#personally i am full of rage and anger and frustration | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silentglassbreak · 2 months

Note

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ‘please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

#fanfic #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #bad omens cult

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darklinsblog · 2 years

Text

Unholy | Sandman Imagine

Summary: Based of the song Unholy by Sam Smith. Highly recommend listening to it while reading this!

Pairing: Morpheus x Lilith! Reader

Warnings: Smut 👹

When Morpheus and you got married it made sense, as you were formerly known as Lilith, mother of demons, you two were very dark entities and you were very attracted towards one another.

You even had two children at home, that were older now, so your dynamics with your husband were changing, you had more time to enjoy each other’s company.

In full truth, you felt like a lucky woman being married to Morpheus, he was a gentleman, supported you constantly, it was everything you ever wanted.

For example today, Morpheus had accompanied you to the Waking World as you both had affairs there; you personally needed to take care of a demon on the loose with miss Constantine and he had a calling to respond to.

When you were done, you went out to find your husband, as he told you where he would be, but you abruptly stopped at the image you found.

A woman had her forehead rested against Morpheus’ cheek, your husband’s eyes were closed as he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the woman, he was practically melting in her touch and your blood felt like fire in your veins.

“Morpheus” you caught his attention speaking loudly, the man jumped, his cheeks flustered, the woman looked at you with a mixture of anger and confusion, you had clearly interrupted something.

“Who is this, Oneiros?” The woman asked, making you chuckle darkly as your anger got the best of you.

“His wife and mother of his children, now I would ask about you but I truly am in no mood of interrogating a mistress” the words left your lips like pure poison, the woman seemed to shrink at your words, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Lilith… is not what you think” Morpheus finally spoke, he only addressed you as Lilith when he was trying to apologize for something, or he was scared of you.

In this case, it was a bit of both. Your eyes were shimmering red like two rubies, which meant he was stepping on thin ice.

“It never is, is it? We’re going home, now” he nodded, joining you to return his realm.

When you were back home, he was trying to find your gaze, but you were raging, to the point it felt like nothing he could say or do would make this better.

“Love, Y/N. Please allow me to explain”

“Oh you don’t have to, Morpheus. In fact, go back if you wish, fuck her brains out. I will do the same here. There is actually quite a few people I could call… I could even do it here, on your throne, what do you think?” The calmness with which you spoke was scary, Morpheus felt the treacherous puncture of jealousy fill him.

“I could call Lucifer, of course” tension filled the room as the name of your former lover was mentioned. He didn’t know what it was, but the mention of your history together would always light a switch in him.

“Y/N” he warned you, but you kept going.

“He would take me with open arms, no questions asked… I do miss us fucking senseless for days, Lucifer is an Angel in all aspects except one” Morpheus’ jaw clenched, bubbling with anger.

Morpheus appeared just an inch away from your face, his nostrils flared as you took in his fiery exhales as air to breathe.

He practically clawed his nails to your waist and behind your neck keeping you in place, taming you. You smirked as you met his dark gaze, he was looking at you like a predator ready for hunt.

“Get that fucker’s name out of your mouth or I will” he growled in your lips, his eyes glowing in blinding ire.

“Please… you do not have the nerve” he did. You knew he did, you simply wanted to push him enough to make him surrender to the darkest, most possessive parts of himself.

That was all it took.

He lifted you up and kissed you with brimming lust, he sat on his throne with you on top, he ripped your clothes off until they were reduced to shreds under you, he removed his garments with frustration, he could feel his skin burning, aching to come in touch with yours.

Morpheus had lost all sense of rationality by this point. He was no longer a man, a god, a being capable of discernment.

No. He had become this hungry beast looking to suffice his need of you, he wanted to possess you, to dine you like a creature at the edge of starvation, to have everyone know you were his and his alone.

He felt your bodies burning, even when he was holding you and you were skin on skin it did not satisfy him, he could see how your pupils dilated as you sat, but his cock wasn’t inside you yet.

Morpheus kissed your body, from your neck to the valley between your breasts, leaving a hot wet trail of his saliva in your body, he would roughly bite on your skin, leaving red marks over you, earning the filthiest sounds from you.

Your juices drenched his thighs, your clit pulsing in anticipation, his cock getting hard from hearing you, Morpheus chuckled in your ear.

“I haven’t even made my way inside you and you’re already coming undone” You tugged his hair roughly making him groan.

“Fuck me already, please” you hissed, the heat being unbearable, your body ached for some sort of relief.

The Endless smirked as he entered two fingers inside your wet folds, you jumped lightly, adjusting to his digits, it wasn’t what you were referring to, Morpheus knew it, but he wanted to torture you for as long as he could, even if he was also torturing himself.

This was your punishment.

He curled his fingers as deep as was able to, making you gasp, he rammed inside you, he didn’t take his time to pick up the pace like he normally would, making you quiver as you started to rock your hips to his monstrous pace.

“You’re such a greedy whore…riding my fingers like this, how would you treat my cock, then?” His words were driving you insane, Morpheus had never talked to you so explicitly, with such possessiveness and you loved it.

“Fuck Morpheus…” you cursed, he was doing so deliciously inside you, your legs clenched as your orgasm was near.

As your husband realized this, he kissed your lips hungrily wanting to muffle your pretty noises with his lips, he grabbed his arm around your waist with such force you felt like he would snap you in two right there.

Your orgasm washed over you as Morpheus held you in place, your whole body trembled at the intensity of your orgasm, and as you opened your mouth to let out a moan, Morpheus bit your bottom lip slowly. Then he licked his fingers dry, arousing you.

“I love your taste, my queen” he whispered in your lips.

You rested your forehead against his, mixing the sweat as you let out deep breaths, you had your hands placed in the nape of his neck, as you took a second to recover from your orgasm. Morpheus was looking at you with pure amusement, like he was a young explorer and you were the eight world wonder.

The king then spoke so quietly that if it wasn’t for your closeness you wouldn’t have heard him.

“Spread your legs for me” he commanded with such tone it was impossible to say no, you slowly spread your legs apart at just the right distance.

Your spouse was looking at you dead in the eye as he grabbed cock and positioned his tip at your entrance, you sat on him slowly, moaning loudly as you adjusted to his size, once you were fully sank into him, Morpheus grabbed your hips and started moving inside you roughly, his pace was clearly inhuman and you were unable to stop the sounds that came out of you as he fucked you senseless.

He dug his nails at your sides, keeping you in place as continued to ram into you mercilessly, his name falling out of your lips like a prayer.

Then he hit a certain spot that made you almost scream out, Morpheus grinned as he continued to hit that spot, he loved to see his wife be a mess for him.

Your head fell back as you both chased onto that sweet release

“Fuck, right there. Don’t stop!” You groaned, your brains not being able to think of anything else that wasn’t the overwhelming waves of pleasure or Morpheus himself.

He had completely fucked up your brain from functioning properly.

Morpheus was holding back on his orgasm, he wanted his lady to come undone first, so you would only be full of him.

A familiar fire seemed to burn your whole body, you were biting your bottom lip, in a desperate attempt to quiet down, but as your stomach tensed you opted to bite Morpheus’ shoulder, scared you might scream your lungs out of pleasure.

The Lord of Dreams practically growled out of a mixture of pain and pleasure, at this point both feelings were so deeply intertwined it was hard to tell them apart.

He waited a few seconds before filling you with his cum, making you gasp at the feeling of his warm seed entering you.

