I was always pleasantly indifferent to Solomon in the og ObeyMe as a character but with Nb I’ve slowly become more n more fond of him n I think this latest vampire event sealed the fucking deal because before the story even started he’d already gone out of his way to shield us just in case n then actively stayed on top of that shit through the whole plot.

Man took not a chance, and so fucking quick! Just a “oh, danger? Shield IMMEDIATELY” n so slick about it to, to the point no one noticed until Barbados took a closer look n just… 🥰 Usually even the protective brothers are slow to act, especially in the og, so to see this stupid wizard being so proactive in his self assigned job is so refreshing compared to the weird undefined role he originally had.

A lot of the boys say to come to them first if we need anything and then do little to prove why we should but not only did Wizard TM ask to be put first (mammon theft) but put in the leg work to show why he should be first by not fucking around with us where it mattered. He’s playing for keeps n he plans to win and watching him try to do so while also not overstepping (a big weakness for him) is kind of impressive the absolute CHAD

Greener - III

I, II

(3.9k)

cw: mentions of abuse (nothing too intense but better safe than sorry), drug use (weed), alcohol consumption

BUZZ

 “Sorry to be a pain, can we just do the bridge one more time?” I ask guiltily.

Practice should have ended fifteen minutes ago, but the neuroses in my head refuses to pipe down.

 “It sounds great, but if you want, we can run it again.” Lana tells me from behind her drumkit, the gentle huskiness of her voice soothing me.

 “Yeah, sorry, lets call it for today. Think I’m just nervous.” I nod.

 “First show isn’t for a while, take it easy.” George speaks as he gently locks his guitar into its case.

 “Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh, rolling back my shoulders in an attempt to loosen them.

 The pair bid me goodbye, offering reassuring hugs and pats on the back, before heading out of the studio’s practice rooms. I take a few minutes in the empty room, tucking away cords and straightening things in an attempt to steady my breathing.

 BUZZ

 Reaching into my back pocket for the phone that has not stopped vibrating intermittently for the past twenty minutes, I spot three text messages. 

The first is from Lucy.

 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CAN YOU PICK UP SOME STUFF ON YOUR WAY OVER LATER?

 Truthfully, I had almost forgotten about Lucy’s barbeque. At least once a month she has some kind of large gathering, claiming it to be a necessity, and that not enough people celebrated just being alive. It is a beautiful sentiment, something I have always admired about Lucy is her effervescence. However, this does mean that my plans, to lay in bed the rest of the day and wallow about how unprepared for tour I feel, have been scuppered.

 I quickly reply to her and ask for a list.

 The next two messages are from Harry.

 One is a picture of him with a golden Labrador. Both appear to be smiling brightly.

 The second is the caption: ‘A girl asked me for a photo today and I told her she could only have one if I could take one with her dog – Harry’.

 Which one are you? I send back.

 Immediately, I receive a ‘:( - Harry‘ and cannot help but chuckle at him as I pull myself out of the room.

 He’s still talking to you despite how dumb you are, hmm?

 Sure, I might have been a bit rash and ridiculous in rejecting him, but it is for the right reasons. There is no way that I could put someone as wonderful and positive as Harry through all my issues.

 You’d suck the joy out of him.

 Instead, we are friendly. We speak every day. I try to keep the flirting to a minimum, but the boy does not make it easy. He is so charming and funny; it is impossible not to be swept up in his world where everything is bright and shiny.

 I can’t let that happen.

 No. There needed to be space between us. Nothing rude or unkind. Just space. Boundaries. I desperately need to keep conversations between us nothing but friendly until whatever attraction he has to me fades.

 Shouldn’t take long.

 Trying to shake off the part of me that saddens at the thought, I think ahead to this afternoon, scrolling through the extensive list of things Lucy needs me to bring her.

 Quickly stopping at home, I change into a light blue dress, patterned with small white flowers, bringing a cardigan with me as an extra layer, knowing that I would likely be staying out until the early hours of the morning.

 After picking up almost everything on the list, unable to find golf balls and unsure why she wanted them in the first place, I drive over to her house. Lucy had told me today would be a small gathering, but she says that every time, so I brace myself as I open the front door.

 “Lu?” I call, the house uncharacteristically quiet.

 The sound of claws on the wooden floor of the hallway brings a smile to my face, Pip bounding around the corner.

 “Hi, baby!” I giggle as I place my bag of supplies on the floor and crouch to greet the excitable pup. “Look how big you’re getting!”

 “If that’s you, Vi, come help me!” Lucy lets out a whine from the kitchen.

 “It’s not Vi, it’s an axe-murderer!” I call back, scratching behind Pip’s ears, making her mouth open and tongue roll out happily.

 “You can help me too!” she retorts.

 With a happy sigh, I pick up my bag and follow the sound of her voice. When I reach her, she is stood precariously on her countertop, rooting through a cupboard.

 “Careful,” I warn.

 “Thought I had kebab skewers,” she tells me, haphazardly hopping down in defeat, “Guess not. Did you bring the goodies?”

 For the next hour or so, Lucy and I work like a well-oiled machine, setting up space outside for food, but mainly making and sampling a variety of different cocktails. By the time some of her friends start to arrive, the two of us are already a little bit buzzed.

 Amongst the crowd that starts to fill out the house and attached garden is Joseph, a dear friend of Lucy’s. ‘Dear friend’ in Lucy’s world meaning they have sex and get croissants together the next morning. To be fair, it is the closest I have seen that girl to a relationship in all the years I have known her. Best not to rush Lucy into things. She will make up her mind when she is good and ready, like always.

 I notice him entering the house, eagerly scanning through the throng of people to find his girl, his eyes lighting up when he does so. Striding over to us, he presses a kiss to Lucy’s cheek and gives me a tight hug.

 “Hey,” Lucy greets him, her voice considerably lower as she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him into her. She wastes no time in connecting their lips, hands running through his hair with complete disregard to her surroundings.

 Undoubtedly, she would blame it on the few drinks, claiming they are lowering her inhibitions. We would both know how hard she would be lying.

 Lucy has the type of freedom and self-confidence that I wish I possessed. Living her life the way she wants to, completely on her own terms, and with nothing but goodness in her heart, an ever-present sense of reckless abandon for social norms. It is clear that she lives in her own world, and anyone that has had the delight of meeting her would agree; it is a beautifully liberated world.

 The sun begins to set in the real world, but Lucy’s sun is only rising, each passing hour only enthusing her more. I watch her from the kitchen window as she has handstand competitions with some of her co-workers, no one able to resist her charms.

 “Fancy making me one?” I hear a familiar, albeit surprising voice ask from behind me.

 Turning around, I see Harry, dressed in slightly flared blue jeans, a white vest and vibrant blue Hawaiian shirt. He looks great, but when does he not?

 When I meet his eyes, his smile has left traces of itself in the dusky green as he nods his head to the cocktail shaker in my hand.

 “H-Hi.” I stammer to get out.

 Pathetic.

 “Hi,” he says softly, reaching for me instantly to pull me into a hug.

