of it.

~~~~~~~~

People I finally understand how to tag: @ourbooksuniverse

*[When they get home from the hospital, the first thing the shorter does is tell Bleu he's going to take a shower.]

*[Bag of prescribed medicines in hand, ready to take them up to the bathroom and store them away in a safe cabinet, when their gazes meet he can see the worry in his fiancé's eyes. (It strikes him somewhere tender.) Sans smiles, tired and small and only half-genuine, but he does his best to do that. For him. Bleu smiles similarly in return, and for a moment time is even slower as they embrace. The house is quiet, silent...then, the pattering of feet coming down the stairs-- sounding a little rushed. Mado must have heard them come home.]

*[He still feels a little numb, and out of it. If she says anything before she reaches them, he doesn't really hear or register it. But when he feels her arms wrap around him from behind, her face buried into the back of his now slightly sterile smelling jacket as one of Bleu's hands strokes her head soothingly, the skeleton hums. Low, quiet...he doesn't know what else to say, but right now he feels stronger than he has in days. He hopes she hasn't been crying, too. That won't do, not because of him. They remain there for quite a bit, just leaning on one another for stability, and comfort; looking back on it...that must have been even more terrifying for them than it was for himself.]

*[-- He can't do this again. He can’t let it get that bad. He should have done better, but he can start now. Or try, at least. Bitter taste in his mouth, eventually they separate and he excuses himself to the bathroom. Surely Bleu and Mado will want to talk...uncensored, without him in the room. And currently, he needs a minute before he's any good company.]

*[Shutting the medicine behind wooden cabinet doors, Sans doesn't bother to read them. The supplements, he'll take. The pain medicine...probably not. Not unless he really needs to. Reaching behind the shower curtain to turn on the hot water, he lets it warm up and do its thing as he begins to undress. Jacket first, then t-shirt and tank top until his ivory ribs are bare. Stepping up onto the stool (there's one in the kitchen too, for shorties like himself and their daughter) and standing face to face with the mirror, he lets his incongruous pupils travel further down than his exhausted expression. Down to the SOUL that lie, seemingly harmlessly, in his chest.]

*[...It looks the same as it always has. Nothing has changed, and outwardly it appears...decently healthy. Of course, that had never been the case; not now, not for a long time. But until now, it had just been a vague understanding...an acceptance that he was broken, never knowing in certain terms. God knows the comic tried to find out, but nobody had been able to shed light. And eventually? He had started giving up. Like he does with most things.]

*[Until now. He chuckles softly to himself, stepping down off of the stool once more. No point in looking at it, when the faults are further in than the eye can see. Something deeper, something corrupt. Something DESPERATE, pulling at everything around it and draining him of his magic constantly. Like a small hole in the cup that just keeps letting water out. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower. Depends on how hard you squeeze.]

*[And now, Sans just has to keep remembering to refill the cup before it gets too low. Otherwise, it'll be back to the heat and the delirium.]

*[A sigh, phalanges dragging down his face, and he continues undressing until he is fully exposed. This is what happens when he doesn't take care of himself, huh? Nothing else they can do, they'd said. That this was permanent, that he just had to "cope" better. ( “Eat better, sleep better, and avoid stress.” ) ]

*[...He’s never been very good at any of those things, but the Mama Bear has to TRY. Scaring Bleu and Mado like that again is not an option he's willing to consider. Adjusting the water temperature to lukewarm and then stepping in, he just stands there beneath the spray as he thinks and thinks now that he can.]

*[His shower takes longer than it normally would, but nobody comments on it. At least they're all home, safe, and together.]

Soul

You never did ‘fit in’ as they say. Dolls thrown aside in favour of your brother’s toy cars. That’s nothing unusual. You’re just a bit of a tomboy, they thought. Still, as you grow older, the workings of a girl’s or woman’s mind remain a mystery to you. Even when people explain the how’s and why’s, that way of thinking seems so alien, so foreign. When your body starts to change you don’t mind it too much, at first. But the more it changes, the more it annoys you and the more you start to hate this thing called puberty. It began as only some light bleeding. The repetition of that process begins to annoy you. The red flow slipping from between that hole between your legs is the most hateful feeling, worthy of being called a nightmare. Through the years cramps, pre-menstrual boob pain and general emotional bullshit getting out of whack made the experience even worse. It gets more uncomfortable the longer you’re forced to wear a bra. The straps become loose all the time. When you jump those damn growths on your chest won’t sit still and they draw attention, way too much attention. Seeing how boys looks at girls and their… Ugh, ‘assets’, makes you vow never to wear anything that exposes more than your collarbones. Not that you could stomach wearing something like that even if you’d want to. How can women bear to wear such revealing clothing? How can they not feel uncomfortable in them? How can they view those things as any kind of ‘asset’ at all? You wonder this sometimes. They say it makes them feel sexy, but you don’t understand any of it. Those words sound as though they’re speaking a language you don’t understand. A complex language. One you feel no passion for and thus won’t bother to learn. Mid to late teen years another frustration sets in full force. One that’s been brewing in the back of your mind for a while now. You find your own lack of physical strength vexing and are slowly becoming tired of feeling so weak. Always needing someone else to turn the lid of the jar. People offer to carry things for you and you refuse as much as possible. You wish to be thought of as strong, someone others can depend on. Not someone who needs help moving a few boxes or carrying a few books. You wanted your aunt to also ask you to help her move to her new place instead of just your brother. So you start working out. Maybe if you grow a bit of muscle you’ll stop feeling so weak and people will stop acting ‘gentlemanly’ towards you. It’s something you’ve always hated, but as an adult that sort of behaviour especially annoys you. You hate it when people attempt to treat you as the lady you’re not. They do it more and more now. Holding open a door, letting you enter first with that stupid ‘ladies first’ crap and pulling the chair back. You want to scream: “Stop doing that! I have hands of my own! I can do all this stuff. I’m not some weak helpless creature that needs taking care of all the time!” But for some reason that escapes you, you hold your tongue and settle for a scowl instead. They do this in spite of your short haircut which you’ve had since the year you turned seventeen, the men’s clothes that you embarrassingly had to buy at the boy’s section of the store because your body is not big enough and the sporty shoes you chose specifically because while they’re labelled ‘girl shoes’, they don’t look the part at all. They do it even as you refuse to walk like a runway model and always sit with your legs spread wide apart. They do it even as you make no effort to emphasize your chesticles and even try to de-emphasize them as much as possible. They do all those things and more regardless of how you present and it irritates the heck out of you. Shouldn’t there be a rule, you wonder, that says that when someone actively tries to look and act as unladylike as possible one should not treat them as a lady? Eventually, you find the word or maybe it found you. Transgender. Trans for short. You read the word on a random website the first time around and something inside yourself called out to it even if the definition, the stereotypes you read on that page didn’t entirely ‘fit’. Oh, so there is a name for this out of place feeling. You know there were people born in male bodies who then at some point choose to live as women. You  never knew the other way around also exists. That old documentary you watched a couple years back didn’t explain things nearly as well as it should have. You put the word in a search engine and look for more. Have to know. Need to know more. Suddenly, all those years of looking in the mirror, yet never seeing yourself made sense. How could you see the real you reflected when the shell, the package you’re wrapped up inside of, is wrong? If your body felt like a closed prison cell missing a lock and key before, then this is doubly true now. How do you get out? How do you shed this skin like a snake would to reveal the real you? How do you become who you were always meant to be? To change your life around so people see the correct shell standing in front of them. So they can stop making the wrong assumptions about who and what you are. It feels as though you’ve finally found a vital piece of the puzzle that had remained missing until now. You gather all the info you need. Where are you supposed to go to get this process started? What’s going to happen? What could happen? What could go right and what could go wrong? You take some time to figure out what exactly it is that you want and how to get it. You look up some videos to get inside knowledge of how this whole ‘transition’ process you’ve read so much about is supposed to go. Is the information on those websites still up to date, you ask yourself. The videos you watch of other trans men offer more than just information. Watching them gives you some comfort and courage that one day you could be at the same stage in transition as them. One day, you could be the one sitting there in front of a camera giving information and courage to others. You often contemplate coming out, but as freeing as the thought appears, it is twice as frightening. What if they don’t just react badly, but really badly? What if your parents throw you out of the house? What if several friend and family members insult the heck out of you then refuse to talk to you again and cut all ties? What if they’re disgusted by you, by the real you, just because you weren’t born with the correct parts attached? Just because the shape of your soul differs from the package it was shoved into. You are like the box to a point-and-click mystery adventure game with an action RPG disk inside. It’s not your fault whoever was responsible for putting discs in boxes put yours in one that wrongly describes the thing inside. Yet, people around you are angry and demand that you act like the mystery game they were promised, but your code simply doesn’t work that way. After much internal debate, you finally gather up the courage to tell your parents and brother. Your mother doesn’t get it. She tells you that you may have been a bit of a tomboy as a kid, but never to that extent. She says she doesn’t see that in you and that she thinks you’re making