You looked at your king, he looked so gorgeous drenched in sweat, with red marks all over his body and his pupils dilated with lust.

Morpheus smiled down at you, you figured you looked the same as him, if not worse. Your husband cupped your sweaty face in his hands.

“I am only loyal to you, my queen. In body and soul I am yours” he promised. Your heart fluttered as you were comforted by his words, it was almost as if he was making an oath to you, then and there.

“As I am to you, my king. Body and soul belong to you” you allowed yourself to promise to him. Even as you were married for ages, this felt like you were renewing your vows.

With was in many ways what you both needed.

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ofsappho · 21 days

Text

HEY WHAT’S UP WITH YOU?

Aka

Why I haven’t updated anything yet

I’m not necessarily up to typing up a whole essay atm but. Nightmare roommate who is antisemitic, homophobic, transphobic, racist, islamophobic, sexist, COVID denier, conspiracy theorist, white supremacist has been harassing me, controlling me, attempting to gaslight and manipulate me for months. He regularly vents his anger and frustrations with his personal life on me via yelling, cursing me out, and insulting me. He has repeatedly sexually harassed one of my other roommates. He loves to punch walls and scream and throw things around the house when he’s angry.

Because I have been unable to be exactly whatever the fuck he wants me to be when he’s being abusive and needs a victim to control, he has threatened me with property damage if I continue living there. He threatened to lie to the landlord in order to get me evicted for displeasing him. He degraded, insulted, and cursed me out for wanting to live in my apartment for a new year.

And then I overheard him expressing over and over how he was going to bash (my and/or another girl in the house he’s mad at)’s fucking head in. He was completely serious and full of rage and as he kept talking about beating this girl until she was dead and how he’d make it look like self defense and get away with it. He did not know I was listening. I thought I could’ve died that night if he so much as saw me around the house and triggered his abuse.

This is now a domestic abuse/domestic violence situation that I am in the process of escaping. I am safe and I have safety plans in place to prevent my abuser from accessing me, my cat, and my property.

To end this, I want to say that domestic violence is real. It can take a variety of forms, including roommate abuse. Everyone deserves the right to live in safety and peace without being threatened or experiencing violence.

#personal #abuse

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year

Note

Prompt for elucien maybe: Hey pumpkin//don't call me that

Listen, I know that Day Five: Blooming Bud for @elainweekofficial's description was about Elain blooming into happiness, but I think Elain should be allowed to bloom into being dramatic. Let Elain be as dramatic as possible 2K23! Anyways, I hope everyone enjoys this silly little drabble, and thanks so much for sending this prompt, lovely Anon :)

Elain still can't believe what she's seeing. She blinks a few times, half expecting the sight before her to change, for it all to be a trick of her mind, a fever dream even. But it doesn't stop what's right in front of her, what's displayed on the screen. It doesn’t change the fact that this is really happening.

It's betrayal that hits her first. Pure and utter betrayal. It sinks like a stone in her gut, slinking through her slimy and cold until her chest tightens. She never imagined that this could happen to her. Never imagined that her boyfriend, her Lucien, would ever do this. Would ever do this to her.

It's sadness next, even if it's only for a flicker, trickling like ice down her spine. But then the anger sets in. It simmers through her veins, alighting every nerve ending, until her grip is tightening to white knuckled. The anger roars like a beast in her mind, between her ribs, absolutely chomping at the bit and waiting to be released.

Waiting for its next victim.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock of the front door is like a dinner bell ringing. The soft snick of the door opening like raising the gates of her cage.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Lucien's voice calls out before he steps into view.

“Don't call me that,” Elain snaps, narrowing her eyes at him and allowing her full ire and annoyance to flood into her expression.

Lucien frowns, his eyebrows pinching. His gaze sweeps over her, accessing for any sort of clue before he cautiously asks, “Elain?”

“I just can't believe that you would do this to me. That you would betray me like this.”

A moment of tense silence passes. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Elain scoffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “Really? You're going to commit to keeping your secrets even after I've found you out.”

“Elain…” Lucien tries again, his voice gentle, placating.

Usually, her name falling from his lips, especially when he says it in that soft way of his, is Elain's favorite sound. Usually, it sends goosebumps skittering up her spine, her heart skipping in her chest. Usually, she wants to hear it all the time, wants to hear it breathed across her skin, pressed against her throat.

But not now.

Now, it sends her anger from simmering to absolutely boiling. It rages through her veins like an inferno, the final nail in the proverbial coffin.

“I thought you loved me.”

Lucien lets out a choked sound at her cool tone. “I do.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” Elain demands, her voice practically shrill, as she gestures at the screen.

Lucien looks even more bewildered at the outburst, but he pulls his wide, russet eyes away from her face, finally looking at where she's pointing. He blinks once. Twice. His gaze dances back to Elain, and she can see the cogs whirring and working in his mind, trying to catch up with what's happening.

“What am I even looking at?” he dares to murmur.

“The last episode we watched together was episode four of this season, Lucien. So why does it say episodes five and six have already been watched?”

“I don't know.”

“I can't believe you snuck and watched without me!”

“I didn't,” Lucien splutters, his own frustration beginning to grow. “Maybe someone hacked our account?”

“Someone hacked our Netflix account and just happened to watch the exact same show we're currently binging?” Elain drawls dryly with a roll of her eyes. “Do you think I'm stupid?”

“Never, my love,” Lucien assures her gently, stepping into her space and bringing his hands up to cradle her jaw, his touch warm and soft. “You're the smartest, most amazing person I know. You know that. And I would never watch without you. It really wasn't me.”

“Promise?” Elain asks dubiously, her lips pouting out.

“I promise,” Lucien repeats back, leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

Elain lets out a soft sigh, but she melts against him. Her arms come up to wrap around his waist, and she presses up onto her toes to kiss him again, reveling in the way Lucien smiles against her. In the way his fingers slip through the curls of her hair. In the way she can feel his heartbeat matching her own where their chests are pressed together.

Lucien pulls back, but only far enough that he can kiss Elain's forehead, mumbling against her skin, “take-out and episode five?”

“Take-out and episode five,” Elain agrees with a smile, all of her anger finally dissipating in warm contentment.

They spend the rest of the evening curled up together on the sofa, Elain's head resting on Lucien's shoulder, his arm a warm and secure weight around her waist, a blanket draped across both their laps. And it's only when they finally decide to call it a night and head to bed, that Lucien's phone pings with a text message from his eldest brother.

Did you change your Netflix password?

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @cassiansbigwingspan @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elainsweekmarch2023 #elucien fanfic #elucien fic #pro elucien #my fic

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indulgentandidiotic · 1 year

Text

When You Leave With A Lie

Warnings: lying about feelings, harsh(?) breakup, playing with emotions unknowingly, no comfort

GN! Reader

Synopsis: You promised Riddle that you loved him more than life itself. So then, why did you leave?

This fic is sort of related, almost like a prequel: When Love Becomes A Bit…

You came like the rain. A downpour of love and passion that chilled him to the core in the best way possible. You were unrelenting, and you were constant. That is until the rain stopped, and the sun came out.

“I’ll always love you, Riddle~ To infinity and forever, you’ll always be my one and only–my lovely rose–my precious dove–my soul, and my life.”

Perhaps that was it. You were too passionate. Too hyperbolic. Too heartfelt. And that was exactly why you left. You were a whirlwind of emotion, and you flitted from feeling to unfeeling as a hummingbird flits from flower to flower. A love like yours was too good to be true–too fantastical to be real–and that was why you left. Of course, it wasn’t meant to last. Your feelings for him were a raging fire, and all fires die at some point.