 For a moment I do not react, realising quickly that this is the first time our bodies have touched. In a quick, rushed desire for intimacy, my arms wrap themselves around him. My fingertips splay across the expanse of his back, feeling his muscles move under them. I am pulled in tighter, Harry letting out a soft sigh as his chin rests on top of my head. My nose brushes against the bare flesh of his neck, accidentally but not unhappily inhaling the scent of him. Not just his cologne, but him. It is everything I can do to pull myself away, even if only to peer up at him, our arms still encircling each other.

 “How’ve you been?” he asks gently. His voice has such a relaxing effect on me, melting away any stress from this morning and washing it away with each breath.

 “Harry!” Lucy interrupts gleefully, charging in our direction and wrapping her arms around us. “My favourite people.” She exclaims with a tight squeeze.

 “I’ll pretend I’m not hurt,” Joseph teases, having followed her inside to check on her. A decision I immediately recognise to be wise when I take in Lucy and notice her eyes struggling to stay in the same direction.

 Even after hours of eating, drinking, and heavy petting, Lucy is not done celebrating. Instead, she insists that we set up some of the microphones from her small home studio, assembling a makeshift karaoke in the middle of her living room.

 “Sing for me.” Lucy demands with a giggle, pushing a mic into my hand before plopping on to the sofa, her legs swung into Joseph’s lap. Instinctively, he moves a hand to hold them there, giving her a look of amused adoration.

 “Why do I have to go first?!” I laugh incredulously at my best friend, once again, pushing me outside of my comfort zone.

 “I’ll sing with you,” Harry offers, a smirk trying to mask tentative eyes.

 I open my mouth to object to the whole situation, but Lucy interrupts me with a devilish grin.

 “What? Don’t you want to do it with Harry?”

 If looks could kill, Joseph would be clinging to a corpse. However, at this point an offshoot of the main crowd has trickled into the room and is gathering around Harry and myself expectantly.

 “Fine!” I sigh, covering my intense feelings of panic with humour the best that I can.

 “Feeling decisive or want me to pick something?” Harry asks, desperately biting back a mischievous grin as he pours through Lucy’s laptop, connected to a series of speakers bound to piss off her neighbours.

 “You pick.” I shrug, my glaring eyes still fixed on Lucy as she giggles into her drink.

 “Okay,” Harry says, tapping play on a karaoke version of Somethin’ Stupid by Frank Sinatra.

 “Amazing.” Lucy laughs loudly over the backing track, sending a complimentary wink in Harry’s direction. The two of them share a smile, while I roll my eyes so hard that I could give a moody teenager a run for their money.

 “Ready?” Harry asks, looking to me with a look so devilishly charming that I cannot help but return his grin no matter how hard I try.

 “I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me,” we begin to sing, our voices pairing surprisingly nicely.

 “And if we go some place to dance, I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me,” our voices sound great together actually, creating natural harmonies. It is clear that Harry is just as surprised as I am when our eyes meet, continuing to sing along, there is an excited glint to them that plants warmth in my torso.

 Ever the performer, Harry puts a piece of his soul into the song. His voice shifts beautifully through dynamic changes, channelling emotion until he is almost acting the song and the lyrics are just his lines.

 Forcing myself to avoid his gaze, held so lightly but fixed nonetheless, upon me, I look to Lucy. Desperate to convey to her how hard and fast my hatred towards her has manifested, but she is beaming at me so genuinely that all malice (however false it was in the first place) melts away and I simply look to my supportive, if a little manic, best friend. In her hands, her phone has replaced her half-finished cocktail, her eyes flittering between the recording and live performance.

 For a moment, I am ready to chastise her for filming my embarrassing--

 Pitchy.

 My embarrassing, most likely pitchy performance. I soon realise, however, that did I not have an awkwardly shoehorned friendship with Harry (something I had purposely neglected informing Lucy of for fear of another pep talk) I would be begging her to record me singing with someone whose career I admire so greatly. It has been a dream of mine to duet with talent like Harry’s, and she made it happen. As always, she is being a good friend.

 I blow her a kiss, which she reaches out and snatches from the air with a grin.

 “The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue,” I drift back to Harry where he is already waiting for me, looking at me with such tender appreciation.

 “And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you…” Our eyes are locked. The cheeky smirks have slipped from our lips. My awareness of the others in the room seems to fade away as his eyes pierce me, and, for a moment, it feels as though he sees straight through my façade. For the shortest time, he sees the way I look at him, feels the battle of caution and excitement ever-present when I see him.

 It’s just an act.

 Once again, the noise in my head overpowers the thump of my heart. My eyes flit back to safety, singing the rest of the song to Lucy, purposefully overacting my love for her to distract from any feelings towards anyone else.

 The song comes to an end and I make a subtle but speedy getaway, replacing the microphone in its stand and dashing to the kitchen. Thankfully, the room is empty, the majority of the gathering having congregated into the living room as Lucy belts out an enthusiastic rendition of ‘I Love Rock ‘N Roll’, getting the whole party stomping their feet with her.

 “Really knows how to throw a party, doesn’t she?” I hear Harry asks from behind as fumble through one of the cabinets until my fingertips find the little tin box I was searching for.

 “Mm,” I nod, taking a deep breath to centre myself before turning to him.

 Harry is stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame slightly but keeping his distance from me, observing me carefully. His body seems tense, jaw held tightly and forehead creasing deeply. A million questions swirl through my mind, the most prevalent being: why that song? However, I ignore my itching curiosities and try to act casually.

 “Do you smoke?” I ask, lifting the small box into view.

 “Sometimes.” He nods, seeming a little more at ease.

 “Come with me.” I say, waving him to follow me.

 We slip out of the back door and into the garden. Lucy’s house is a lot more modern than mine, her garden landscaped and levelled, only a few bushes and flowerbeds breaking up the slab of lawn. At the far end of the garden is a patch of shade provided from an overhanging neighbouring tree. Harry and I sit here, settling in silence as I pop open the tin, grateful to find a joint already rolled. I place it between my lips and light it, inhaling deeply a few times before offering it.

 “I’ve never seen you here,” I mumble through the light cloud Harry exhales before it is blown away by the gentle breeze, revealing him gazing at the ground.

 “Pretty shit friend really,” Harry utters, fiddling with his shoelace to avoid my gaze, “Lucy always invites me, and I bail every time.”

 “What made today so special?” I ask before I can stop myself being so intrusive.

 Harry just shrugs.

 The pair of us sit in silence for a while, passing the dwindling joint between ourselves as the sun flickers across our skin, occasionally finding its way through the shady branches above.

 “I’m sorry if I pushed you into that by the way,” Harry starts, looking at me for the first time since the kitchen. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 “It’s okay,” I say softly, desperate for the remorseful look in his eyes to disappear. “We sounded pretty good together anyway.” I offer, my choice to look on the bright side pulling a smile on to his lips.

 “I thought so too,” Harry muses.

 We sit in silence again, but it is more comfortable this time, the two of us relaxing into the gentle wind. Eventually, we lay side by side on the grass, watching clouds drift past happily.