a mistake. You can feel the twist of an imaginary blade tearing your heart open. You love her, but the knowledge that she can’t see you, the real you, just hurts so bad that you’re amazed that you’re still breathing. Your father thinks it is a phase, at first. Something that will blow over. Occasionally, he humours you, but nothing more. Later down the line, when he’ll see the change, see that it’s real, he’ll make no issue out of it to your surprise and will simply go with it. Your brother can tell this has been bothering you for a while and tells you so. He’s always noticed that you didn’t act or react like most girls, but simply pegged you for a tomboy and possibly a lesbian. He says that looking back, it all kind of makes sense now. Still, he worries about you. He fears this transition process isn’t safe until you show him all your research. He’s also afraid of the scorn others may express. More than the possibility of getting hateful words flung at you, he’s afraid they’ll hurt you physically. Your face lights up the first time he calls you ‘brother’ instead of ‘sister’. It almost feels surreal to finally have someone call you by your true name and male pronouns, but a good kind of surreal. You’re so used to people calling you by your birth name, that having them use your chosen name is a little odd at first. A few weeks after your parents, you gather up the courage to tell other family members and friends. Some of them are confused. Others angry. Some a mix of both. Others hurl a list of insults at you and you try to explain, but they won’t hear any of it. Ties are cut and tears spilt. Some people you lose forever. Luckily, others stay and those are the ones you grow even closer to. You are grateful for their support and that they at least try to remember to call you by the correct pronouns. Having a few more people on your side makes you feel a little stronger. Your mother drags you to a psychologist who ends up taking your side, much to your mother’s dismay. She tries to take you to a different one whom she hopes will tell you to stop acting like a man and listen to your genitals. You refuse and even move out of the house after six more months of her insisting on and emphasizing her use of the words ‘she’, ‘her’ and ‘my daughter’ every chance she gets. Three months after you’ve fully moved into your own place, your therapist gives you the letter you need to start hormone therapy. Your brother congratulates you. At this stage, your father realizes that it’s real. “You’re really going through with it, huh.” He says. You nod. When you grow your first facial hair he teaches you how to shave. In the following months the testosterone you take lowers your voice slowly. When it cracks you suddenly feel like a teenage boy even though you’ve been an adult for about six years now. More hair sprouts all over your arms and legs. You think your face looks a little different, but maybe it’s just your imagination. Things that seemed heavy to lift before now seem a whole lot lighter. You see your muscles growing week by week. Gaining strength is a whole lot easier now. Things are changing in your lower region as well, aside from hair growth, that is. Your clit gets larger, not as large as you’d like, but it’s something. The next time you hear of your mother, you hear she’s held a funeral for ‘the girl you’ in the back yard a couple week ago. You think it’s ridiculous. You’re not even dead. You’re right here, alive and well, alive and feeling way better than you’ve felt in ages. That ‘female’ you was never even there. What did she even burry? Your previous physical appearance? Her own ideas of what you should be or should have been? She explains that she needs time to mourn. Mourn what?! That shell you’ve been so desperate to get rid of? Why mourn that? Heck, you’d throw a party! Finally rid of all the stuff you’d come to hate about yourself because it didn’t fit and rid of the stuff that made people treat you in a way you hated. She explains that she feels like she lost a daughter. You counter that maybe she never had one, but just didn’t care to see it. “Maybe.” She says she needs time to adjust, to get used to having a son instead of a daughter and that you don’t need to understand why the funeral helps her get over the fact that you’re transitioning, just that it does. You calm down, let it go and tell her you can live with that. For the first time in a long time, way too long, the two of you hug. Roughly a year after starting testosterone, you get a mastectomy. The breasts you’ve been binding for a couple years are gone now, cut away by a surgeon’s knife and thrown in the trash. That’s a load of your chest, quite literally, figuratively too. Finally, you feel whole. You’re not done yet. You’re still planning to have your name and gender marker officially changed, of course, and a year from now the womb and other internal reproductive bits have got to go in a hysterectomy. At least that much. Maybe more, you haven’t decided yet. At any rate, those are worries for later. For now, you’re okay even if your chest hurts and you’re groggy from the pain meds. But for the first time in forever you’re at peace with yourself and the face in the mirror and honestly? That’s more than you ever hoped or could have asked for.

— — —

An old piece of original fiction first posted on Deviantart in 2015. Thought I’d share it here too. This isn’t my own personal story, just the story of a character I made up.

Lingerie and Gift Baskets | Baekhyun

Baekhyun finds you hiding in the closet and decides to take his anniversary gift early.

Smut, fluff, 3,073 words

             “This is fucking stupid.” You groan, throwing your hands up from where they had been resting on your hips and turning away. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this, it’s literally just been a year why didn’t you save this for five years or something?”

             Gripping at your hair you catch yourself in the mirror once more. A pretty lingerie set is supposed to be your one-year anniversary present to him. The white looks nice against your skin, the lace really seeming to stand out, but you hate it. It’s only been a year. You should be saving this for when things get a little stale in the physical department of your relationship, but you saw this hanging on a pretty mannequin two weeks ago and decided then that this would be for Baekhyun.

             “He would have been happy with getting a gift basket of candy.” You grumble, crossing your arms and turning so you could look to see how good your ass looked in the mirror. You wince, not liking what you’re seeing before you turn to see if your breasts at least stand out nicely. “That’s it this is not happening I’ll just get him the basket.”

             In the process of reaching behind yourself to undo the bra clasp, you hear the front door open and shut. Your heart practically stops in your chest, the panic welling up inside of you at him finding you in this ridiculous getup. Quickly dropping to your knees, you gather your clothes before panicking more and flying straight into the closet.

             Because the bathroom would have been too easy.

             “Shit.” You hiss quietly, cursing yourself for picking the first door that didn’t lead to the rest of the apartment. Why did he have to be home early? The footsteps were too close now, so you quietly press the closet doors closed and hope to God that Baekhyun didn’t see your keys on the kitchen counter. The door to the bedroom opens, your boyfriend walking inside. He’s still wearing his dark wash jeans and black t-shirt, the tennis shoes and white socks he had been wearing when he left the apartment already kicked off.

             “Jagi?” He calls curiously before he slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before you hear the tap run. You try to relax, breathing deeply before suddenly you stop, holding your breath. Your eyes zero in on the cell phone lying on the bed. Though the bedsheets were a soft gray, you were obnoxious, and your phone case was a vibrant orange, standing out starkly against the blankets.

             Can’t I just put my clothes on and come out? You think to yourself before you shake your head. Then he’ll question how I got inside without him knowing. Fuck, there’s not even enough room to get dressed in here. Okay, just take it slow.

             You drop your pants onto the floor, wincing a little as they thud softly against the carpet. The tap is still going, only shutting off as you’re raising the shirt above your head, mentally patting yourself on the back as you get one arm through the hole. Suddenly the bathroom door bangs open, Baekhyun having opened it with a little too much force, when your arm bangs against the closet door from surprise. You freeze again, eyes widening as you see your boyfriend through the slits in the closet door look over to it confused. He walks over as you just give up and tug the shirt on fully, the door sliding open as you bend over to try to get the pants on too.

             “Jagi.” He states, and to his credit he doesn’t look that weirded out by finding you hiding in your shared closet. He actually looks amused, his eyes bright. “What are you doing?”

             “This is your fault.” You jab your finger at him, pushing him back so you can leave the confines of your own embarrassing stunt, and the little smile that finds its way onto his face only makes your fire grow. You trip over your forgotten pants, stumbling into Baekhyun. Despite your current obsession with your blunder, you catch the scent of Baekhyun’s crisp, clean clothing and lightly sprayed cologne. He catches you, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other grabs your arm to help you regain your balance. His eyes take in his old faded Star Wars t-shirt on you, trailing down to where the white lacy material peeks out from under it. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly.

             “How is this my fault?” He questions, though his voice is now a little deeper than before. The scent of the strawberry milk he must have drank shortly before arriving embraces you, and strangely enough, it’s one of your favorite things to taste from his mouth. The urge to kiss him and taste it is squashed down by your need to prove that he’s responsible for you hiding in your closet.

             “You’re just getting a gift basket.” You grumble, finding the space to cross your arms over your chest. When you do so, the shirt rides up a bit, exposing the entirety of your panties to him, complete with the cute little bow on the center of the top of the panties. His gaze is still trained on your lower half.

             “Were these supposed to be my anniversary gift?” He asks, one hand going to finger the thin band on the side of the lacy underwear. His touch sends shivers through you, but you do your best to maintain your pout. This would normally be when Baekhyun pouts back, refusing to allow you to be cuter than him, but not this time. His gaze travels back up to your face, bottom lip getting caught between his teeth in the process. The intensity of his gaze causes your stomach to flip, and you suddenly realize just how much he’s being affected by the little show you’ve given him. His normally adorable crescent eye shape is slit even smaller now, the remnants of how amused he was to find you in the closet long gone.