It took Riddle a long time to recover from your breakup. When you left, it was like all the color was sucked out of the world. There was no happiness, no true love. All that was left were dull skies and the endless cycle of living. All your professions of love he kept dear to his heart became blotches of poison suffocating him.

When you broke off the relationship with no sadness of what would be lost, no fondness for what had been experienced, he screamed at you. He demanded that you explain to him why you wanted to snuff out the magic you two had. Riddle’s face had been the deepest shade of red, but not because of anger or frustration. He felt upset, cheated, deceived, and heartbroken… He didn’t understand you, not when you told him, “I don’t love you anymore.”

Those were ugly words. Those were words that were contradictory and infuriating. What did you mean by saying you didn’t love him? Then what about all those other times you professed your undying love for the Riddle Rosehearts? Do you mean to tell him those were all lies? That they meant nothing, despite how fervently and solemnly you said them? You mean to tell him that all this flowery language you’d whisper into his ear, or mumble into a kiss, or pledge to his face, was all hollow and utterly fake?

“As the planets revolve around the sun, so do I around you. You, my love, are the most important thing. A being of perfection, that even despite your flaws, you are better than anyone else in every regard. ‘Tis a blessing that I am able to bear witness to your beauty and your intelligence. Oh, how lucky am I to have such a bright star in my life~”

Lies! All lies! And for what? What did you gain from being in a relationship with him? You were a top student with a pleasant personality and many talents. You were regarded by others just as highly as he was. You had a life plan, life savings, for Seven’s sake! Why him?! Why not pick any other man to toy with? Why him? Why was he the one you had to lure in with sweet smiles and the promise of an eternal, comforting embrace?

“Riddle, it can be hard for me to express the full extent of my affection for you when there are no words to describe it. But when language is not enough, what should I do? I hope that, for now, you will be able to understand how I feel about you with just these three words. I’ll imbue all my emotion, all my passion, all my heart into these words, okay? … Riddle? … I love you.”

When you left, you took with you a piece of his heart. Ever since you left, his brain would make up for your absence by torturing him with memories of you. Every romantic confession of yours would replay in his mind nonstop. Every word of yours was so clear, your expressions so crisp in his mind, and it was killing him.

Your voice which Riddle had ingrained into his memory as hard as possible, became an agonizing sound that seared his mind as though it were burned into him rather than willingly memorized. Remembering your voice and your love brought feelings of despair, rather than happiness and butterflies.

It was awful. On nights when Riddle was especially tired, your voice would slither into his ears, speaking of love and affection, and instead of feeling comforted, Riddle would spend hours crying over the thought that all you spoke were falsehoods. His efforts to remember your touch–your arms around his waist, your lips against his own, your hand holding his–were things he now regretted, as they only brought the thought that he’d never feel you again.

Shortly after you’d left, he’d gathered every gift of yours to him that he could find, and stuffed them into boxes in the back of his closet. Over the years you’d been together, you’d given him lovingly hand-made hedgehog plushes, pressed roses, fantasy novels, tea sets you had decorated yourself, and more. All were evidence of how much effort and love you’d put into the relationship, and they only served to make Riddle break down into tears once again, wondering why you left when you seemed to care about him so much.

There was one night when he’d been enraged at you for leaving, and grabbed his favorite plush gift from you and threw it in the roaring fireplace. He was fuming, cursing under his breath, and hissing on about how stupid and awful you were for deceiving him. But when he caught sight of the plush being deformed in the fire, close to being ashes, he went into a panic. Clarity hit him like a brick, and he hurriedly put out the fire and tried to save the remaining pieces of the plush. Alas, it was too late. He’d destroyed a token of your love. And despite needing to move on, he desired to keep these physical memories. Perhaps a small part of him thought you’d come back, and he didn’t want to make you upset if you did. And perhaps, he didn’t want to let go of you. Despite the pain the memory of you brought, it also brought bitter-sweet feelings with it. It was a love Riddle didn’t want to forget, no matter how much it hurt.

“I used to think that the world was a beautiful place. I thought the endless blue sky and the glorious shining sun were marvels of the universe. I thought that waterfalls and geysers and rain were magnificent in both their power and their beauty. I thought that the flowers of the earth were the most delicate and precious things in existence. I used to marvel at the stars at night, which shone so beautifully and made me feel so in awe despite how far away they were. I used to gaze at the ocean and think it was mystical. I used to think the world was so beautiful. But, Riddle, you showed me–made me understand–just by existing in my line of vision, that the world’s marvels dulled greatly in comparison to you and were also made all the more stunning.”

The day you told Riddle you didn’t love him and left still haunts him. It’s been a few months and he is still not over you. He doubts–after all you two have been through together–that he ever will move on. All these memories of you loving him in such a healing and fulfilling way, of you making him feel secure, of your kisses and your praises, of your compliments and your dramatic love professions, plague his mind. He loves every second of this special agony.

“Oh, Riddle, you are the sun to my moon and the sea to my stream. Despite how far away I may be, or how distant I may sometimes act, I still come back to you. Why? Because I love you~ You’ve made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Every moment spent with you is magical, regardless of what we’re doing. Riddle, I hope to be yours for a millennium to come. I can’t even imagine being with anyone else.”

The peak of his heartbreak is over. The sobbing fits are rare now, and all that is left is a dull ache in his chest and a gaping gash in his soul. Despite how much time has passed from then to now, he still hopes for your return. He remembers your love with fondness and yearns for your touch once more. You’re a fickle thing, Riddle knows. You’re a passionate, moody, person, who lied about your everlasting devotion to him. But regardless of your betrayal, he wants you–needs you. The comfort you provided, the affection you gave, your sweet-as-honey words, he longed for it all back.

“My lovely little dove, I do hope you know, while my words may seem extravagant, they are nothing but the truth. I would never lie to you about my feelings, darling. I love you, with all my heart and soul, and there is nowhere I’d rather be than by your side~”

Why did you leave? Did you become bored of him? Was he not enough? How did your feelings change? Oh, if only you knew he'd do anything to keep you in his life. He'd change, he'd do better. He'd be perfect, worthy of your praise.

"Oh, Riddle~ You're the most amazing person I know. So hard working, so smart, so thoughtful, so excellent in every way~ There's nothing about you that needs to be changed, you're stunning just as you are!"

Another lie. If he was perfect in your eyes, you wouldn't have left.

But...

Riddle cannot help but think that, with a love like yours, he doesn’t mind if it’s fake. He just wants you back.

#indulgent writing 🍓#one of my favs #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts angst #twisted wonderland angst #previously found on theheavilyinulgentgoat. but no more

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dolphin1812 · 10 months

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We see the impact of M Leblanc's charity now! . . . but it's limited. Those two new blankets will be a big help (given the winter weather), but the money didn't fix the Jondrette family's broader problems (and not just because M Jondrette isn't going to spend all of the money on his family). Once again, charity's utility is shown to be limited, even if it's certainly a kind gesture.