 “That one looks like a tulip,” I smile, pointing to a bulbous cloud.

 “You’re crazy,” Harry laughs, “Looks more like a lollipop.”

 “They’re pretty similar,” I smirk, turning my head to look at him. He does the same, and the warmth he earlier planted in my chest returns, hotter this time.

 “You were the first boy to give me flowers.” I tell him, my voice cautiously quiet, as though someone might overhear on the deserted lawn.

 His voices matches mine when he speaks, equally timid of the situation we’ve gotten ourselves into, “I’d plant you a whole garden.”

 My eyes search his face, desperate to see a crack, to find an excuse not to believe him, but the urgency in his eyes stuns me. I lay trapped on the grassy bed, warm and cosy and terrified of what I might say or do next.

 You’ll fuck it up like you always do.

 My throat parches at the though. All I can do is nod my head, returning it to its original position and begging the sun to dry the welling of my eyes.

 Eventually, I see Harry shift in my peripheral vision, mirroring my exact position and gazing back up to the sky. The heat from the sun begins to burn into my skin as if punishing me for hiding from him.

 “If I told you something would you promise not to hate me?” I ask tentatively. How much could I share before I scare him away?

 “I promise.” I hear Harry say with a breath of a laugh.

 “Okay,” I start, taking a deep breath as my mind tries to settle on a place to begin, spinning a haunting collection of memories like a roulette wheel, before thankfully landing on the lightest. “I don’t know if you saw this, but there was a video of us the night we met… outside Spago?”

 “I saw it.” Harry utters softly, my heart sinking to my stomach.

 If he saw the video, he saw the article. If he saw the article, he must have read the comments. He must have seen how poorly the idea of me in his life went down with his audience.

 “Did it freak you out?”

 “Yeah.” I answer after a moment. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll survive this industry.”

 “I think you’re stronger than you know,” Harry says gently.

 If he only knew.

 “You sound like Lucy,” I force a laugh, trying to change the topic to shift my discomfort as quickly as possible.

 “Maybe we have a point,” Harry teases, I see a smirk slip across his face from the corner of my eye.

 “I wish I wasn’t so scared all the time,” I whisper.

 A moment of silence passes before Harry speaks up, his voice tender as he turns his head to watch me.

 “What would you do if you weren’t scared?”

 Too afraid to meet his gaze, I tell the sky, “I would trust myself. I would let myself feel beautiful and be proud of what I achieve, and the voice in my head would shut up.”

 “I get that,” Harry whispers, and when I turn my head to meet his eyes the fear melts away slightly. “I call my voice Peter and whenever he’s getting in my way I shout: ‘Fuck off, Peter’.”

 The thought brings a smile to my face, and Harry mirrors me once again.

 “Try it,” he encourages.

 “What? Just scream ‘Fuck off’?” I laugh.

 “Yeah. I’ll do it too. Just pick a name,” he smiles, head rolling back as he readies himself to yell.

 The smile on my face lingers as I watch him, biting his bottom lip with excitement as his whole body wriggles in anticipation.

 “Okay,” I grin, matching his position.

 I picture the voice in my head, all the unkind things he has said to me, made me believe about myself. I name him, putting his face to the cruelty and feeling an overwhelming sense of power at the prospect of making him own everything he has put me through.

 You really think this will work?

 In a need for support, comfort, and mainly just because I want to, I slowly slip my hand into Harry’s. I hear him exhale deeply but do not dare look at him or move at all for fear of disturbing the symbiosis of our bodies. When I feel his thumb trace over my own, a warmth settles throughout me, strong and encouraging.

 “FUCK OFF, WILL!” I shout, eyes squeezed tight.

 “FUCK OFF, PETER!” Harry hollers right after me, quickly looking back to me.

 His eyes are hopeful, an excited grin spreading across his face as we lay in the aftermath. The world seems to pause for a second, silenced by our screams, before the breeze continues through the trees and the party continues on.

 “Why ‘Will’?” Harry asks with a chuckle, adrenaline pumping through him.

 The joy drains from me slowly, agonisingly.

 “He—um, he’s my ex,” I try to say quickly, but my heart is pounding, and my teeth start chattering.

 “Oh,�� Harry says sympathetically, sitting up to look at me, my hand slipping from his.

 I know he is only being kind, but the tonal shift just twists the knife in deeper. Part of me thought I could keep him a secret. The same part of me that thinks never unpacking the possessions he tainted would keep my new house pure, safe from him.

 “It’s fine.” I shrug, sitting up and picking up the tin that lays between us.

 “We could… talk about it?” Harry offers, looking at me with desperate, hopeful eyes.

 Maybe we could.

 “Okay,” I start tentatively, pausing for a long breath, “We met when I first moved here and he was wonderful, really showed me off, made me feel special you know?”

 Harry nods gently.

 “Everyone loved him,” my gaze drops to the grass tickling my skin, fingers swirling around blades, “No one really believed that things weren’t as perfect as they seemed so I thought I was just taking stuff he said the wrong way because he really cared for me and wanted me to be realistic about what I could achieve.”

 My gaze flits to Harry’s face, held cautiously still as I give him the abridged version of a year-long relationship.

 “I believed him when he said I had to manage my expectations, that the grass was always greener and only 3% of musicians ever make it big. Even when I started doing shows he wasn’t supportive…” I cannot look at him as I continue, fear and doubt climbing up my throat and forcing a lie out of my mouth, “Just kind of fizzled out.”

 Harry is silent. Pensive. For a while, all I hear is the low groan of branches in the wind.

 “Not a good guy.” He muses eventually, his voice soft and low.

 “Yeah,” I chuckle, the sight of a smile on my face causes the same reaction in Harry, “Not great.”

 “OI!” Lucy yells at the top of her lungs, drawing our attention away from each other’s empathetic glances and back to the house. “You got my weed?”

masterlist

@graceflute​ || LAN XICHEN

          Wei Ying always trusted in medicine. He isn’t a religious man and he can’t afford to believe in miracles; this world doesn’t foster that kind of attitude. Hoping and dreaming won’t get you where you need to be, only hard work and perseverance and maybe a little bit of luck. Medicine, however, is a science, something that offers the kind of miracles that can be explained and measured (most of the time) and, well, trusted in. It made him feel safe to know what modern medicine can do and to think if ever something went really wrong, there would be a chance to fix it.

He wasn’t prepared for medicine to tell him that he’s all but OUT OF HOPE when the accident happened and Lan Xichen fell into a coma he refused to wake up from. Wei Ying didn’t know how to respond or react - he still doesn’t, but the world seems to agree that his complete and utter inability to accept that Xichen probably won’t come back is wrong. What do they know? They don’t know that Lan Xichen is the reason Wei Ying wants to wake up in the morning, the he is the reason he can take anything this world throws at him, that he means more to him than he could ever express through words and actions, that he would let the sun and the moon and every single star go out if it meant saving Xichen.

They don’t know.