             “Yes.” You find yourself admitting, rubbing your arms from the goosebumps that break out along your skin. No, you aren’t cold, there isn’t a breeze – the air conditioner isn’t even on currently. Your goosebumps are solely from Baekhyun’s heavy gaze and light touch on your hip. “But you’re not getting it now. I’m taking them back and you’re going to get candy. I’m sure you’ll be just as happy.”

             “But jagi…” He says, letting go of the band of your underwear to smooth his hand out along your hip. “Imagine all the fun it could bring to us now. I doubt candy would get me this hard.”

             You swallow roughly. Resisting the urge to reach out and grab the front of his jeans to see just how hard he’s already gotten, you instead choose to speak. “There’s no way you’re that hard just from seeing me in my underwear. You’ve seen me in less.”

             “That’s true.” He allows, his hand smoothing down your skin and resting on your thigh, right below your ass. “But you know how much I like white on you. Why don’t we celebrate our anniversary a little early, hmm?”

             “Baekhyun-” You begin to whine, but you’re cut off when his lips press into yours, his tongue immediately coming out to demand entrance to your mouth. Your protests are cut short and forgotten, allowing him. You finally get to taste the strawberry milk on him, moaning into his mouth when you taste one of his favorite drinks mingling with his own unique flavor. His hand slips up to grope your ass over the underwear, his other hand smoothing down your hair before it stops at the small of your back. Yours go to grip the front of his shirt, unprepared with his sudden onslaught of neediness.

             “Let’s see the full set, shall we?” He mutters more to himself, moving to lift his shirt off you. When he tosses it away his eyes are assaulting you, looking you up and down as if you were the last glass of water in a desert. The feeling of knowing a man as amazing as Baekhyun wants you and loves you is enough to send your heart into overdrive, thumping so hard against your chest you’re sure he can hear it. His hands are back on you, touching you in one place before they move onto another, seeming like he can’t get enough of your smooth skin.

             He doesn’t get to settle anywhere because you start to tug his shirt up, throwing it somewhere in the general direction where he threw yours, before your hands are on his chest. He isn’t as sculpted as some of the other EXO members, but you love his body dearly. He’s slim, his abs coming and going depending upon his schedule, but you always love whatever version you come in contact with when you get to see him. Right now, his washboard abs are making your new panties dampen quickly. Your hands travel up his chest, gliding over his nipples before they reach his prominent collarbone. Not really registering his hands reaching around to unclasp your bra, you lean in to press your lips to his once more, desperate to taste him again.

             The clasp comes undone easily enough, the bra straps sliding down your arms before you both just allow it to land on the floor. His hands are cupping your breasts now, and the sounds of you breathing are swallowed up by him dominating the kiss. He takes his time exploring your chest, his fingers brushing over your sensitive skin before he suddenly gropes one roughly while his other hand pinches your already erect nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. You groan into his waiting mouth, the feeling of your nipple rolling between his fingers sending shockwaves down to your core.

             The button on his pants comes undone easily enough, the zipper following. You push the jeans around his ass and they fall to the floor, Baekhyun sighing against your mouth as he moves his hands back down to your ass. “I think I like this way more than any gift basket.”

             “I think I do too.” You breathe out, following his lead when he starts to back you up towards the bed. The back of your knees hit the bed and you fall backwards, Baekhyun helping you back up so you’re on the bed entirely before his mouth is on your neck, nipping over all of the spots that make you squirm under him. He nestles himself between your leg, pressing himself down against you. You can feel how hard he is, and the feeling of how much you had already affected him with just some forelay sends another rush of wetness through you.

             His hips roll against yours suddenly, and your back arches off the bed with how amazing it feels. He rolls his hips again, prompting a long moan to fall from your mouth as he continues his assault on your neck. Scarves are a definite necessity after today.

             “Do you believe me now jagi?” He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly and just the sound of it is enough to set you on edge. You open your mouth to respond but can only gasp as his rolls turn into full on dry humping, dragging his hardened cock against the apex of your legs. It feels nothing short of amazing, even prompting you to clench your eyes shut and grip the bedsheets tight. He gives a particularly pointed thrust against you, causing a whine to fall from your lips. “Answer me.”

             “Yes, Baekhyun.” You moan out, your hands moving from the sheets to his back, dragging your nails lightly against his skin. He shivers above you, abandoning your neck to sit up. He rolls his hips a few times as he plays with your last article of clothing. He begins to pull them down around your ass and moves your legs so he can pull them fully down before he slides back, his mouth pressing open kisses along your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach… until he reaches the apex of your legs, his hot breath hitting your moistened core. You open your eyes to look down at him, dazed.

             He flattens his tongue out and drags it from your opening to your clit, eliciting a whine from you, his smoldering eyes watching you as he does so. You lift yourself onto your forearms so you can watch him too, your bottom lip getting caught between your teeth as you attempt to stifle the embarrassing noises coming from you. He drags his tongue across you again before he focuses on your clit, giving kitten licks to tease you. It works, small whines coming form the back of your throat. You feel Baekhyun’s lips curl into a smile against you before he decides to suck your clit into his mouth. Your head falls back, lip escaping from between your lips as you let his name out of your mouth like a prayer. Baekhyun knows how to use his tongue so well, exemplified by the way he’s flicking your clit back and forth with it.

             “Oh my god.” The words escape your lips as he starts to nudge your opening with a finger. It glides in easily because of how wet you are, and you immediately clamp down on it. You feel the vibrations of the sounds Baekhyun is making against you, increasing your sensitivity. He pulls his finger out slowly before he’s pushing two in, your walls continuing to flutter against him. He pumps them inside of you slowly, his tongue continuing to flick against your clit. You feel your orgasm building, building, building…

             Until he’s pulling them out, letting go of your clit with a slick popping sound. Your head snaps back up, jaw droping as he leans back on his heels. You see the wet spot on the front of his boxers, and you briefly wonder if that’s from you when he was rubbing against you or if it was from him. Probably both. He’s looking at you smugly, and you’re hit with a sudden want to wipe that smile off his face. You push yourself up fully, pressing your lips to his and you can taste yourself on him. He folds easily, opening his lips to you and you get that strange mix of strawberry milk and your own essence. Oddly enough it only serves to turn you on more.

             Your hand moves to the front of his briefs, gripping him over the thin fabric. His hips buck once against you, and you swear you feel him twitch inside. You drag your hand down his length, letting go so you can start to push his boxers down. He lifts himself up so you can get them down his thighs, his cock springing out, head red and leaking, before he leans back and kicks them off, landing on the dresser on the other side of the room. You begin to laugh at his enthusiasm before his lips are back on yours, pushing you back to lay down, following. He nestles himself between your legs, and you can feel his cock, hot and heavy against your thigh.

             “Tell me how much you want me.” He whispers against your skin, lips brushing across your jaw. You breathe out, your hands going back to wrap around him, pulling him closer. He resists, wanting you to answer.

             “I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you, Baekhyun.” Your admission is met with him gripping himself, stroking twice roughly before he’s pushing into you. He doesn’t stop pushing until he feels his hips press into yours, pulling out slowly before he’s pushing back in quickly. Your moans are hard to stop now, his name tumbling from your lips along with explicatives due to his natural teasing nature. He continues with that pace for a while, testing your patience. Though it feels amazing, your fading orgasm is just looming around the corner and you want more.

             “Please, please, please.” You plead, making yourself clench around him to try to speed him up. His hips stutter against yours and you watch as he closes his eyes. “Faster, harder, please Baekhyun.”

             “Your wish is my command, love.” He manages to say before his hips are snapping into yours, pulling out just as fast before he’s back inside fully. A scream is building in your throat, your pussy clenching around him now with the stimulation. Your nails dig into his back again, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you break the skin by the time the two of you finish. His hips continue to snap into yours, your orgasm building quickly once again. In your haze of unadulterated pleasure, you somehow take the moment to marvel at how well he fits inside of you. He’s just big enough to stimulate you properly and not too big that he hurts you. He’s Baekhyun and he’s just… perfect.

             “I’m so close.” He grunts out, and you can only nod your head dramatically in agreement with him. One hand holds him up as the other goes to rub frantic circles on your clit. It proves just enough to push you over the edge, this time clamping down over him hard enough for it to become difficult to pull out of you. It doesn’t stop him, only egging him on to give it to you harder as he chases his own high. It takes only a few more thrusts before he’s following your over the edge.

When he stops twitching inside of you he takes a moment to press a tender kiss to your forehead before he drags his softening length out of you. You smile through your fading euphoria, and when he collapses next to you you turn and mold into him, wiggling your toes against his. He chuckles tiredly and wiggles his back against you. He smooths his hand up and down your bare back, relaxing any of the tension that had accumulated during your lovemaking.

“So what was it about that gift basket?” Baekhyun suddenly asks. “Because you know… now that I’ve already seen the lingerie set, you can’t really give it to me for our anniversary. A candy basket would be nice.”