And Jondrette continues to be cruel. His decision to use the money for one of his schemes is awful, but it's not even his only horrible act in this chapter. He casts his daughters out into the cold just because they don't recognize M Leblanc, and, given that he says they saw him 8 years ago, they were both young children when they first saw him (and therefore, it makes sense that they wouldn't remember him). That moment suggests that M Jondrette is not only harsh but self-absorbed, feeling frustrated when others don't see things/people the exact way he does because it impedes his schemes. His wife shares his anger once he points out the girl (and wow, I wonder who this very mysterious woman who has a sneaky husband, loves only her daughters, and hates a "beggar" girl could be), but her rage is still mediated by other concerns. For instance, she assumes that the left-over sums after the purchase of charcoal will be for food, and she's confused when her husband says that they can't worry about that now. She's definitely a willing participant in his plan this time, but she also has other priorities and is probably thinking more of how she can keep her daughters from starving (a very real worry, given that the eldest often hallucinates from hunger) than of how she can dedicate all her energy to getting M Leblanc's money.

Although the Jondrette parents (especially M Jondrette) are pretty despicable, their very reasonable desires are given a sinister edge because of our lack of knowledge of how they'll achieve them in a way that's fun plot-wise. Here's one example:

"“My fortune is made.”

The woman stared at him with the look that signifies: “Is the person who is addressing me on the point of going mad?”

He went on:—

“Thunder! It was not so very long ago that I was a parishioner of the parish of die-of-hunger-if-you-have-a-fire,-die-of-cold-if-you-have-bread! I have had enough of misery! my share and other people’s share! I am not joking any longer, I don’t find it comic any more, I’ve had enough of puns, good God! no more farces, Eternal Father! I want to eat till I am full, I want to drink my fill! to gormandize! to sleep! to do nothing! I want to have my turn, so I do, come now! before I die! I want to be a bit of a millionnaire!”

He took a turn round the hovel, and added:—

“Like other people.”"

Mme Jondrette's look is just funny, but M Jondrette's desires are (mostly) very understandable. Of course he wants to be full after always being hungry! Of course he wants to escape this dilemma of choosing between warmth and food! But his "like other people" is ambiguous and somewhat threatening. It could be a simple statement that not everyone suffers like he has. He merely wants to experience joys that most people get to, like eating. It could, however, be that he wants to "be a bit of a millionnaire" like M Leblanc, making this comment menacing rather than a simple expression of what he's lacked. We know that he's plotting something, but this feels like one of the better instances of Hugo expressing M Jondrette's needs and making them sinister? His comments about his poverty are sad to read because they stem from genuine suffering, but Hugo also wants us to see Jondrette as evil. Consequently, there can be a lot of tension between the sympathy his situation demands and the awareness that he's a horrible person. Here, the greed at the end ("millionnaire") and the implied threat at least succeeds in making him threatening.

And this was a wonderful line:

"“Bah! Who’s here? Our neighbor? I saw him go out a little while ago. Besides, he doesn’t listen, the big booby. And I tell you that I saw him go out.”"

#les mis letters #lm 3.8.12 #jondrette #m jondrette #mme jondrette

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serendipityrogers · 2 years

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Hi I saw Matt requests lol. I don’t have any actual ideas but I love angst with happy endings. Jealousy fic, or they get into an argument (where they make up at the end)? Idk I know those are vague and probably not helpful but I love Matt and your writing so thought I’d send something even if it’s not very good. Sorry

done || m. murdock

summary: after a particularly bad night, (y/f/n) loses it. and for good reason.

word count: 1632

warning: swearings, yelling, fighting, mention of gun shot, broken rib, and stab wounds.

an: thanks for the request, friend! i went with the argument route since i don’t write them very often and i want to get better! i hope you like this! :) i don’t love this either but eh, i gotta start somewhere. !not proofread!

“I’m sick of this!”

You were pissed. This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time you were sure of it. “You do this to me every night!” You were on a whole spiel, that wasn’t going to end anytime soon. “You come in here half dead, entrusting me to patch you up and bring you back to life!” You could feel the warmth of anger engulfing your entire body. “(Y/F/N), please calm down.”

That was the wrong thing to say to you at this moment, and Matt almost immediately regretted it. “Calm down? Calm down!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands into the air in frustration. “If I walked through the door every night with a gunshot or stab wound you would be freaking out just as much as I am!” Your shouting could probably be heard by the neighbors, but your care had gone out the same window Matt used to come in from his Daredevil duties tonight.

“Do you know what this does to a person?” You asked, your tone quieter than before but still full or rage. “Seeing the person you love completely wounded and helpless, depending on you to make sure he doesn’t meet God!” Matt opened his mouth to say something but you didn’t let him. You weren’t sure if the tears that appeared in your eyes were more out of anger or sadness, but probably a mixture of both. “I’m sick and tired of this, Matthew.” Your voice gave out on the last syllable. “A-And I can’t keep doing this.” You couldn’t believe you were admitting this out loud right now. This was a thought that had popped up in your brain before, but it was one you rushed off the instant it formed.

His antics tonight had almost gotten him killed, worse than other nights. Two stab wounds, both next to almost fatal areas. It was really convenient that his girlfriend was a nurse, and had a first aid kit to show it. You had done this countless times, it had become second nature. But this not only affects your relationship but your psyche, seeing the man you love on the brink of death on an almost daily basis, how easily he could have just slipped to the other side on the floor of your living room. If he came home with a broken rib or a black eye it was a good night in the books. “What’re you saying, (Y/F/N)?” He asked, you could hear the hurt in his voice. It brought you a notch down in your anger, but not as much as you had hoped.

“I don’t really know, Matthew.” You scoffed, running your fingers through your hair in frustration. “I’m going to bed.” You announced, needing some alone time and rest, to better wrap your head around this situation. “You are not.” Matt said, standing up from the lying position on the floor. “You don’t get to drop this on me and leave.” He scoffed, making you roll your eyes. Ignoring him, you walked away to your shared bedroom. But, he stopped you, grabbing your arm. That notch of anger rose again, and you ripped your arm away from him. “You will not tell me what I can and cannot do.” You seethed at him. “Not after all the shit I have to deal with, shit I have no say in.”

You closed the bedroom door with a slam, further asserting your point. After a few moments, as you leaned up against the door, you heard a crash and the sound of a glass breaking. More tears rolling down your face, you could tell these were more out of sadness this time. You didn’t want to leave Matt, you loved him dearly, to the ends of the universe. But something had to give, these Daredevil shenanigans needed to cease or decrease by a landslide. You crawled into the bed, the bed that smelled just like Matthew. And you fell asleep, his aroma wrapping around you like a blanket.

When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you did was stretch out, reaching for Matt’s side of the bed. But he wasn’t there. And that’s when the night before fled back to you, hitting you like a ton of bricks. Part of you wanted to avoid Matthew, the other part of you desperate to see him, to hold him again. In the silence, you heard something coming from the other side of the door. It sounded like shuffling, he must be awake. After a pep talk and headache medicine, you decided to face the music.

As you pulled the door open, you were greeted by the sun coming in from the large windows in the living room, making your eyes squint. Then you saw him, standing with his back towards you, pouring himself a cup of coffee, something you usually had ready for him in the morning. It caused a twinge of sadness to shoot through your heart. “Good morning.” He said flatly, turning to face you. “Hello.” You said, standing in the doorway awkwardly. “I made you some toast.” He said, gesturing towards the plate on the island. “Thank you.” You muttered, making your way towards the kitchen. Taking a seat at the table, he sat across from you. This felt so weird, you just wanted to reach over and give him a big ‘good morning’ kiss. But you needed to hold your ground.