So how can they possibly know that the thought of sitting by Xichen’s bed every day for the rest of his life, and talking to his motionless body for hours, is far less scary than that of a world WITHOUT HIM in it. He won’t give up and accept what he can’t accept, as if there’s any point in going on without Xichen. Wei Ying stops caring about what the doctors tell him, what his parents tell him, what even Xichen’s parents tell him, at some point. He stops caring about the boundaries and possibilities of modern medicine, utterly betrayed by its false sense of safety. It’s pointless, it’s fantasy, the logical part of his brain tells him every time he looks at a book about ancient rituals and cultivation of spirits, forbidden medical practices and dark magic. It all means nothing to him at first, but after a while it feels as familiar as the things he’s known all his life.

It doesn’t work, of course. Because it is fantasy.

But every time he tries one of these rituals, spends money on rare ingredients for another bizarre incantation, he regains some of that hope he’s losing, a brief moment of relief from the unbearable thought of admitting THE TRUTH. Even if it’s all nonsense and none of it will ever work, it gives him the feeling that he’s doing something, and it helps him forget how quiet the house is without Xichen around.

This morning he picked up more things from a traditional pharmacy that took a while to find. The scroll he discovered (and spent endless nights researching and translating) suggests a way to connect with a lost soul and although it all sounds very much like a figurative journey of the spirit Wei Ying is willing to give it a shot. He’s willing to give anything a shot. He doesn’t miss the way the old pharmacist looks at him when he pays his goods but he’s used to the looks by now and he doesn’t care.

The instructions on the scroll are confusing and incomplete, presupposing a KNOWLEDGE Wei Ying does not possess and the internet does not offer either. It’s a lot of interpreting and trying, and it doesn’t lead him anywhere except down the road of frustration. By the time he accepts that he ran into another dead end he feels dizzy from the smoke of the incense burner and his eyes feel heavy. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept or even how many hours he spent trying to make this work. The smoke is getting everywhere now and Wei Ying waves his hand to get it away from his face. It only helps for a moment but then more of it rises in front of him, stinging in his lungs and his eyes and he closes them and coughs, covering his mouth with his hand.

For a moment he feels like he is falling, toward the ground and through it, into a deep abyss of unknown origin and size.

Then the feeling ends and he opens his eyes again. It’s notably darker than before and the air is clean, and his first thought is that he fell asleep or passed out. It wouldn’t surprise him. He spent the last couple of days barely getting any sleep while either sitting at Xichen’s bedside and talking to him, begging him to wake up, or looking for other unorthodox ways to help him. He doesn’t feel tired now, but his head is pounding in a way that is reminiscent of a killer hangover. Must be the smoke or the lack of sleep, or some unfortunate combination of the two.

Wei Ying sways as he gets up and walks towards the window, his body noticing the changes before his brain does. He lifts a hand to open the window, but it’s already open. And whatever he’s sseing, it’s not Suzhou.

----At least not the Suzhou Wei Ying knows. All Wei Ying can see are trees and the setting sun on the horizon, not a single rooftop or SKYSCRAPER anywhere in the distance. If he’s still in the near vicinity of Shanghai, it must either be hidden by very thick fog or he’s facing the wrong direction.      “What..?” he whispers to himself and slowly turns away from the window to go back to his scroll and his incense burner and the magic circle he drew on the living room floor.

They’re all gone. As is everything else that was in his room before. Because this isn’t his room at all.

He’s in a house of some kind, a very traditional looking one, the kind that you’d only be able to visit during museum tours these days. The walls are lined with shelves stacked with books and scrolls, none of which he’s seen before. The only light in the room is coming from a few candles that are placed around the room for maximum effect, and from the open window. Wei Ying only knows one thing about this place and that is that he’s never been here before. His head stings painfully. Feeling anxiety rise in his chest along with a dozen questions he has no answers to he stumbles over to the door and pushes it open, stepping out onto the porch. The air outside is crisp and cold but not unpleasant. It’s fresh and fragrant, like early spring days, and slowly Wei Ying’s head begins to clear.

His eyes fall down to the robe he’s wearing, smooth black fabric swaying around his legs, and his hand comes up to curl into his hair. His long, smooth, hair, that falls down over his shoulders to his back, longer than he’s ever worn it. Everything else feels familiar - as he decides after a brief check - but that, that is definitely.. new.

His brain is overloading, confusion, fear and excitement battling for dominance inside him as he tries to make any sense of what’s happening. It must be a dream, but it doesn’t feel like one. It can’t be real, because that would be positively INSANE. If it is real, however, that would mean..      “Holy shit..”

INTRO :: LONG JOURNEY ——— like butterfly wings

the end of the trimester marks a new point in hwang minjun’s life. through the many twists and turns, he’s gradually shaping himself and spreading his wings.

minjun isn’t my first muse of the year, but he is the one i’ve grown incredibly attached to, with connections i never imagined he’d have. i missed the halfway point of the year, i meant to post this on his birthday, july 10th, but better late than never, right? this also serves as a thank you to everyone who plotted with minjun—he continues to develop as a character because of you all, both he and i can’t thank you enough !

PERSONALITY

not a lot has changed in terms of his personality, he continues to be a person eager to please, an overachiever at times, to the point where he’d push himself a little too far. he’s learning to overcome this flaw, to let others take care of him, listen when he’s being told that he’s working too hard. to give himself a break when he needs it. he’s opening his arms to different types of people, more than happy to accommodate all types of personalities if it meant building friendships. at the end of the day, he still has a lot of love to give.

CAREER

the beginning of it all—the valentines event drew out minjun’s infamous aegyo, which went viral within the blink of an eye. it may not be as significant as what follows, but it’s still an event that brings a smile to his face.

fear accompanied him when he auditioned for project origin, but the experience made him realise something important—what matters is that he stayed true to himself as he performs, gives it very best with every little stomp and twist, pour all he can with each move. and eventually, he’ll be rewarded.

type zero chipped away at his confidence, the pressures of being a replacement were heavy on his shoulders. gradually, he learns that he doesn’t have to deal with it on his own—after all, type zero is a group first and foremost, lifting one another up. it’s fine to be himself, he doesn’t need to pretend to be someone else.

being a part of project origin and legacy boys gave him opportunities he wouldn’t dare imagine even in his wildest dreams. the tour opened his eyes to new heights, brought him out of his shell, introduced him to a greater stage, one he had the privilege to perform on, including a solo performance. boarding a plane hadn’t been easy, minjun never ventured so far before. it’s a terrifying experience, but one he wouldn’t erase.

RELATIONSHIPS a recap of minjun’s connections thus far, from his point of view.

minjun finds himself facing pages of the past when he reunites with ( @lgcinsoo ), a fellow dancer from his old days that he used to admire. to his surprise, the reunion was far from awkward, ending with a promise to hang out whenever they find the time. though they’re walking different paths now, minjun will always be rooting for insoo. he hopes the time they hang out again will come soon.