***MISHANDLED WOMANHOOD & RAVISHED INTIMACY***

From Chris Bale I had a male client communicate to me today: “she’s so hard. I want her to be softer. It pisses me off when she is so hard. What do I do? I keep telling her that I need her to be softer and surrendered in her femininity, but nothing is changing.” You NEED her to be? Slow up brother! “Firstly, you being annoyed by her “hardness” as you put it, is only going to support more hardness.” I replied. There is nothing safe in your reactive judgment towards her current state of being. It says far more about you, than her in this moment. But also, I feel your pain! Lets break it down. —— UNDERSTANDING: A man who demands she be somewhere other than where she is at currently, is a man who is steering her further away from her expressive freedom and bliss. This is a man who does not know. He is shutting her down. But, its not his fault. There is not much assistance out in society for us as men, when it comes to relating with women in a healthy/supportive/polarizing/passionate way. A man who DOES know, understands that whatever his woman is experiencing, is just another ingredient in the “making” of love. Through his non-judgmental presence, he assists her in transmuting whatever emotions/trauma are seeking to clear - If he wants to. If he doesn’t want to, its best to leave her alone. Whats important to realize, is that she he is already “soft” by nature. Minus the fear, distrust, trauma patterns and overstimulated nervous-systems, we all are. If she is not willing to be receptive with you, there are parts of your being which she does not fully trust or feel safe with. (OR, she is deep in traumatic projecting, and it has nothing to do with you. She is so dis-regulated from past experiences, that she cannot find safety even within her own body.) An emotionally reactive and unclear man, is felt as a weak & untrustworthy man. Because he is. You don’t have to like it. It simply is what it is. I should know. Before arriving to my own work, I was deeply untrustworthy in my confusion and reactivity. Which led me to be grossly manipulative in my unhappiness. This is a pattern I see collectively though the immature masculine. —— FOR HER VULNERABILITY: You see, even if her mind wants to trust you, her body will never feel safe enough to fully open in your company; if you are unsafe. It will brace in your presence. There will be an energetic cocooning as a form of protection. Not because you are a bad man, but because there are too many parts of you which are unclear, uncertain, distracted and dispersive. This is unsafe for her on every level of love, surrender, and ravished-fuck. Men, you must realize to some degree what it means for her to be in a place of deep softness and receptivity with you. For you, it turns you on. For her, it’s risking life. Many times when I bring this up…men will laugh it up, and claim I am over-exaggerating. This lack of empathetic understanding will be clearly mirrored in his life with women. Deep physical & emotional intimacy calls on her to let go of control, which she has been forced to barricade up around herself, based on her past experiences with immature males - who said one thing, but went and done another. This is what you are asking when you request for her to “surrender” more. You are inviting her into absolute exposure. Based on your intentions and integrity, do you deserve her absolute exposure in this moment? Her absolute vulnerability is a privilege. Any humans vulnerability is a privilege. You are also wanting to literally insert a part of your erect body up inside of hers, in a way which allows you to have full control over how you move inside of her, in the most sensitive & receptive area of her entire physicality. On top of this, there is also the possibility of a new life being created. Which means her entire experience of life changes, and she is essentially tied to you through another human for the remainder of her time here. Is he trustworthy? Can I rely on him? Is he mature enough to be a father? Will he be there for me and our child? Does he have a vision? Will he disappear and leave me? - Just some possible questions which may arise within her experience of being receptive to you. These question may arise upon first laying eyes on you - physical intimacy need not even be involved for these thought patters to begin arising. So many women spend their intimate lives being poked, drilled, pounded, mounted and consumed s€xually - in a disconnected way. Where the man she is with is not actually present in his body with her. He is just doing her, to cum. Again, not because us men are big bad predatory wolves, but because as young boys we were not given intelligent and empowering information around s€x & relating. We were given perverted and shameful information, by a perverted and shameful society. We then went out into the world and seeded this perversion in the wombs & bodies of women. And because her very nature is receptivity, she then has to carry around years of mishandling inside the tissues of her vagina, cervix, womb, breasts and throat. When women come to me for energy sessions, the amount of pain and perversion her body has been subjected to, becomes very apparent, as she opens, vibrates, and unravels. Everything spills out into the room. In many instances it can look like some kind of exorcism. Its as if she’s been held captive inside of a tiny part of her body, afraid to feel or exist within her totality. Why? —— THE FOUNDATION: In a society which champions emotional numbness as “strength”, the only remaining option she has, is to dissociate from the inner aching & shut-down her powerfully intuitive felt-sense; for fear of it being exposed as weakness. Endless bracing. Even in love-making, most women(not all) have learned the importance of bracing; incase he unawarely thrusts at the wrong angle, causing pain. Because of this, she’s never truly being able to exhale and feel the exquisite subtitles which arise from connected & embodied intimacy. …and please, dont get me wrong here. When I speak of embodied intimacy, im not referring to tickling your partner with a feather under the moonlit sky until she “arrives”, followed by a curtsey. Im talking about sweaty, deep, primally driven, passion drenched fuck - but supported by a foundation of deeply attuned sensitivity and care towards the others wellbeing. This foundational safety, allows the intensity of passion, orgasmicness, love & primality - to reach heights never touched upon before; back when distracted disconnection was driving the vehicle. When both people are present; tuned-in to self and other, God gets to enter the room. Life, spirit, eros gets to fill the space. So please do not confuse embodied s€x for some boring-ass flaccid form of un-pleasurable intimacy. Its more physically, energetically, & spiritually orgasmic than anything else we have access to in this life. —— WELCOME HER CHALLENGE. As a man, maybe you are naturally wanting to experience her receptivity towards you. Her willingness, longing & desire to invite you in; for her to bathe in oceans of vulnerability - A vulnerability which has been, many times before you; used against her. Disrespected, judged & dropped. Based on all of this...why on earth would she trust a man who she hasn’t vetted repeatedly? If as a man you would like to be stronger for woman, for yourself, for community; welcome challenge. Welcome HER challenge. Realize that she is pushing up against you, because she actually gives a damn about you. If she didn’t, she would never feel the need to test anything about you. Once you have proven your character(to yourself) through stable consistency, and she has digested you viscerally, a deeper dropping into devotion and union can begin. (To further clarify: A matured man will not feel these behaviours as "tests" or "challenges", as they will be so minuscule on the energetic scale of that which he is used to engaging with. The concept of a women "testing him" is not something which he holds in his awareness. Also, a woman who is around a mature man, wont even waste her time trying to test him, as his solidarity will be very clear from the get-go. The above sharing is more for "middle-ground" stages.) —— BOUNDARIES We really need to see the beauty present in the opportunity to demonstrate our sharpness and strength, in all areas of life. Welcome the challenging of your boundaries, so that you have the opportunity to show-up firm and clear in your sovereignty. One of the greatest gifts a woman can bring to a man, is through exposing the areas of his being which lack stability. A powerful embodied woman really requires your boundaries and self-respect to be existing at the forefront of your being - At the forefront of the relationship. So that she has something stable & reliable to brush up against. She may also require a necessary spanking from time to time, if she really gets out of line. Depending on her general level of “feist” of course. In many cases, the insatiable feminine will purposefully do things to magnetize you into disciplining, activating & transmuting her to completion. This, is a whole other topic of conversation, which we can keep for a later date. But there is profound trust and turn-on which is built through healthy masculine discipline and order. **Dear Internet humans, Im assuming you know the difference between spanking her, and beating her - and how the 1st is conducive to a passionate, playful, polarized relationship, while the latter…is clearly not.** —— The below advice is written with the assumption that you have a deep love for this woman(women collectively), and you would like to know how to love her deeper, as it aligns with your integrity. NOT to get something in return from her. HOW DO WE LOVE HER?: By supporting and empowering her to be EXACTLY that which she has come here to be. Without conditioning, controlling, or imprisoning her. So she can come to understand & ooze her innate service to the planet. - Claiming her, if you are choosing to be with her. - Leading her with love and truth, in every moment it is required. - Protecting her. Both physically, and energetically. - Saying what you mean, and meaning what you say. - Remaining diligent and disciplined in your own relationship to life & your mission. Without compromise. - Calling her out/being real with her - holding her accountable. We love her, by reminding her of the tremendous power she is, in any moment she happens to forget it, or falls victim to the disempowering social narratives of backwards womanhood. To add to that - Making love/penetrating/fucking her as deeply and as profoundly as you can arrive to. Which will unveil & shift her experience of this life. As will her “opening” transform how you experience yours. Learn to love her, especially in her “hardness”. Especially in her anger. Especially in her frustration. Especially in her tension. Especially in all the places she has been mishandled and traumatized. You need not viscerally like it, but through showing up and loving her when she is deep in it, we assist in transmuting the collective pain present in so many women, AND men. If you don’t want to love her, and you have no interest in any of the above; there’s nothing wrong with that - But leave her alone. She doesn’t need another half-assed version of undercooked love. None of us do. If you are going to be there, at least commit to it. ---- Finally, please understand that this is a nuanced process, which has its own flavor for each individual. This sharing is to offer some experiential information which I deem as valuable sign posts. Please note that In everything I share, my individual mission comes through heavy, so I dont expect it to resonate for everybody at all times. Perfection is never the goal, but I believe impeccable integrity ought to be, in whatever we do. However you arrive to your way, is right on time. And it need not look like my or anybody else’s way. Here’s hoping what I have shared today can be of some value as you walk the path of “what the fuck is going on down here?”, and support us all in having to carry around less numbness, and more ALIVENESS. In love & service, Chris Bale

True patience.