“How did you sleep?” He asked, bringing his cup up to his lips, and giving it a small blow. “Pretty good.” You admitted. You slept like a brick, all the emotions taking it out of you. “What about you?” You asked, taking a bite of your toast. “Not well.” He answered truthfully. And then silence crept over the apartment, neither of you knowing how to carry on the rest of the conversation. The toast and his coffee was soon gone, and the two of you were just sitting there. “What do you want to do today?” He finally asked, fiddling with his empty mug. “I-I kinda just want to stay in. I got a new book from the library.” You shrugged, unsure of how to answer his question. “That’s fine with me. I didn’t have any other ideas.” He shrugged, standing, taking his mug to the sink.

Matt turned on the television, turning on a random channel. He liked to just listen to the television, and you didn’t mind, it was good background noise for your reading. The two of you sat on opposite sides of the couch, tucked under your own blankets. “What’re you reading?” He asked, breaking the silence between the two of you after about an hour. “A self help book my friend suggested to me awhile back.” You said, thumbing to the next page. “Can you read to me?” He asked. This was something you two did often, it felt good to do something normal together.

“Anger is like flowing water; there's nothing wrong with it as long as you let it flow.” How fitting. “Hate is like stagnant water; anger that you denied yourself the freedom to feel, the freedom to flow; water that you gathered in one place and left to forget.” This had to be a sign or something from the universe. “Stagnant water becomes dirty, stinky, disease-ridden, poisonous, deadly; that is your hate. On flowing water travels little paper boats; paper boats of forgiveness.” You have got to be kidding me. ��Allow yourself to feel anger, allow your waters to flow, along with all the paper boats of forgiveness. Be human.” Matt chuckled, making you laugh shallowly. “I swear that wasn’t planned.” You joked, a smile spreading across your face.

“Look (Y/F/N)...” Matt’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.” He stated, “So sorry.” He added quickly. “I’m sorry too.” You admitted, placing the book on the table. “C-Can I have a hug?” You asked, tears of relief brimming your eyes. He nodded with a smile, and you swore you never squeezed him that hard in your life. He winced, causing you to loosen up, you had completely forgotten about his new wounds. “I’m sorry.” You said, tears soaking his t-shirt. “You never need to be sorry.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. The two of you embraced for minutes it felt like, and you savored every moment, like it was your last.

As the two of you separated, Matt spoke again, “Did you mean what you said last night? That you can’t keep doing this?” He asked, worry lacing his tone. You were silent for a moment. “I am never going to leave you, Matthew. You mean way too much to me.” You said, placing a hand on top of his. “And you mean everything to me. Way more than this city.” He explained, you could hear him getting emotional, something he rarely ever did around you. “Oh, Matt.” You cooed, pulling his face to yours and giving him a kiss on the lips.

The two of you spent the rest of the night attached at the hip. Finishing your book together, ordering your guys favorite food for dinner, and just enjoying one another’s company. Later in the night, your eyes kept shifting towards the clock. “What’s wrong?” Matt asked, using one of his hands to cup your face, that was laid in his lap. His hand was warm and calloused against the soft skin of your face. “I can hear your heartbeat.” He rubbed his thumb across your cheek. “I know it’s almost time for you to leave, and I’m just nervous.” You admitted, placing your hand on top of his. Matt didn’t say anything for a moment, you could almost hear him thinking.

“I think Hell’s Kitchen can go without me for a couple days.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock headcanon #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock request

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fenharel · 5 months

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tagged by @leviiackrman & @faerune to to use these uquizes (WAYDH? + WAYC) for my ocs, thank you!! tagging @rkyloren, @shadowglens, @baldurians, @stephschoices, @solasan, @risingsh0t, @rosymorns, @queennymeria, @thedeadthree, @astarien, @thedeadthree, @alistairs, @avallachs

animal intuition

loyalty is the saint you pray to. if you ever were stabbed in the back by your beloved, you'd probably apologize. to your enemies, you're fierce. to your allies, even fiercer. you cultivate a thick inner circle built on promises and devotion, fit only for the best of the best. it's impossible for most to even begin to dissect the type of person you are, owing to your unbreakable emotional walls and confusing philosophies. dream careers? body guard, movie star, unwitting pawn. don't let people get the best of that loyalty.

thriving (for yourself)

You are beautiful, and there is a light in your eyes now. There wasn't, before. You feel light and you hug people tight because you know what loss feels like. You are sunsets and throw-your-head-back-laughs and 2-am-shopping-sprees and looking-over-your-shoulder-for-ghosts-of-the-past, but you are thriving. There are fifteen things you've never checked off your to-do list and never will, but you're determined to find your way to them anyway. You are glowing and it's admirable. You crawled your way from somewhere terrible and now you stand, breathing in the sun. You are admirable, never forget.

cauterizing rage

the house has burned around you, and you’re the only one left standing. is it gratifying to be the survivor? fear and anger are weapons in your capable hands, used only to serve your agenda of fighting back when deemed necessary. you're a powerful person, built from the ashes of your despair and your family's mistakes. with time, you'll bloom into someone softer, like the full blossoms that grow each spring and wither away with the leaves in fall. they won't disappear if you take your eyes off of them. you're enough.

drowning (for the sake of it)

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

behind the mask

you aren’t slick about whatever you think you’re hiding. glass shatters in your midst, blood spills, children scream. like some of your friends, your personality of choice is entirely artificial. the difference between you and them is that you can get away with it. you’re unknown, perhaps even to yourself, and your goals are complex and unknown. anyone stupid enough to fall for you is setting themselves up to be frustrated and confused, owing to your being ultimately unknowable. i hope you can find an identity that makes you comfortable.

atoning (for someone else)

You are sweet, sweet sorrow. Parting ways at an intersection, an angel's footsteps walking side by side with your own, the shadows of the past looming, looming. You are apologetic-moon-light and loiter-at-the-back-of-the-classroom and stilted-silence and rich-with-life. You are stepping-on-eggshells your way through life, be less careful. Be less careful. You make mistakes, you made mistakes, and you will make mistakes, but imagine growing from them without the wish to go back. Stop restricting yourself. Take a breath of the clean air. Stop breathing in your own secondhand smoke.

#lucien lovera #ysabel do'rahel #elowen alenndear #ocs tag #elowens first quiz result reads as her in her durge times and the other one of her after :D nice

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animanganerd · 1 month

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Everything Annoys Me And I’m (Too) Hot - Chapter 38

The Untamed / Mo Dao Zu Shi Fanfic

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47881336/chapters/139266202

All chapters: here x

Chapter 38 ❖ Room full of corpses

The first thing Lan Xiaoli did outside was… puke. He clutched the wooden post of the main gates with one hand and let it all out until his stomach was empty.

It wasn’t the fact that he’d seen someone die or the stench of the blood that was all over his face that made him sick. What made his stomach turn was something much, much worse.

Heaving and panting, he looked over his shoulder. When he made sure Mu Chun hadn’t followed him, he angrily wiped the remaining sick off his mouth, stepped over the contents of his stomach and started to run.

He ran until he reached the main path that led back into the city, then ran a bit further. He had no destination in mind, he just wanted to run as far as his legs would carry him.

The more he realised what had just transpired, the weaker his legs became, until they finally buckled and he collapsed under a large oak.

Mu Chun was an endless well of secrets, and each secret seemed more grave than the last. It was as if for every time he forgave Mu Chun, the next revelation would hurt a hundred times more.

What stung the most, however, was that he’d been betrayed… again.