( @lgcjiho ) had been another plushie collector, and was the person who managed to draw out minjun’s aegyo, causing him to go viral. in a way, minjun owes jiho his thanks, even more so for always seeming so eager to join him in his little tea parties. he believes project origin drew the two even closer, what with their shared fear for airplanes. they comforted one another like friends would, minjun won’t forget that day.

not all has been smooth sailing, he hit stormy waves when he went overboard with ( @lgchunji ). he’s not sure what he had done wrong specifically, but he knows it had to do with his desire to extend his hand even though he had been warned against it. minjun wants to fix things, tape back the string of friendship that he had broken. however, that isn’t his decision to make. either way, he can only hope hunji is thriving with whatever it is he’s doing. hunji helped him realise that there is merit to sticking to his own lane, to not shove himself into situations that doesn’t concern him.

he tried again to help someone else, ( @lgceunji ) this time. seeing her in a seemingly bad state after the prank worried him, and he did what he can do. offer a silent comfort and company, then gifting her one of his prized possessions, a small bear plushie. he intends to check up on her every now and then, even if he’s busy with the tour. he thinks of her as a little sister he wants to protect.

although it took a few days to adjust, he found friends among the type zero members. his worries were eased after his conversation with ( @lgcxking ), and minjun isn’t shy to admit that he admires the other for his determination and strong will. king’s bravery shown throughout the tour, like when king invited him to bungee jump, but also when king challenged himself to take part in babysitting services. he has a lot of respect for king.

among the project origin members, he finds himself adoring ( @lgcharu ), someone he can’t help but feel like he wants to take care of. discussing their characters aided minjun in figuring out how to ease himself into musical acting, something he had never done before. he had a lot of fun with haru throughout the tour as well, spending a part of their chuseok holidays together.

his encounter with ( @lgcemil ) had been one he hadn’t expected, meeting the other in the practice room when he intended to practice into the late night. he can’t hide his concern for emil, and although he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries, he wants to become a friend that emil can count on whenever he’s feeling a little down.

there are a few special mentions. ( @lgceunho ) bonded with him when they were locked in a practice room, and although minjun would rather not get himself in such a situation ever again, he’s glad he had been stuck with eunho, who is a fun person to be around. panicking with ( @lgcxminseok ) over the april fools prank and playing with the animals in the shelter was a delightful time. during the project origin tour, he had a blast with king, ( @lgcyonghwa ) and ( @lgcmax ). yonghwa seems like a reliable older brother that minjun can count on. max’s bursts of energy draws out his own, there’s never a boring time with max. he didn’t know ( @lgcjueun ) before babysitting services, but as it turns out, taking care of kids together is another good way to bond.

YOON SHINHA ——— forever you are my star

( @lgcshinha ) appeared to him like a storm, wrecking his world in the best way possible. he encountered the enigma that is yoon shinha when he reached out towards the same cat plushie that the other did. it’s an out of the blue suggestion when he said they should share the plushie instead, but he wouldn’t have it any other day. that was the beginning of something beautiful—an encounter with an impact that will last a lifetime.

it’s a little funny when it turns out they ended up as roommates, but that makes it easier for them to take care of their little family. looking back, minjun isn’t sure when exactly things started to change between the two of them, where they drew the line between friendship and something else. it’s hard for minjun not to fall for shinha though, not when shinha took care of him like no one else ever had. the illusion of having a family with the other felt more real as days go by, to the point where minjun is afraid that he’d eventually do what he does best: overstep and ruin everything.

he had never, for the life of him, thought that shinha would feel the same way. and yet, after a long night of rigorous practice and a shared night in their dorm with no one else around, they laid their feelings out on the table. it all happened too fast, but it still felt like it was yesterday. minjun recalled the beating of his heart picking up pace, too quick for him to keep up. he remembers the tears that were in the corner of his eyes, ever the emotional person he was. but they left things up in the air, until...

july 10th, minjun’s birthday and the day the stars aligned. shinha keeps proving himself as someone minjun can’t help but think he doesn’t deserve sometimes. the gifts shinha bestowed upon him that day is enough to make his heart swell, he remembers feeling as if he’ll burst. a mix of emotions coursed through him that day, but overall he can say that he’s elated, he’s in love. that is further confirmed when shinha asked him out, and the tears he usually would try so hard to hide flowed almost endlessly. they became one that day, but minjun feels as if they were always one.

with project origin taking most of his time, he wasn’t granted enough time to spend with his beloved, but he can’t complain—not out loud, at the very least. the tour had been an experience minjun wouldn’t trade for the world, yet he finds himself thinking about shinha whenever he’s alone with his thoughts. texts and video calls weren’t nearly enough, he missed shinha’s presence by his side most of all. it was torture, but he believes in shinha, in their relationship, in them. minjun knows they can go through whatever hardships may come.

seeing shinha again during kcon backstage brought forth the longing he had been feeling the past month. but they’re strong, if they can survive a tour, then they’ll be able to handle worse.

a new trimester begins, and future dreams is knocking on their doors. minjun doesn’t wish for much, but if he could wish for one thing—he wants the both of them to debut, together.

THE ROAD AHEAD

above all, minjun intends to debut. he knows he’s meant to be on stage, and he wants to prove that he’s worth it. he doesn’t know what future dreams will bring, but he’s eager to show off what hwang minjun can do.

there are a lot of people he still wants to befriend, particularly those who will be participating in future dreams. there may be a competitive element, however friendly rivalry isn’t a bad thing.

he’s eager to brush up on his language skills, particularly japanese. with the workshop, that may be achievable. there seems to be a strong market in japan, so he wants to try it out.

despite the fun time he experienced in babysitting services, he’s eager to try out the other two variety shows. he isn’t the best at cooking, but masterchef legacy piqued his interests.

This week delivered a pretty harsh emotional gut-punch. I had to end the only non-family friendship I had where the person in question lived within a 100mi radius.

She and I had been growing apart for a bit as it was--the way I saw it was that we simply had become two different people than when we first met online back in 2014. We'd exchanged emails for the longest time, and met once at a convention. She was someone who'd been easy to relate to and understand at first because of a traumatic upbringing, but the substance of her messages never changed or varied throughout the years--it was always, always about who had wronged her this time and why it was evidence of how terrible people are, but how she was "hardworking" and "different". We scarcely talked about anything else. Victim mentality. The one time we met only solidified that this was who she was. Imagine someone side-eying perfect strangers in a crowd of cosplayers and constantly grumbling about how they were too scantily clad and making remarks about how sure she was her favorite character would disapprove. (Yes, there was a concerning disconnect from reality there that often made me wonder if there was something schizoid-flavored going on.) Suggesting that she could do anything differently or an alternative point of view was usually met with a lot of reaching and bending over backwards for reasons why nothing was ever her fault or how it was someone else who had to change.

In short, it wasn't commiserating. It was years of me reading long screeds, and going, "Yeah. Uh huh. That sucks." Most of the time, if I brought up any complaint of my own, it was met not with compassion, but with either dismissal so that we could focus on her again, or more ranting about how it was all just more evidence of how right she was. Even just attempts at sharing new interests resulted in a sort of pushback where she'd barely stop short of telling me I was wrong or somehow treacherous for doing so. Trying to share good news always prompted her to double down on refocusing on how awful everything was for her.