this is illuminated in Today’s reading with the beginning of the Letter of James:

James, a servant of God and the Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, to the twelve tribes of Israel who are spread across the earth: I send you my warmest welcome!

Don’t run from tests and hardships, brothers and sisters. As difficult as they are, you will ultimately find joy in them; if you embrace them, your faith will blossom under pressure and teach you true patience as you endure. And true patience brought on by endurance will equip you to complete the long journey and cross the finish line—mature, complete, and wanting nothing. If you don’t have all the wisdom needed for this journey, then all you have to do is ask God for it; and God will grant all that you need. He gives lavishly and never scolds you for asking.

The key is that your request be anchored by your single-minded commitment to God. Those who depend only on their own judgment are like those lost on the seas, carried away by any wave or picked up by any wind. Those adrift on their own wisdom shouldn’t assume the Lord will rescue them or bring them anything. The splinter of divided loyalty shatters your compass and leaves you dizzy and confused.

If you are a brother of humble means, celebrate the fact that God has raised you up. If you are rich and seemingly invincible, savor the humble reality that you are a mere mortal who will vanish like a flower that withers in the field. The sun rises with a blazing heat that dries the earth and causes the flower to wither and fall to the ground and its beauty to fade and die. In the same way, the rich will fall and die in the midst of their busy lives.

Happy is the person who can hold up under the trials of life. At the right time, he’ll know God’s sweet approval and will be crowned with life. As God has promised, the crown awaits all who love Him.

No one who is tempted should ever be confused and say that God is testing him. The One who created us is free from evil and can’t be tempted, so He doesn’t tempt anyone. When a person is carried away with desire, lured by lust, and when desire becomes the focus and takes control, it gives birth to sin. When sin becomes fully grown, it produces death.

My dearly loved brothers and sisters, don’t be misled. Every good gift bestowed, every perfect gift received comes to us from above, courtesy of the Father of lights. He is consistent. He won’t change His mind or play tricks in the shadows. We have a special role in His plan. He calls us to life by His message of truth so that we will show the rest of His creatures His goodness and love.

Listen, open your ears, harness your desire to speak, and don’t get worked up into a rage so easily, my brothers and sisters. Human anger is a futile exercise that will never produce God’s kind of justice in this world. So walk out on your corrupt liaison with smut and depraved living, and humbly welcome the word of truth that will blossom like the seed of salvation planted in your souls.

Put the word into action. If you think hearing is what matters most, you are going to find you have been deceived.

If some fail to do what God requires, it’s as if they forget the word as soon as they hear it. One minute they look in the mirror, and the next they forget who they are and what they look like. However, it is possible to open your eyes and take in the beautiful, perfect truth found in God’s law of liberty and live by it. If you pursue that path and actually do what God has commanded, then you will avoid the many distractions that lead to an amnesia of all true things and you will be blessed.

If you put yourself on a pedestal, thinking you have become a role model in all things religious, but you can’t control your mouth, then think again. Your mouth exposes your heart, and your religion is useless. Real, true religion from God the Father’s perspective is about caring for the orphans and widows who suffer needlessly and resisting the evil influence of the world.

The Letter of James, Chapter 1 (The Voice)

do we think that God is not absolutely pure True nature?

and we are all made in the image of our Creator, but we’re not all children of God our heavenly Father

we have to choose to be.

and the Scriptures are a wake-up call to the heart to awaken to the eternal, to be open to welcome the entrance of the Spirit as a guarantee of sacred promises to come as seen in the True illumination of the Son

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 20th chapter of First Chronicles that documents ancient wartime in Israel:

That spring, the time when kings usually go off to war, Joab led the army out and ravaged the Ammonites. He then set siege to Rabbah. David meanwhile was back in Jerusalem. Joab hit Rabbah hard and left it in ruins. David took the crown off the head of their king. Its weight was found to be a talent of gold and set with a precious stone. It was placed on David’s head. He hauled great quantities of loot from the city and put the people to hard labor with saws and picks and axes. This is what he did to all the Ammonites. Then David and his army returned to Jerusalem.

Later war broke out with the Philistines at Gezer. That was the time Sibbecai the Hushathite killed Sippai of the clan of giants. The Philistines had to eat crow. In another war with the Philistines, Elhanan son of Jair killed Lahmi, the brother of Goliath the Gittite whose spear was like a ship’s boom. And then there was the war at Gath that featured a hulking giant who had twenty-four fingers and toes, six on each hand and foot—yet another from the clan of giants. When he mocked Israel, Jonathan son of Shimea, David’s brother, killed him. These came from the clan of giants and were killed by David and his men.

The Book of 1st Chronicles, Chapter 20 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, january 19 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about knowing:

You may feel anxious about knowing God, about how to relate to him or how to understand or interpret the Scriptures, though the heart can only know the essential meaning of God in the state of its need, as its ultimate concern, and therefore unless you cry out “from the depths” of your being, you are merely intellectualizing or playing games... After all, the inner heart asks "How can I find God?" "How can I relate to God?" "How can I find hope and life?" but the answers to such questions are found by personal encounter with the reality of the Spirit of God, not by theological rationalizations.

It is one thing to say "Lord" or "Master" but quite another to say "my Lord," or "my Master..." The Torah teaches that name of God refers to that which God alone is, namely, the "I am that I am"(אהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה) which is unknowable apart from the miracle of disclosure within the heart. That is why we find so many different names and titles for God in Scripture, for these are disclosures to the heart in a time of its need. For instance, to know God's name as "Savior" (מוֹשִׁיעַ) means experiencing deliverance from your struggles, pains, and fears by the agency of God’s victory, comfort, and consolation as given in Yeshua. However, unlike the experience of worldly education that might enable you accomplish certain tasks, spiritual education leads to a “dark clouds of unknowing” where you must regularly confess your weakness and your need for divine connection. God's name is therefore bound up with the basic quest within the heart for meaning, healing, and the desire of unconditional love. Knowing the name of God is an ongoing process as you struggle to accept and trust your life to be a blessing, and as you are enabled by the Holy Spirit to say "yes" and "amen" to life despite your failures, pains, fears, sorrows, and even your unanswered questions... It means opening your heart to life and believing that you are loved, that you are accepted, that you will be okay, and that God is holding you in his everlasting arms. [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

1.18.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

January 19, 2021

The Blindness of Israel

“What then? Israel hath not obtained that which he seeketh for; but the election hath obtained it, and the rest were blinded.” (Romans 11:7)

One of the saddest aspects of our world is the blindness of Israel. Even the Orthodox Jews, who strongly affirm their belief in the Old Testament Scriptures, seem unable to see what the Scriptures clearly show, that their Messiah has come and gone. In the first book of the Torah, we read: “The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be” (Genesis 49:10). Ancient Jewish commentators agreed that Shiloh was another name for Messiah, but this very fact should prove to modern Jewish expositors that Messiah has already come, for the scepter (the symbol of national leadership) did depart from Judah, very soon after Jesus was crucified.

King David was the first descendant of Judah to attain the scepter of leadership among the tribes of Israel, and the divine promises were clear that Messiah would be in David’s lineage. That Jesus’ legal father, Joseph, and human mother, Mary, were both in that lineage was shown in the genealogies of Matthew 1:1-17 and Luke 3:23-38, respectively, both of which were written when the genealogical records in the Temple were still intact. No one at that time ever questioned their validity, in spite of intense opposition by the Jews to the claims of Jesus and His disciples that He was the Messiah. In 70 AD, the records and the Temple were destroyed so that no later claimant to the title could ever prove his right to the throne. Messiah had come, and was slain, so the scepter departed from Judah until He comes again. It is certain that Jesus was, indeed, the Jews’ promised Messiah, and we should pray that God will soon open their eyes to see and believe. HMM

Death beyond anthropocentrism. From science-fiction to reality 

Katerina Sidorova. MLitt Fine Art

Generations over generations, Western Europeans have been raised on sciencefiction with subject matters ranging from time and space travel, immortality, utopian state organization to apocalyptic scenarios, bio-futuristic fantasies and specie hierarchy alteration. What if some of these scenarios did come true already and how did it affect our views on death. In this article I will look into several examples from science-fiction literature, cinema and comics in attempt to define the status of mortality in modern Western societies.