Lan Xiaoli was on his knees, bracing himself on his arms over the ground, and dug his fingers into the grass. Only then did he let the tears flow, desperately trying to stifle his sobs.

But it was impossible. He sobbed miserably until he could hardly breathe, unsure whether the tears stemmed from disappointment, anger, frustration, the puking, or all of it combined.

There was nothing left in his stomach to expel, but Lan Xiaoli still felt incredibly sick.

“A-Li.”

Startled, Lan Xiaoli whipped his entire body around. Mu Chun had found him. Lan Xiaoli glared at him with bloodshot eyes, panting harshly.

His face, covered in sweat and tears, looked wretched and his hair was a complete mess. A few loose strands had found their way onto his face, sticking to the snot and tears like it was some kind of glue.

Mu Chun reached out to remove the hair, but Lan Xiaoli slapped his hand away.

“Do not touch me,” he growled. His face fell at his own statement as he involuntarily remembered all the ways they’d touched before. “I can’t believe I…”

…kissed you.

The last part of the sentence stuck in his throat, along with a fresh load of vomit. But he was done puking. He swallowed it back down. What remained was the sour taste in his mouth, the burning feeling in his throat.

Mu Chun dropped his hand in resignation and got down on one knee to be at eye level with Lan Xiaoli. “A-Li, I can explain–”

“What’s there to explain?!” Lan Xiaoli snapped. “Being jealous doesn’t give you the right to kill people!”

“Jeal–? Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’d kill out of jealousy.”

“Why else would you have done it?! Sect Leader Lu is not a bad person! We— no, you literally just saved him from being executed!”

“I know. It was all a bit… unfortunate. But I swear there’s a reason.”

“Whatever the reason, it does not justify killing!”

Mu Chun averted his gaze. “You don’t know my circumstances.”

Lan Xiaoli stared at Mu Chun in disbelief until his distress welled up into rage. “Because you never tell me anything!” he shouted. “We are this close already, yet you still have so many secrets! How am I supposed to know?! I opened up to you, poured my heart out to you! You know everything about me: my past, my family, my skills – everything! Why couldn’t you be honest with me?!”

Then, he fell silent. He was struck by a sudden realisation which hit him with such force that it mercilessly shattered his heart into a million pieces. His anger turned to despair. “Maybe…” A short, bitter laugh escaped his throat. “Maybe you kept all these secrets because you never trusted me in the first place.”

“A-Li, listen…”

“No.” Lan Xiaoli got up on two trembling legs, perpetually shaking his head. “No. I will not let you feed me any more lies.”

Mu Chun followed suit and stood as well. “I never lied. I… just withheld some information.”

Lan Xiaoli snorted. “What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t tell what I wasn’t asked, but when I was asked, I always answered truthfully.”

Lan Xiaoli pursed his lips, desperately fighting back the tears in his eyes. “…remember the talk we had?” he asked in a husky voice. “You said you would do anything if I asked you with a smile.”

Mu Chun nodded, his expression incredibly soft. “Of course I remember.”

“Was that not a lie? I asked you not to kill, and yet you did.”

Mu Chun was quiet for a moment, a faint frown etching his features. When he finally replied, his voice was so small it was almost a whisper. “I broke my promise, I am sorry. But I had no choice…”

This didn’t evoke any pity from Lan Xiaoli. His sympathy concerning Mu Chun was spent. He scoffed. “Bullshit. You had a choice. To kill or not to kill. And you chose to kill.”

“A-Li, not everything is as black and white as you make it out to be,” Mu Chun replied emphatically.

“That may be true, but would you not agree that it is a bit hypocritical after you tried to stop me from doing the very same thing? Did you not tell me, because it is secretly a weird hobby of yours and you did not want me to ‘steal’ your prey?”

This remark felt like a punch to Mu Chun’s gut. Indignation flashed across his features. “...Hobby? You think I’m doing this for fun?”

“You certainly looked like you enjoyed it. Not an ounce of shame or regret on your face!”

Mu Chun let out an incredulous laugh. “I am so sorry you never experienced the joy of killing someone. But I didn’t have parents who protected me from the outside world. I’ve been doing this for quite a while now. I would’ve gone mad if I cared!”

With a sigh, he closed his eyes in exasperation and clenched his jaw, the expression on his face of someone who’d lost all patience.

“This is exactly why I’ve never revealed too many details about myself. Because you’re a judgmental asshole. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t dare tell you anything, because I knew you’d just judge me for it. You’ve been doing so since the very first day we met, for no reason. You didn’t even know me!”

Having the truth handed to him like that – raw and ruthless – Lan Xiaoli was at a loss for words.

“I see,” he said at last, his face blank and his tone flat. “If the feeling is mutual, then maybe this was a mistake.”

Mu Chun nodded in agreement. “Maybe it was.”

Both humphed and turned in opposite directions.

Lan Xiaoli strode away, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the images of the recent bloodbath, and the hurtful words Mu Chun had hurled at him. But they wouldn’t be shaken off that easily, following him into his dreams as haunting nightmares.

⬩ ❖ ⬩ ❖ ⬩ ❖ ⬩

The next morning, Mu Chun didn’t show up. Maybe he was scared, or figured it was no use. Maybe he was fed up with their constant fighting. Or maybe he’d understood Lan Xiaoli was serious about going separate ways. Whatever the reason, Mu Chun had vanished into thin air. His sudden absence didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

“Where is Mu Chun?” Zhang Chengling wondered as he and Lan Xiaoli prepared the horses for their departure.

“He is gone,” Lan Xiaoli replied, his tone flat.

“Again?”

“This time for good.”

“...” Zhang Chengling remained quiet for a while, but then couldn’t help but remark, “I obviously don’t know what happened, but he’d never do anything to hurt you. He really cares about you, y’know?”

Lan Xiaoli didn’t respond. Even if it was true, it was all over now. They left before Mu Chun dared to turn up, so they’d certainly never see each other again.

With his heart torn to shreds, Lan Xiaoli felt too numb to mourn the loss of his first love.

Linguang wasn’t far from Jiaolong City. Even without Mu Chun’s guidance, it took Lan Xiaoli and the others less than a week to reach the village.

The first thing Lan Xiaoli did when they arrived was to pay Murong Zheng’s residence another visit, only to find that he hadn’t returned yet.

Annoyed, he kicked the ground, stirring up some dust in the process. He planted his hands on his hips as he glared at the building. How much longer was he supposed to wait?!

“He’s probably making obligatory visits to the villages he’s saved.”

The voice had appeared so suddenly beside him that it startled Lan Xiaoli. He felt that all-too-familiar sound stoking the anger inside him. He didn’t bother to hide his displeasure when he turned to face the owner of the voice.

It was none other than Mu Chun.

“Just because you are dead to me does not mean you have to act like a ghost,” Lan Xiaoli said. His gaze swept over Mu Chun from head to toe. “What do you want?”

Mu Chun stood in his elegant robes, hands behind his back, carrying his usual smirk.

“I have to show you something.”

Lan Xiaoli crossed his arms and lightly shook his head, turning away from Mu Chun. “Why should I care? So you can deceive me some more?”

“I didn’t.”

“Of course you did! …You made me believe you were a good person.”

Mu Chun frowned, truly baffled. “How?”

“...” How indeed? The anger in Lan Xiaoli’s heart evaporated, replaced by a sense of wistfulness. “...Because you were good to me,” he said in a soft voice.

“And I have no intention of changing that,” Mu Chun replied.