As we got into the vile meat of 2020, my energy to respond to long-form emails was pretty well shot, and my responses had slowed down substantially. She started to badger me with the question, "What am I to you?" I explained that I felt our attitudes and values had seriously diverged over the years, and that my stress level was simply too high, but that if she still wanted to keep in touch, it was a better idea to message me here on tumblr or just text my phone. I have no issue having quick back-and-forths, and little to no restrictions on when it's okay to message me. As a general rule, I answer as soon as I see it. This seemed like it would solve the problem with the lapses at least, and communicating in a way that offered instant responses should have provided reassurance that I wasn't just ignoring her. Yes, we had our differences, but for the most part, I was unresponsive to the emails because I was having a hard time with my own mental health.

Should have. She agreed to respect the boundary I'd set, but then unfollowed me here and sent a long paper letter instead--the furthest thing from what I'd requested. She then would only message in months-apart check-ins to see if I'd read the letter yet, growing increasingly aggravated when I had not. At one point, she explained that it was meant to reveal to me how much she'd accomplished, and how I was wrong about her, and also contained a poem she wanted me to read aloud to my household. The hysteric "What am I to you?" questions continued.

After deliberating, I explained why the letter and her related actions had upset me. She said that she'd unfollowed (without even trying to message at first) me because she suspected I wanted nothing to do with her. She then also insisted that she'd sent the letter before unfollowing, complained about how badly she missed the email routine, and went on a tirade about how unfair it was she was the only one reaching out, and how she'd done so much more for me, and so forth. It essentially devolved into overt gaslighting.

It was then that I calmly told her that I felt it was probably best for us to leave one another in peace. Those were my exact words. If we couldn't even agree on how to talk without an explosion of manufactured drama--if she couldn't be bothered to respect one simple ask without making herself out to be a victim of unfair treatment--then there was nothing left to say. She responded saying that she was even more afraid I wanted nothing to do with her--at this point, it had become true--and again demanding to know what she'd ever really been to me.

I had had enough. I blocked her.

Two days later, I got one last email from her, and a phone call with no message. (Or I certainly hope it's the last. Good grief.) In it, she reiterated her belief that she'd been the one pouring all the effort into our relationship, how this confirmed I was 'just like everyone else', and that she wasn't going to let herself be hurt by me anymore.

And...I've been feeling like complete garbage ever since. Not so much because I felt it was time to end that friendship--the descent into blatant gaslighting was all I needed to push the proverbial EJECT button--but I’m left questioning why I tend to attract that sort of person more than any other--selfish, histrionic, delusional. Making and maintaining friendships is difficult for me, so the question of how I might have done anything differently has to be asked. The simple answer, I believe, is that I should have just been open about my disagreements and our incompatibility much sooner. But even with more emotionally mature individuals, I do have an unfortunate track record of lapsing into silence unless spoken to when I'm overly stressed, and I know that can send the wrong message. I don't want to be that person who does nothing but use the other as a doormat for continual complaining and nothing but. I don't want to burden anyone the way this person burdened me.

That's the emotional backlash I always face when a friendship fails because of toxic behavior: Is it possible that this same toxicity lives in me too, and I'm just too myopic or self-righteous to see it? Is it possible that this is why being any kind of a social person is so challenging to me? I don't think so, but what if I'm wrong? What if I'm reading my own tone wrong? What if I'm measuring the content of my conversations with others in a way that minimizes exactly how much self-centered bitching I do? Do I come off as someone with a victim complex?

I find myself coming back to the damaging, impossibly mixed messaging around socializing I was raised with. If I share what's good or fun, that could be selfish because what if the other person is having a hard time? What if I'm just rubbing something in their face they can't have? If I what I share is sad and difficult, I may be overburdening them or dragging them down when they'd otherwise be doing just fine. Sometimes just talking at all feels invasive--that is, attempting to get to know or draw closer to another person makes me feel like I'm stealing something that doesn't belong to me. I was always told that it's rude to pry, and that if others really want to talk to me specifically, they will without prompt.

In sum, these 'rules' allow for zero proactive communication, suggesting that any such effort is doomed to be bothersome and thoughtless at best. Of course, I don't buy into them anymore, but that doesn't mean that they aren't engraved into my psyche in such a way that violating them still comes with a serious wallop of guilt.

And as folks with a history of emotional abuse go, there do tend to be extremes of embracing victimhood as an identity, low-key messiah complexes, and what have you. I absolutely am guilty of nursing one of those soft-core messiah complexes, I think. Unfortunately, this means that when someone comes along with no end of narcissistic self pity--that is, not just someone truly down on their luck-- it's an easy trap for me to fall into. I always see it as my role to fix things for people or to try save them from their troubles, or to be the one who listens and gives. I want to be useful and relied upon and a source of comfort, understanding, and peace, but then I want to act all surprised when I get used and stepped on time and again when I fail to be 100% honest about any frustrations or misgivings I might have. By the time I decide to set any real boundaries, it’s far too late to maneuver out from under unreasonable expectations without snuffing out the relationship altogether.

When someone with a baby savior complex clashes with another person who possesses a loud-and-proud victim mentality, I suppose it's bound to be a slow-moving train wreck.

Maybe I'm not like her, but I can't escape the fact that in many ways, I really did bring this upon myself...Again.

---

TL;DR: I asked for some minor changes in how I communicate with a friend because my stress level was so high that the idea of jumping off a local overpass wasn’t not bouncing around in my head. Her response? Act like a jilted lover, thinking only- “But what about me?” And I realized it’s been that way with her for a long time.

TIMING: Simultaneously with the finale chatzy. LOCATION: Arthur’s House PARTIES: Arthur & @humanmoodring SUMMARY: Nadia and Arthur finally have a heart to heart about the ghost that continues to haunt her memories and discuss the healing possibility that help from others might lend with ZERO interruptions.

TW: Vomit, Descriptions of injury & Blood

With Nadia coming over for a meal and general catch-up Arthur had taken the time to speak to Elena (as best as he could converse with the ghost) about staying upstairs if possible. She hadn’t seemed too happy if the message on his fridge was anything to go by, but judging by the lack of interference he had to his cooking he figured he’d convinced her well enough for the time being. The food was just in the oven - chicken parmigiana wrapped with parma ham, smothered in a homemade tomato sauce and mozzarella with a side of jersey salad and creamy mashed potatoes. He’d also gotten out a bottle of red to share, keenly aware of the fact they had also talked about discussing her mysterious history. Life had taught him one thing, and that was such talks were often helped along with the fortification of a good drink. He was just grabbing the plates out of the cupboard when the doorbell rang, hurrying through the house he pulled the door open with a smile. “Hey there, come in, come in” he ushered stepping back “not too tricky to find me I hope?”