Let me begin with a different take on interspecies relationship, a topic, broadly disputed in this dissertation. The alternative view on the possible interactions between humans and the rest of the animal world has been a matter of speculation for many works of fiction amongst which one example stands out: “Planet of the Apes”, a film from 1968, based on 1963 novel by Pierre Boulle "La Planète des singes”, translated into English as “Planet of the Apes” or “Monkey Planet”.[3]

The novel takes place in the distant future (XXVI century A.D.), when interplanetary and interstellar flights became commonplace. A couple of “rich loafers” Jinn and Phyllis, traveling in space, find a bottle with a message from a certain Ulysses Meru with a formidable warning in the “Earth language”. Journalist Ulysses Meru talks about the expedition of the spacecraft to the Betelgeuse star under the leadership of Professor Antel.

Arriving at the intended point of travel, t he crew landed on the planet Sorora (lat. Sister), surprisingly similar to Earth. To their surprise they found humans there, only in a completely savage state - not knowing any language, no clothes, no dwellings, no tools. Instead the planet is run by the apes, possessing intellect and developed way beyond humans. The protagonist finds out that even before the advent of monkey civilization, there was a highly developed civilization of people. However, it fell into decay, while monkeys, imitating human habits and customs, developed more and more, until they took the place of their recent owners.

“Planet of the Apes” has a particular angle on interspecies relationship, especially on the ownership over one’s body. “Thinking” humans for the first time are exposed to how it may be like to exist on the other side of the human-animal relationship, where a single life is not considered as much as a mass of bodies and where economical matters dominate relationships of the ‘leader’ specie with the subject of their oppression. For the first time human species are not the masters of life and death like they are used to, yet their destiny is highly dependent on their not-so-far relative - a monkey.

Similar actions take place in a Russian sci-fi novel by Kir Bulichev - “The Pet”, 1993. Yet Bulichev takes the detailing of the interspecies relationships even further. The protagonist finds himself in situations comparable to the ones of pets (cats and dogs), industrially farmed animals, fight animals (dogs, roosters) and stray animals. Each of the 3 latter cases is directly linked to control over one’s death and the first one is a description of an acceptable involuntary body mutilation (castration) that leads again to impossibility to procreate and control over life in a long term. The attitude of the main character changes from the adoration of the master (normally prescribed to house pets) to slow realization of inequality which is the state of events in the fantasy world that Bulichev created. Becoming ’a stray’, rebelling against the master species (which for the record are giant frog-lizards), he slowly understands that the latter do not always operate in his best interests. Unfortunately, the novel was never finished and we are to never find out whether the new model of specie relationships was established.

In non-fiction, it is for Donna Haraway, author of The Companion Species Manifesto and The Cyborg Manifesto, to shine a light of changes in inter-specie relationship. Haraway talks about the history of domestication, but just as well she’s tackling the near future of species diversity, introducing not only the idea of technically enhanced cyborg femme, but a different kind of a companion specie. Science fiction and theory form a perfect symbiosis in her work and the texts, maybe starting as ‘futuristic’, become highly relatable and easily applied to contemporary reality.

Haraway specifically used the term “companion species” and not “companion animal” in order to expand the range of beings that can be seen as companions to humans. We now can not only talk about cats, dogs, parrots, fish and hamsters. We can freely imagine insects, bacteria and viruses as accompanying our life. Dangerous or not, it is the reality and in the light of recent virus outbreaks (SARS, MERS, Ebola and COV-19) Haraway’s statement stands stronger. Humans are surrounded by companion species, even though we don’t see or recognise them as such. The specie awareness is not only an ethical move of recognition but a safety measure, potentially crucial for our survival on Earth.

Another absolutely important moment in Haraway’s term ‘companion species’ is the inclusion of personal mobile devises into the category. Indeed, attention hungry, needed to be fed (charged), bringing joy and always by our side - mobile devices, and I am talking about smartphones predominantly (although we are surrounded by laptops, portable speakers, e-watches and tracking bracelets to name a few), do deserve a special place of a companion specie.

There’s only one distinct trait that makes them different from us - whilst the technical body of the mobile device won’t survive natural decay, it’s software system is virtually immortal. (Here a little outtake for those of the readers, who haven’t embraced technology at it’s fullest: by today, march 26 2020 it has become a norm to be able to copy all of the complete content of one’s mobile device, settings, etc. and successfully install it on the new one, the ‘digital soul’ of the preceder will live on).

Talk on genderless, adjusted cyborg has been going through feminist thought for decades now, as Julia E Dyck rightfully says: “Feminists have both celebrated and cautioned against the cybernetic or post-corporeal subject as much of feminism’s roots are coded in, on, and from ideas about the female body. Whether the body is seen as inherently woman, mother, goddess, with a deep connection to the earth and nature, or the raw material of culture and society with no pure or natural core as Elizibeth Grosz would see it, the body’s existence and relevance is too often implicit while theorizing about gender and sexuality. I would like to confront this idea by exploring a social subject for analyzing, the bodiless, or post-corporeal woman, the female operating system.” (Julia E Dyck “Cellphones and cyborgs”).

I, having embraced this discourse, would like to focus on the other aspect of it - and that is mortal beings slowly beginning to co-exist with the immortal (to an extend, since software is highly dependent on hardware and therefore access to electricity as of now) species.

Whilst we still cannot speak of artificial intelligence, we definitely can admit having stepped into the realm of hyper-real, with much of our communication and daily routines having moved online. And to exist online we need the help of our mobile devices. /I am writing these words on my laptop, in the proximity of my phone. It is a second week of world wide COVID-19 pandemic quarantine, this time marks the transition of many practices and professions to the digital, for now temporarily. This time is, however crucial to revealing how deep is our involvement with technology./

Hereby, based on stated above, we can propose three theses to expand on:

First, from the end of XX century on human, stops being the center of the world, as other species come on stage.

Second, amongst these new species we now can subtract non-natural, human made entities, for now not having a free will of their own, but playing a huge role in life already. These companions are mobile digital devices.

Third, being in contact with these devices brings humans closer to immortality and the question of digital afterlife comes closer to reality.

Here, online series “Black Mirror” would again be a great example - providing various meditations on involvement of humans with technology. For me much more interesting would be to turn to new services that have sprung since I was writing on Facebook digital cemeteries (undeleted pages left after users who have passed away).

First of all a whole field of death sensitive interfaces is now being researched and guidelines for software developers have been written. For this we are to thank Michael Massimi, a specialist in human-machine relationship, who together with his colleagues has worked on creating tanatosensitive software design. Their guidelines include grief upon loss not being a problem, but rather a given; communication does not always work as therapy; storytelling be a way of making emotions of the living public and prolongate the social life of the deceased; physical death is not a reason to stop communicating; digital traces can function as artefacts, memorabilia of the passed away person; digital space does not equal life and therefore cannot be fully adjusted to death either, it keeps existing beyond the end of physical life. [Оксана Мороз]

Whilst Massimi is talking about all online platforms in general, quite a few services, if not following Massimi’s guidelines, then at least operating on the territory that he describes, exist already. I will hereby list a few, discovered by Russian researchers Sergey Mohov: ‘resting here’ and ‘safe beyond’, mentioned in the works of Sergei Mohov and several, used as examples by Oksana Moroz: ‘the digital beyond, After note, If I die, Dead Social, eter9 and eterni.me. Of course, this list is not extensive and the readers are more than welcome to explore death and mourning related online services on their own. What is important is that not only that they are provided for use if needed, they are in demand. I will illustrate this with a few common internet searches provided in the attachments to this article. People are looking for death and dying related services online, and I dare to say that for younger generation, internet would indeed be the first place to turn to for answers.

But the searches often relate to the precise online legacy - the digital double that is left behind us once we pass.

A digital presence of a living person can thus be describes as a ‘body without organs’, a concept used by French philosopher Gilles Deleuze. It usually refers to the deeper reality underlying some well-formed whole constructed from fully functioning parts. At the same time, it may also describe a relationship to one's literal body. This idea is fitting perfectly for when we speak about our existence on the internet. The digital double, internet avatar is a perfect body without organs. What worries us here is the possibility of it’s autonomous existence past the death of a human it was once attributed to. A great example here would be ‘Solaris’, a novel by Stanislav Lem, then brilliantly translated into a film by Andrei Tarkovsky. The action takes place in the uncertain future. Solarism - a science that studies the distant planet Solaris - has come to a standstill. The psychologist, Dr. Chris Kelvin (flies to Solaris to make a decision on the spot. Once at the station, the skeptical Chris discovers that her crew is exhausted by inexplicable phenomena: “guests” come to people - the material embodiment of their most painful and shameful memories. It is impossible to get rid of the "guests" in any way - they return again and again.

While Kelvin is sleeping, the "guest" comes to him, it is the materialized image of his wife, Hari, who 10 years ago had laid hands on herself after a family quarrel. At first, Kelvin, like other solarians, tries to get rid of the "double", but in vain. Over time, Kelvin begins to treat the "guest" as a living person. Hari's “copy” is also gradually becoming aware of its essence. Instead of a programmed need, being inseparably located near Kelvin, a human ability to make independent decisions develops in it. Realizing that by her existence she inflicts suffering on Kelvin, she first tries to kill herself, then, finding it impossible, asks scientists to destroy her by any means.