As he said this, Mu Chun’s face was utterly earnest. Not a single trace of his usual smugness was to be seen. Even the mischievous glint in his eyes seemed to have been extinguished by his sincerity. It gave Lan Xiaoli goosebumps.

“Come with me, and I’ll show you the truth,” Mu Chun continued.

Lan Xiaoli scoffed. “That is rich, coming from you. Do you even know what that word means?”

“I want to show you that I trust you. And that you can trust me. But for that, you need to see something.”

Looking at Mu Chun, Lan Xiaoli felt that Zhang Chengling might have been right after all. Maybe he’d been a bit too harsh in his assumption that Mu Chun was a bad guy without giving him a chance to explain. In the end, they’d both said hurtful words.

Also, wasn’t the truth all he’d always wanted?

After a moment of contemplation, Lan Xiaoli finally nodded. “I will go get the others.”

“No.”

Lan Xiaoli halted.

Mu Chun’s reaction had been sharp, but he quickly regained his composure. “Just you. I’ll show you that I trust you. And only you.”

Lan Xiaoli was a little dumbfounded. Was he ready to be alone with Mu Chun again? He deliberated for a moment, but eventually decided to give him another chance. “Okay.”

Following Mu Chun’s lead, Lan Xiaoli found himself in front of the Haunted House Memorial.

Murong Zheng’s statue stood on top of a pedestal, unchanged. Lan Xiaoli glared at the statue, clenching his hands into fists until his knuckles cracked. That arrogant, unmoving face looked down on them with such complacency, it fueled Lan Xiaoli’s anger even more.

Oh, how he wished this was the real one. How he wished, Murong Zheng would finally return, so he could confront him. He wanted to make him suffer for all that he’d done.

“A-Li!”

Lan Xiaoli snapped back to his senses with a start. Mu Chun was holding his wrist in a tight grip.

“You’re bleeding! Are you okay?”

Mu Chun reached with his hand for Lan Xiaoli’s face, but Lan Xiaoli immediately shrank back. Mu Chun’s hand stopped mid-air.

Lan Xiaoli wiped at his own mouth with his fingers, and there indeed was blood.

It seemed the grudge he’d nurtured against his uncle had sent him into one of his sinister dazes.

“I am fine,” Lan Xiaoli said, still avoiding Mu Chun’s gaze. He crossed his arms and vaguely nodded at the statue. “I already know about this.”

Mu Chun was still concerned. While the dark haze that had surrounded Lan Xiaoli had disappeared, his eyes remained dull. It was the same as when they’d inspected the murals of Jian Minghzhi. But since Lan Xiaoli was still wary of him, Mu Chun didn’t pursue the matter.

“I don’t mean the statue,” Mu Chun said as he walked around it. “What I’m about to show you is related to my work.”

Lan Xiaoli finally looked at him with a puzzled expression. Wasn’t he a messenger? Again – what was there to show?

But he didn’t ask out loud. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow and followed Mu Chun, who wrapped his fingers around the sword tassel of the statue and turned it.

With a jolt, the ground beneath them began to shake. Alarmed, Lan Xiaoli reached for the first thing he could grab, which turned out to be Mu Chun’s arm.

The reddish ground behind the memorial, which at first glance seemed perfectly normal, was in fact a hidden entrance. It opened to a staircase that led underground.

Lan Xiaoli was stunned. He cautiously looked to his left and right to check if anyone else happened to be nearby. “What if someone else sees this?”

“People avoid this place like the plague. Being found out is the least of my concerns.”

Once the tremors stopped and Lan Xiaoli realised that there was no real danger, he promptly let go of Mu Chun’s arm. “So you are from here after all. You lied about that too?”

“Well technically, I just didn’t correct Chengling.”

“Same thing.”

“To be fair, if I’d been honest, you wouldn’t have let me join.”

Lan Xiaoli opened his mouth, but closed it again. He had a point.

Mu Chun chuckled and went ahead, walking down the stairs. Lan Xiaoli hesitated.

“Are you going to kill me?”

A few steps down, Mu Chun stopped. He turned around, his expression earnest. “I could never hurt you.”

“It does not have to be painful.”

Mu Chun seemed to realise his mistake and rephrased, “I could never live without you.”

Lan Xiaoli’s heart skipped a beat. Again, so sincere! This side of Mu Chun made Lan Xiaoli shudder. But it was enough to convince him to follow Mu Chun into the unknown.

About a minute later, they reached a dark and narrow hallway. Mu Chun lit the few torches on the wall with a wave of his hand before leading Lan Xiaoli to a dimly lit underground chamber at the end of the corridor. When they reached the entrance, Lan Xiaoli froze.

Though the chamber looked like a cave, it was clearly man-made. The signs of hard labour to create this hideout were evident. But Lan Xiaoli had no time to appreciate the dedication, for an eerie feeling crept over him.

The walls of the chamber consisted of the same reddish dirt and sand that surrounded the memorial. Illuminated by just a few flickering torches, it looked like they were painted with blood.

Even worse were the stone slabs that had been randomly placed throughout the chamber. Lan Xiaoli paid no regard to the peculiar instruments, which might as well be torture devices, scattered across some of these tables. All his attention was drawn to the bodies lying on the slabs. It took him a moment to find his voice again.

“Who… are these people? What the hell is all this??” he demanded.

Mu Chun had walked further into the room and his face was cast in shadow. Lan Xiaoli couldn’t see his expression clearly.

Mu Chun let out a deep sigh. “Some powerful people made an offer that these guys declined. My job is to deliver a message: They get a chance to change their mind, else they’re… disposed of. It’s their choice. If they don’t want to cooperate, I am to get rid of them. No matter how.”

Lan Xiaoli glanced at the bodies. “And you store them here?”

“Well, sometimes I keep them to run some experiments.”

“...Experiments?” It all made less and less sense.

Mu Chun nodded. “I was inspired by your dad, to be honest.”

Lan Xiaoli frowned. “My dad? What does he have to do with anything?”

“...He’s the founder of demonic cultivation? The Yiling Laozu?”

“Huh?” Lan Xiaoli’s frown deepened. “He is not. You must be mistaken.”

“...Ah. Perhaps. Anyways,” Mu Chun got a slip of paper out of his lapels and handed it to Lan Xiaoli. “Here, read this.”

Lan Xiaoli unfolded the piece of paper. On it was a list of names. As he read through it, his heart sank at the last three names: Sun Zongxi, Ling Baoxi and Lu Yunli. He gently brushed his thumb over the last two names.

“...Ling Baoxi? You killed… Ling Baoxi?” That hectic, but innocent mayor? What had he done to deserve this?

And not to mention Lu Yunli… He’d saved his life after all! “They were genuinely kind people, why did you have to kill them?”

Mu Chun did not reply. Instead, he avoided Lan Xiaoli’s reproachful gaze, his face now filled with the remorse he’d been lacking before.

Lan Xiaoli wanted to press him further, but the questions died on his tongue as he began to make sense of it all. It finally dawned on him why Mu Chun had wordlessly vanished a few times during their journey.

“...Is that why you led us to these places and kept disappearing at night? So you could kill people?”

“It was either them or me.”

Lan Xiaoli could only focus on one thing. “So you have been lying all this time?”

“I told you, I did not lie. But as you can see there were a few things I just couldn’t disclose. I had to keep a few things from you to protect myself.”

“From what?”

Mu Chun gestured back and forth between the two. “This exact situation we’re in right now.”