The first thing Nadia noticed when she pulled up to Arthur’s house was that it was really fucking nice. Not in, like, an ostentatious way, but still impressive. She let out a low whistle as she got out of her truck and brushed off the front of her sweater a bit nervously, the material soft and comforting and nice even if the weather was getting pretty warm. Sweaters always seemed like an extra layer of protection to Nadia, and she felt like she needed it. Not because she thought Arthur was going to judge her harshly; she didn’t think that at all. But she’d never had this conversation in person. Not really. However, she wanted to tell Arthur in person. After everything he’d done for her, he deserved it. More than, really. In person was a bit more vulnerable, though, forcing her to deal with emotions, her own emotions, when writing allowed her to kind of distance herself from that. Still, she needed to do this. She smiled at Arthur as he let her in. “Not tricky at all. Nice house, by the way.” She looked around at the open space, relaxing a bit. It suited him, warm and inviting just as he’d been for as long as she’d known him. She shot him a look of concern. “How are you feeling, by the way? All healed up?”

Arthur could understand the use of clothes to help present the appearance and persona you wanted the world to believe and see you for. People, regardless of how good or non-judgemental they claimed to be, all formed first impressions by sight even if it was subconscious. Unlike the more formal appearance he presented at work, typically opting for suits and far more formal attire here in the space of his his home Arthur’s attire was by far more casual. A white tri-blend tee layered under a black and white flannel check shirt with the sleeves folded up above the elbow left intricately monochrome inked (and typically covered) arms free to play host. “Thanks,” he grinned warmly, “not bad isn’t it? Here, take your shoes off… I’ve got food on.” Though the moment of concern softened his grin to a smile, naturally inclined to settle other people’s concerns with words or general physical affection he reached out touching her elbow briefly though the heat of his skin always came as a shock to most people considering his body temperature averaged around 120°F. “All fixed and in working order, promise. Come on, wine and food that I hope you won’t judge too harshly considering your mum’s standards, yeah?”

It was nice to hang out with Arthur in a more laid back setting. Not that working stopped him and Nadia from teasing each other, but there was still always the added factor of them making sure to spend time researching. But the relaxing atmosphere was helping her considerably. It was cool to see Arthur’s tattoos, to see him as a young man and not just a wise, immortal being. This could almost be considered normal, if he wasn’t actually a wise, immortal being and she wasn’t here to tell him about her life. They were just two colleagues, two friends, eating dinner and catching up after a series of hectic weeks. “It’s fantastic, Arthur. And it suits you, too.” She unlaced her boots and sat them neatly near the front door before following him to the kitchen. Arthur’s touch was warm, hot, really, but she didn’t mind. She never felt warm anymore, hadn’t much since she woke up, so the heat was nice. “I’m glad you’re doing better.” Nadia followed him to the kitchen, where the food he’d prepared already smelled wonderful and, she had no doubt, would give her ma a run for her money. “Dude, I’m sure it’s gonna be fantastic. Especially if those cheesecakes were any indication.”

There were certain boundaries that had to be maintained at work, but it was nice to just step back and relax. “A part of me wonders if it’s too big… But in comparison to where I was it’s so much better,” Arthur explained as he wandered through to the kitchen while Nadia unlaced her boots. “It’s not really surprising, I patch up fast even from the worst of states,” there was mild humour in his tone even if the topic wasn’t the most cheery. By the time she joined him he was already pouring a couple of glasses of wine out, setting them on the counter as he went to plate up the salad. “Maybe, can’t say I’ve ever had to compete with someone’s mother when it comes to cooking though.” He grabbed a tea towel, folding it over and pulled open the oven to grab the baking tray out “where did you grow up? What was your life like before… All this supernatural shit? Can’t say I’ve ever asked.” After all, tonight was about getting to know one another.

It was a lot of space, probably too much for Nadia, but that didn’t make it any less homey. Touches of Arthur were all throughout the place as she looked around, eventually wandering to the kitchen. Even though she trusted his words, she looked him over closely. She couldn’t see any noticeable signs of damage. She gave a nod, pleased that he was better. “Those tears really do work wonders, huh?” She took a glass of wine and watched as he dealt with the food, wondering if she should help. “I mean, you stand a fighting chance. It’s been years since I’ve eaten my mom’s cooking.” God, could she even remember what it tasted like? “Do you need any help?” She could probably help him get plates and utensils if he showed her where everything was. As for her past… “I mean, the here and now’s always been more vital, dude.” She felt awkward; after months of giving the bear minimum, she was now having to figure out how to share about her life again. Like she’d ever done it before. Even back before White Crest, before the possession, she’d been shit at this kind of thing. “Uh, I’m from Phoenix, Arizona.” She smiled a bit. “Sometimes it’s kind of funny that I work for an actual phoenix. Can’t really lose my roots, I guess. But, uh, my dad’s Cuban. My mom’s Italian-American, from Chicago. How the fuck they ended up in the fucking desert of all places is anyone’s guess, but…” That was very little about her, about her life. “I mean,” she laughed drily, “my life kind of sucked before I woke up here. I was a lonely kid, a lonely teenager, only one real friend in college. Then, she left, and I went a little wild for awhile and,” and she got possessed, but the words were thick in her mouth. She took a drink. “Yeah. But what about you? What’s this life been like?”

“Bring you back from the brink of death more or less, last I heard they’re one of the rarest commodities on the black market… Not easy to get your hands on them. Phoenixes are rare to come upon and even harder to pick out of a crowd.” Arthur didn’t mind, it wasn’t the most complex meal but it tasted good and that was what mattered. “I think I’m alright here, could you grab the knives and forks out that draw there? Second one down,” he pointed out a drawer not far from where she was. “True, but it’s nice to know where people come from,” he countered lightly not in a prying sense but a simple sharing of opinion from someone that liked to get to know others. “Huh, go figure,” he laughed quietly at the irony but grew quiet as Nadia spoke.

Taking the plates over to the table nearby and setting them down he nodded along, but his expression grew sympathetic as she trailed off and he didn’t press for the time being. He settled in his chair, contemplating the answer “it’s been… I’ve been lucky, Mercy’s always tried her best whenever I’ve had to be rehomed… Always tried to put me with good people” it didn’t always work, but she tried and that’s what counted in his mind. “I was adopted by a couple from London, stayed there most of my life - school, the works. I was an only child which had its perks but I think I would’ve liked a sibling... My parents had… big expectations for me, and it was hard not to cave under the effort of trying to carry and live up to them.”

He took a sip of wine seeming to grow quieter, “I’m thankful for every opportunity they gave me but it was hard - coming to terms and trying to understand what I was without anyone there to help me understand…” he rested his chin on his hand “thought I was losing my mind when I started getting flashes of all these past lifetimes. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was going on. Did every scan under the sun… Eventually I knew better than to mention it… Until it eventually came back what I was.” It hadn’t been the easiest journey but he’d gotten there. “Anyway, how’s the food?”

“You need to keep safe, then.” Hearing that his tears were incredibly rare and valuable did nothing to help soothe Nadia. Worrying about Arthur getting attacked because of what he was added itself to her list of things to look out for when it came to her friends. She grabbed the silverware and helped him set the table before they sat down, a lot on her mind.