In ‘Solaris’, we see both an example of alive humans interacting with the deceased, but also a step further, ‘doubles’ realising that they do not equal their physical prototype, therefore causing existential turbulence.

Whilst the rules of online behaviour and environment are being written and used through a variety of above mentioned services, what is particularly interesting is the state/status of a person in the digital sphere. As Massimi said, digital life does not equal reality.

Who we are in real life is not fully represented in the digital, moreover, we are often choosing certain traits of ourselves to be represented, whilst others remain private, some can also be altered. What happens, when we start interacting online is - we create a digital double for ourselves, something that can be referred to as ‘an avatar’. This avatar represents us on the digital platform where it was created - games, social media, or mail interfaces. Over the years of internets existence, a lot of services and platforms have merged and we can speak of a general ‘digital trace’ of one person - a combination of multiplicity of images, texts, audio, other interactions produced whilst one is on the internet. This multiplicity can be linked to a digital representation of one on the internet, for some (for example foreign colleagues from overseas office who one has only communicated with through the internet) may almost completely replace the physicality of that one person.

What interests me, amongst many researchers of the digital sphere, is how this digital double functions. More specifically for this research I would like to look at one of the qualities of the digital double, avatar, - it’s immortality. Unlike our physical body, digital representation of ourselves cannot die, since it was never alive. Still, when interacting with people via social media, we are convinced, that there is a real person, behind the screen somewhere, responding to us.

After one’s death, unless stated specifically, we keep interacting with their social media page, as if the person is still alive. In theory, this can last for an eternal amount of time. The digital double is immortal. And this is where the very subtle field which Massimi and Moroz are researching lies.

With the new services, collecting information about it, recreating it, making posts, as if we were alive, with social media pages being run on the behalf if the deceased, we not only create a place of memory and mourning, we are stepping into a completely unknown territory. For example, if two (a software application that runs automated tasks over the Internet, here specifically I am referring to chat bots - automated software mimicking conversations).made from the recordings of a mother and a son, who both have passed away, start a conversation, ethically where does this lead us? Is this conversation then real? What is the value of created content?

As of today, it is still early to speak of artificial intelligence, but we can surely state that the position of humans as the only species reflecting on death is shattered. Last topic that I would like to briefly touch upon is the ethics of cloning, creogenics and similar bio-scientific practices, that once belonged to the world of fantasy but now are slowly stepping into our reality, changing our relationship with death forever.

A fine example here would be a film by Spanish director by Alejandro Amenábar co-written by Mateo Gil ‘Open Your Eyes’ and, more famously, it’s American adaptation by Cameron Crowe - ‘Vanilla Sky’. In the twisted plot of the film, the main character realises that his body was frozen after his sudden death and preserved for the future scientists to bring back to life. In the meantime his consciousness and memories were loaded into a simulation program. Not being able to cope with the fact that his most recent memories were generated, the protagonist chooses to ‘wake up’ in futuristic reality. At this point cryogenics is a reasonably well researched field, it is used in many fields, but of course, it is cryoconservation, that interests me the most. Cryoconservation is an indispensable tool in the storage of genetic material of animal origin and will continue to be useful for the conservation of livestock into the future and is used to save semen, cells, pollen and other materials. Cryonics is a branch of cryogenics, focusing on conserving human body (or just the head in some cases) after clinical death and with the hope of resurrection in the future.

The first corpse to be frozen was that of Dr. James Bedford in 1967. As of 2014, about 250 dead bodies had been cryopreserved in the United States, and 1,500 people had made arrangements for cryopreservation of their corpses. As of today not one of the frozen bodies has been resurrected, although a case of … shows that some bodies have decayed due to poor preservation conditions.

With many ethical issues surrounding cryonics, another, even more extreme method of human remains preservation is arising. In 2018, a Y-Combinator startup called Nectome was recognized for developing a method of preserving brains with chemicals rather than by freezing. The method is fatal, performed as euthanasia under general anethesia, but the hope is that future technology would allow the brain to be physically scanned into a computer simulation, neuron by neuron.

What could life post such procedures be like still remains in the realm of science fiction, but these practices and discussions are slowly but steadily penetrating our daily lives, changing our takes on mortality forever.

“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel”, - perhaps the most famous opening sentence in American science fiction is the first line of William Gibson’s Neuromancer (1984), contemplates a place where the dead might belong, up above us, in an electronic medium as Gibson’s protagonist Case has to collaborate with ghostlike programs, learning to “work with the dead” inside the “consensual hallucination” that is cyberspace. This profession, once considered fictional, is as close as it gets to the studies that Massimi, amongst others. is performing in our day and age. Modernity makes adjustments and new disciplines appear: we now live through and study of death in digital space; dispute over cryonics; artificial intelligence and the possibility of post mortal existence as a piece of software; our life is surrounded by nonliving companions, who’s loss we mourn scarily similar to their natural protagonists.

The move from science-fiction to reality has been steady and it accelerates year by year. Many great works of fiction have not only predicted, but determined the contemporary developments in medicine, thanatology or even the ways we mourn or think of our last will. Recent developments are showing us that there is not and cannot be one model of death. Moreover, it is now established that death is experienced not only by people. We are faced with the task of species diversification of attitudes towards death, as well as the formation of a broader view of the issue of mortality with more and more drastic changes to come. Which changes? I’d suggest looking through a few books of science fiction.

Literature 1. "A startup is pitching a mind-uploading service that is "100 percent fatal"". Technology Review. 13 March 2018. 2. B e s t , B . P. ( A p r i l 2 0 0 8 ) . " S c i e n t i f i c j u s t i f i c a t i o n o f c r y o n i c s practice" (PDF). Rejuvenation Research. 493–503. 3. Boulle, P. (2018). Planet of the Apes. Place of publication not identified: ISHI Press. 4. Bulichev, Kir - “The Pet 5. Burt, Stephen. (2014). Science Fiction and Life after Death. American Literary History. 26. 168-190. 10.1093/alh/ajt063. 6. Dyck, Julia “Cellphones and cyborgs” 7. Gibson, W. (2018). Neuromancer. New York: Ace Books. 8. Handley, Rich (2008). Timeline of the Planet of the Apes: The Definitive Chronology (1st ed.). New York: Hasslein Books. p. 279. 9. Haraway, D. Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s", Socialist Review, 80 (1985) 65–108 10.Haraway, D. The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness, Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2003. ISBN 0-9717575-8-5 11. Haraway, D. When Species Meet, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007. ISBN 0-8166-5045-4 12.Moen, O.M. (August 2015). "The case for cryonics". Journal of Medical Ethics. 493–503. doi:10.1136/medethics-2015-102715. 13.Moroz, Oksana “Смертельная чувствительность” Антология Русской Смерти №6

More here. 

OPERATION MIXTAPE

The music in  ouat and in the SQ’s eps. The music actually entered the plot significantly in season 5, when Emma was in darkness. The darkness represents the closed mind, which refuses to accept its feelings and fight for what it wants, as a result the mind begins to get sick with the person, and we can say that about Emma, ​​she has totally lost herself, and seems really sick, even after supposedly leaving the darkness, because her mind goes in darkness, she continues to refuse to admit what she feels. The song appeared in The Price, in the Camelot dance, with the song "Only you", while Emma and Regina dance with their respective partners, the music plays and Regina looks at Emma exactly at the moment that says "Only You." For a person out of the darkness she needs love, a kiss of love, we saw Emma come out of the darkness through the pain, which means that she did not really come out of the darkness, she goes in the dark, and she needs love to leave , in this ep they show us that the song will help Emma to heal, and she will come through Regina. Facts that support this:

- The lyrics of Only You talk about it "all I needed was the love you gave me, all I needed for another day";

- "At the end of the ep The Price, the darkness speaks to Emma about what has always prevented the Dark Ones, and darkness places Regina as the magic capable of undoing the deeds of them, we have seen light magic does not overcome the Dark Ones, there is only one magic capable of this, the magic of true love;

- Regina was paralleled to Bella, she is the light of Emma, she is the love that Emma refuses to accept;

- All SQ eps since season 5 finale have song names;

- Henry created an operation to prevent the magic from separating his mothers and put the name of Operation Mixtape, which has to do with a collection of songs;

List of songs:

- Only you - ep 5x22

- Jessie's girl - ep 5x23

- I'll be your mirror - ep 6x8

- Colors - ep 6x8

- In my dreams - ep 6x8

- I wish you were here - 6x10

- Some day my prince will come - 6x10

- Tougher than the rest - 6x11

- Mother’s little helper

- The Song in your heart

Emma is being cured by the love of Regina and Henry and music, so let's talk about what music means to the mind, and how music can help in healing. "When you dream of a song but can not remember the lyrics it is a sign that you have the chance to find happiness in your hands. This, however, will depend solely on you and your dedication to happiness. Fight against everything that goes against your success, but without going over anyone. Allow yourself to live happiness without guilt. "

"When you dream that you are singing a song, this indicates that you will soon feel very happy to the point of expressing this happiness so that everyone knows and can feel this moment with you. When you sing, you waste happiness without fear, so the dream is also a way of saying that you should be happy without fear."