Lan Xiaoli mimicked his gesture, somehow managing to make it look sarcastic in his agitation. “This would not have happened if you had been honest from the start!”

His irritation seemed to be contagious as Mu Chun became more and more exasperated. “Exactly! How would you have reacted if you had known? Would you have let me join? Would we have come this close? What does my background matter if my feelings are genuine?”

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “You weren’t supposed to find out about the list. It was my mistake to spend every night with you. I should’ve been more patient and finished my job first. Lu Yunli was supposed to be the last one. Then I wanted to stop. For you. For good.”

Lan Xiaoli bit his bottom lip. This was unfair. If Mu Chun had never joined, he wouldn’t be in this situation right now. If Mu Chun had never joined, he wouldn’t have this clash of mind and heart. But all of this was too late now.

“Why do you have to do all this?”

“Revenge,” Mu Chun replied. “Revenge is the reason I’m here. I made a mistake and I fucked up. That’s what I was trying to protect you from.”

Lan Xiaoli raised his eyebrows. That sounded like there was a lot to unpack, but their conversation was suddenly interrupted.

“What is going on here?” a sharp voice cut in.

Both teens started. Lan Xiaoli spun around to the newcomer – it was Zhou Zishu. Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian and Wen Kexing had come as well. Lan Xiaoli turned back to Mu Chun, concern written all over his face.

Although Mu Chun was immediately on guard, he remained unfazed. “We're having a chat.”

Zhou Zishu wasn’t put off that easily. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Mu Chun just shrugged, seemingly nonchalant. “I have to make a living somehow.”

Lan Wangji unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Mu Chun. “Explain.”

Mu Chun let out a heavy sigh. He looked exhausted, but showed no sign of fighting them. “It’s a long story. I’m afraid we don’t have time for that.”

“Tell us or we will fight you,” Zhou Zishu threatened.

Mu Chun’s gaze hardened. “No, you won’t.” His voice had turned harsh and cold.

Lan Xiaoli and Zhou Zishu looked at him in confusion, even Lan Wangji’s composed countenance faltered a bit.

Mu Chun gestured towards the corpses. “Here’s enough bodies for Wei Wuxian to control,” he said, as if this would explain anything.

But it confused the others even more.

Zhou Zishu and Lan Wangji had been so absorbed in trying to make sense of what they were seeing, that they hadn’t noticed that their chatty partners had become awfully quiet.

When they turned around, they were shocked to see Wei Wuxian and Wen Kexing standing rigidly in place, eyes wide, bodies trembling. As soon as Lan Wangji and Zhou Zishu were facing them, the other two charged at them with stiff moves. It was obvious that they were doing this against their will.

While Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu were trading blows, Wei Wuxian jumped away and put his flute to his lips. After the first few tunes sounded, the corpses on the tables reacted. They rose from the stones, forcefully removing the ropes and shackles that restrained them.

Two against two was manageable, but two against an indefinite number could prove to be tricky. Lan Wangji had to stop Wei Wuxian from playing his flute at all costs, or producing any melody for that matter.

“You should be careful. Even though their bodies might not obey them anymore, if you hit them, they will feel it,” Mu Chun warned. His voice was so dark and sinister, that it made the others’ skin crawl.

Lan Xiaoli was horrified. He watched the others fight in dismay and disbelief for a while before woodenly sweeping his gaze over to Mu Chun. He stared at Mu Chun with unblinking eyes. After shaking off his shock, he asked, “What did you…?”

When Mu Chun’s gaze flicked back to Lan Xiaoli, his expression grew softer but not any less serious. “It’s a spell,” he answered honestly.

Lan Xiaoli couldn’t believe this was really happening. He hadn’t even processed what Mu Chun had revealed to him. His head was swimming, his thought entirely a mess. How did things escalate this badly from one moment to the next?

The rims of his eyes grew hot. “…Stop it,” he rasped.

Mu Chun scoffed, “Right, so they can kill me?”

“They will not.”

“Pretty sure they came here to do that.”

Lan Xiaoli knew he was the only one who could put an end to this. But every word and action was crucial in this situation, so he cautiously stepped toward Mu Chun.

As Lan Xiaoli approached Mu Chun, Lan Wangji called out, “Xiaoli!”

Mu Chun was unpredictable. It was impossible to tell what else he might have up his sleeve, but one thing was certain: he was dangerous.

Lan Wangji wanted to stop Lan Xiaoli from taking another step, but he was too occupied with Wei Wuxian.

Lan Xiaoli ignored his father’s call. His eyes fixed on Mu Chun, he kept on moving forward.

“They will not,” he repeated. Then, with a raised voice, he addressed Lan Wangji and Zhou Zishu, “Am I right?”

As much as Lan Wangji wished to put that insolent culprit named Mu Chun in his place, he couldn’t. Forced to fight their partners, Lan Wangji and Zhou Zishu found themselves in a dilemma.

Even though being out of control made them easy targets, Wei Wuxian and Wen Kexing’s bodies did not lack in skill.

With Wen Kexing, each blow could be fatal. Not wanting to hurt him, Zhou Zishu dodged and blocked his blows rather than actually fighting him.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji fought off the walking corpses, while trying to seize Wei Wuxian, who nimbly slipped from his grasp over and over again.

This was already enough to keep the two men in check and away from Mu Chun, who watched with hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable.

Fighting – no, dodging Wei Wuxian and Wen Kexing’s attacks, Lan Wangji and Zhou Zishu weren’t left with much choice but to agree.

“Yes!” they called out in unison.

Lan Xiaoli held Mu Chun’s gaze, not daring to look away for a second. A bead of sweat rolled down Mu Chun’s cheek, but he didn’t respond.

“Do you trust me?” Lan Xiaoli asked.

“I do.”

“Then please let them go.”

“...You know I had no choice. You know they would’ve killed me,” Mu Chun muttered with a smidgen of a plea.

Lan Xiaoli nodded. “I know. I know. But please, stop.”

Mu Chun swallowed hard. He glanced at the fighting men. Releasing Wen Kexing and Wei Wuxian could mean his certain death. Yet, he always expected complete and utter trust from Lan Xiaoli. This was his chance to show that they could trust each other. After brief consideration, he finally deactivated the spell.

From one moment to another, Wen Kexing and Wei Wuxian passed out. As their limp bodies collapsed to the ground, so did the corpses around them. Lan Wangji caught Wei Wuxian mid-air, while Zhou Zishu heaved Wen Kexing from the ground.

To make sure no one got any ideas or suddenly changed their mind, Lan Xiaoli quickly said, “Take dad and Uncle Wen and go.”

“I will not leave you,” Lan Wangji objected, his tone firm and determined.

“He is just doing this to protect himself. You should not have ambushed him like that!” Lan Xiaoli argued. “You do not have to worry about me, I will be fine. First of all, we should make sure that no one gets hurt.”

“Xiaoli!”

“No one,” Lan Xiaoli repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. “This includes Mu Chun.”

The other two stared at him. The atmosphere was fraught with tension.

Lan Xiaoli subconsciously clenched his fists. If they decided to attack, he wouldn’t know what to do. Apart from the fact that he wouldn’t stand a chance, he didn't want to fight them. But he couldn’t stand by and let Mu Chun get hurt either. He still wanted answers that only Mu Chun could provide.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Lan Wangji was the first to respond. He glanced at Mu Chun, then lowered his gaze and gave a subtle nod. With Wei Wuxian in his arms, he headed for the exit, followed by Zhou Zishu.

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