"The dreams in which you see yourself listening to music are a sign that you will experience many relaxed and adventure-filled moments. Get ready to live a fun you've never seen before, coupled with unique experiences. Enjoy the opportunities that life will give you to live happiness, joy and relaxation, and do not be afraid to take a chance. "

Dreams are made up of symbols and are the language of the unconscious. They communicate to the dreamer everything that is necessary to seek the balance of the psyche as a whole, so the symbols speak as much about questions of the conscience as of the unconscious, that is, of the psychic totality. For this reason, exploring symbols is an essential part of understanding a dream.

WHAT DOES MUSIC SYMBOLIZE?

Music, although it is a mathematical construction, with bars, arrangements and rhythm, evoke the most diverse emotions and are capable of changing the mood of the listener, whether for better or for worse. Such a trait would not be different in a dream.

The kind of music one hears in a dream is fundamental to understanding what the unconscious is exposing to consciousness. A quiet, unsung melody is certainly a rather different symbol of heavy metal with a guttural vocal as well as the feelings each one evokes.

POSSIBLE INTERPRETATIONS

The type of music evidenced in the dream is crucial information when it is the most prominent aspect in the dream scenario as well as the context in which it arises. To make this assessment, it is important to look at the presence or absence of a letter and what it says.

The fast or slow rhythm may indicate the dreamer's own psychic or emotional rhythm. There is no rule, since the feelings evoked are absolutely personal and variable from person to person, but we can make some more general and uncompromising considerations.

Heavy metal can evoke anger, aggression, an active and charged discharge of energy. They can also be melodic and deep. Classical music may evoke greater mental organization, nostalgia, and joy. They can also be chaotic and dissonant.

Sung songs need to have their lyrics analyzed. Romantic letters, sensual letters, letters of protest, religious, disappointed, cheerful, childish ... Each of them should be contextualized in the experience of the dreamer.

Step one: reflect on the context of the dream.

What music does the dream present? Is it known or unknown? What emotions does it evoke? In what context does it appear? Is it information that stands out in the dream or is it just a backdrop to more important events? Is it information that stands out in the dream or is it just a backdrop to more important events?

Step two: reflect on what the unconscious may be signaling

What pace is setting your emotional life? What kind of melody do you emanate from yourself?

So we have eps in which Emma and Regina try to save each other and their son, eps with romantic songs, and songs that talk about jealousy and the possibility of love, what could that mean? Emma and Regina are in love, and this is the path they refuse to take, out of fear and other issues. So we have the curative element, in these eps Emma seems better, more like her, seems more alive, because Regina is helping her to heal.

Music therapy is the proof that sound is intimately connected to emotional states, since music evokes memories, experiences and experiences of the most diverse.

Often tired of current medical treatments, where it is often felt as a mere number on long waiting lists, which comes out, in most cases, with a prescription for these or other pills that cure only the symptoms of a deeper evil , man now turns his gaze back and seeks those therapies of the past, where man was fully man, where his illnesses were considered to have a malfunction of something within the body as a whole (which today we call it the holistic view of man). From this point of view, it is understood that often a disease, before manifesting itself physically, is formed in the invisible planes, to then descend into the material world and become, as an inflammation of the liver, a heart attack or stomach ulcer. This is where the so-called Alternative Medicines have their great field of work and where music therapy in particular also finds its special application, because it works with elements that Orthodox Medicine is often unaware of.

The whole Universe, to the Hindus, is based on sounds, and if we contemplate the world around us, we can perceive that everything corresponds to resonances, to certain wavelengths. Thus, too, the cells of the organism are sensitive to certain wavelengths, and therefore to certain sounds. Therefore, it is understood that, for example, ancient Chinese medicine would have a whole system of correspondences between musical scale notes and organs. The secret of healing was to maintain the balance between the two complementary forces of nature, the "Yin" and "Yang," and in the case of illness, to re-establish the loss of vital energy.

Healing, according to the Chinese mentality, consists mainly in eliminating the obstacles that impede the flow of energy, in re-establishing the balance of man. This can only be achieved through an integral formation of man that allows to achieve a balance between the Yin and Yang and an unimpeded flow of the energy that is in the human being. When this is actually achieved, there will be no such problems of physical and psychic infirmities, and man will be able to establish that inner harmony which enables him to express his true Self.

It's Regina who helps Emma to come back to herself, to be true, Emma's super power only works fully with her, we saw Regina being the one who put the piece of the mirror in the place in the world of mirrors, and we saw how much Regina has helped , worried and tried to save Emma. And they look exactly like yin and yang in all their narrative dynamics, and in the desire ep, "I wish you were here," they hold hands, and form the symbol yin and yang literally, showing that they are beginning to find balance.

ONLY YOU

Okay, I do love this ep, its all about how Emma and Regina can’t be together because they need protect Henry. The magic whats tearing they apart are religious and conservative thoughts, thats why we have a crystal what cames from a God. If they assume what they feel they are going to have to expose Henry to this, and to the judgment of the others, Regina was losing control of her feelings, which in fact are their feelings, the end of this ep that is double is in The untold story, which takes us to Regina taking away Evil, what different than everyone thinks is not the bad part of her, but the feelings that neither Emma nor Regina want to face, this thing with true love having to be reciprocal makes sense in the feelings to be of both. Later in the ep Stranger Case, we see that what the serum takes from people are the feelings they do not want to face, romantic feelings, Rumpel wanted to take away the feelings he had for Bella, but he saw that taking away the feelings did not solve anything because the only way to get rid of feelings is to die. And you know what Evil did when she was free? She spent half a season trying to expose Hook, even alerted Henry that Hook had the scissors and would to use it against Emma, Hook is the dark thing in Emma’s mind, what she holds for dont give in what she really wants. There is no way to be clearer than that. 

I’LL BE YOUR MIRROR

In addition to showing how Emma and Regina are literally the yin and yang of the narrative, because the mirror reflects its opposite, shows the battle of the mind, between what it wants and the balance. What the mind wants is beyond family, is to have a relationship too, Emma wants to have this relationship with Regina, in this ep Henry represents the mind having to decide, between his mothers, or the life of the Dragon, which represents the balance. Sometimes we want something so much, but it's not the time, and force it will make us lose our reason and the good things. In the end Henry tries to keep both balance and relationship, so Emma and Regina come back, but we see Hook threaten Evil, showing that Emma will still keep her feelings contained. She needs wait and put her son first. 

I WISH YOU WERE HERE

This is one of the best eps that ouat did in seasons. And it is very clear about the feelings of Regina and Emma. Regina is the person Emma wants to be there, is the person Emma wants to be in a relationship, and so she is the Emma’s prince, ​​who comes to awaken her mind, and make her come back to herself. At wishland, Emma was a poor version of herself, childish, submissive, who still needs the help of her parents for everything, even as an adult. She makes a wish in a parallel with Emma's first wish in Season 1 which is the gear that moves everything in the plot at the beginning, it's Emma's desire that brings Henry to her, and she wished she was not alone anymore, she wanted a family. And now we see the second part of that desire, it's not just Henry that she wants as a family, that includes Regina as well. And Regina wants to be with her too, so there are two wishes in that ep, which shows that their feelings are reciprocal.

THE SONG IN YOUR HEART

The song in your heart is a biblical reference, about God acting in the life of the person, about living fully and happily, but many people mistaken about what God wants for their lives, the Catholic religion is super conservative, and believes that man has to stay with the woman, and there is no love beyond that, besides believing that the woman should be submissive to the man. 

This ep shows exactly that Emma is stuck in these conventions, and she is not happy but she is trying to do what she was taught to be right. We see the song "Love doesn’t stand a chance," and its sing for Evil what is Emma's ID, her wishes, and her desires are not happy, its being forced to say what it does not want, and sing, and acting like it does not want to, that's the real situation of Emma, while the Charmings, who represent Emma's Superego, are trying to contain their desires, making it acts as they wish. The magic that reaches everyone and makes them sing comes from Blue, who is a nun, and represents the religious inflections.

Now Emma will take a break, but the music keep coming. We have Roni’s name what means song of joy, what is a biblical thing too, this means that Regina is the real song in Emma’s heart, and also Emma looks to think Reginas a gif of god to her. We have more songs, and I can bet, Emma will be back soon, and get what she really wants.

List of the new songs or things linked to music:

- Greenbacks;

- A pirate’s life;

- Wake up call;

- Pretty in blue(whats about a man who loves someone whos dead, a sleeping beauty whats pretty in blue);

- Lucy (what is a reference to Lucy from Beatles, and the song is a reference to Alice through the looking glass);

And, thats all. 

Links: 

http://www.nova-acropole.org.br/…/a-musica-e-seu-poder-cura…

http://www.personare.com.br/o-que-significa-sonhar-com-musi…

https://www.meusonhar.com.br/sonhar-com-musica/