She smiled a bit as he mentioned how Mercy made sure he was well taken care of. “She’s a good friend, I can tell.” She remembered the older woman’s request, trying to think about how to best go about asking him what he wanted for his birthday. She’d figure out how to do that later. At the mention of him being an only child, she nodded. “I was an only kid, too. I was enough trouble on my own, and I was the kind of kid that wanted-- well, needed to be alone sometimes. Both my parents came from big families, though. I’m sure they wanted more kids, but I was a handful, I guess.”

She took a bite of food, savoring the flavor of it. She couldn’t remember her mother’s cooking. She couldn’t. It was a bit depressing to think about, but she figured that if Arthur’s cooking wasn’t just as good, it was a close fucking second. There were so many things from her life in Phoenix that she was beginning to realize that she was forgetting. The taste of her ma’s cooking, the type of beer her father drank, the color of Brooke’s eyes. She knew what it was like to get flashes of things that she didn’t understand, even if it was for different reasons that Arthur. “I think you’ve done a good job with getting from where you were to where you are now, for what it’s worth,” she told him. She took another bite of food. After she swallowed, she said, “It’s fucking fantastic.”

“I’m as safe as houses, barely anyone knows about me - besides you, Evelyn and Mercy… That’s it. And it’s how I’d prefer to keep it.” Arthur often got frustrated when people treated him with kid gloves because of his physicality, and it occasionally led to random acts of attempted heroics to try and prove them otherwise - which almost always ended up proving their point that he was extremely breakable. “Plus,” he added as an afterthought, “out of most supernaturals phoenixes are usually the ones that blend in the easiest… Except for the pinfeathers. But other than that we don’t have weird feeding habits, we don’t prey on people… We just… live.”

“She is. A pain in the ass at times, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything,” he admitted fondly. It was nice to be able to relate to someone in a way, “it’s weird, I get flashes of my first life - fragments really, but I had loads of siblings and I hated it… Yet now I hate not having them,” he supposed it just went to show what you took for granted at times. “Ah, yeah I was always too worried to act up as a kid… Felt like every moment had to count for something or else I’d somehow failed…” not the healthiest mentality for a child to have, but looking back he could recognise his faults. “But I get that - wanting to be alone, silence is good when you just need to recharge but sometimes you need people to balance that…”

He ate a few mouthfuls, a comfortable silence settling over the room between the clinks of cutlery and occasional sip of wine. Nadia’s remark broke the silence and he gave her a smile, “you too… You’re a long way from home,” it was an idle remark, made in passing contemplation of the little information she’d given “ life isn’t easy, but we all make the best of what we have don’t we? It’s what we do with it that truly counts for anything.” His smile broadened at the compliment, “if that’s the verdict on the dinner no clue what you’ll say about dessert.”

“That’s good,” Nadia said, glad she’d been cautious when talking to people about Arthur. If anyone guessed anything about him, it was probably that the man might be a spellcaster of some kind. She really had thought he was, like, a wizard or something after the way he’d healed after their first meeting, with his more bookish tendencies, and, as he’d mentioned, his mostly human facade. “You blend in pretty well. I don’t think I’d have guessed what you were if you hadn’t told me. I mean, I knew a bit about phoenixes in mythology, but I don’t know if I’d have figured you out.”

She smiled at the way he fondly talked of Mercy, reminding her of the way the woman referred to him online. They cared about each other, and it was nice to see. Nice to be able to feel, though it was muted and muddled. “I mean, you two have known each other for forever. Literally.” What was it like to know someone for that long? She couldn’t imagine. She also couldn’t imagine siblings. “I think it was for the best that I grew up alone.” Though, who knew? Maybe she’d be better at the emotions thing. Or, possibly, she’d be worse. “I didn’t act up too much. I kept my grades up and was usually quiet, even though I listened to the wrong kinds of music. My father and I got frustrated with each other a lot. He was always mad, and I always wanted to know why. When I couldn’t figure it out, I gave him reasons.” She took a drink, feeling like she was talking too much. She was talking too much, and about the wrong things. This wasn’t why she’d come here.

Nadia was a long way from home. She was as far away from home as she could be while still being in the same country. She missed home sometimes so much that it ached. But she knew she couldn’t go back. The few people that had she’d known and loved didn’t feel the same about her. “We’re both a long way from home,” she said quietly. She raised her glass to him. “You’re right. We’ve just got to make the best of it. Personally, I’m glad to be here. In spite of how I got here.” She grinned. “If deserts better than dinner, you might be stuck with me. Sorry, but you’ve provided me with a job, good conversation, and stellar food. I’d be a fool to leave.”

“That’s how I’d prefer it to be, most people make the mistake… I’m happy to let them believe it.” If not for certain other traits it was vaguely passable and Arthur would happily stick to that story because it meant keeping him off people’s radar for what he truly was.

“Yeah, kind of crazy when you think about it. She’s barely ever missed a birthday or like-- anything. Even though I can’t even remember my original one now.” It was part of what kept them both sane and in touch with the world around them. “Though doesn’t mean she doesn’t drive me mad at times,” he huffed, but regardless the words were spoken fondly. “You think?” who could say what anyone would be, circumstances and situations played a role in affecting how a person turned out. It didn’t do to dwell for long, but it was a curious thing to contemplate occasionally. Hearing Nadia explain her dynamic with her father caused him to cock his head a little, “it’s hard. Parents are just trying their best to stop kids falling into the same traps they did… But often I find in trying to avoid them they often help steer a path directly towards them anyway. Sometimes you just need to know when to be upfront.”

“True…” he raised his own cup marginally, “to finding new homes” and new families. Though that was left unsaid. “Yeah? I’m still not sure I’m sold - like on one hand it’s great to be in a place with so many other supernaturals but the risk of death or serious maiming is a big damper on truly enjoying it. You know?” He finished up his plate, looking humoured by the remark “well, offer’s always there if you need a place to crash and there’s always food to spare in my kitchen.” Gathering the plates up he headed back to the kitchen, dropping them in the dishwasher before returning with a plate of coconut and passion fruit slices. “Come on,” he waved her over from the dining table towards the lounge and the vivarium situated to one side of it where his tortoises roamed. “Get comfy.” Then they could sit down and talk.

“It’s certainly a good way to protect yourself,” Nadia said, still thinking about what Arthur mentioned about his tears being valuable on supernatural black markets. She dreaded to think what would happen to her friend if someone captured him to use just to make a few dollars.

“Birthdays are pretty important,” she said with a grin. “Speaking of birthdays, when’s yours?” She knew the answer thanks to Mercy, but it’d be best to hold off on that information. She still needed to figure out what he might possibly want, both for the valkyrie and for herself. She wanted to get him something nice, too. Even if she went with what she told Mercy and went the more homemade route. Time, effort, those were the kinds of gifts she’d appreciated when she actually gave a damn about that kind of thing. Birthdays hadn’t been a big deal for Nadia in years, though, even before the possession. These days, she’d appreciated being about to not think about it, drink a little by herself, and then not sleep. It’d been an average day of a birthday, and that had been what she wanted. She appreciated Arthur’s approach to talking about parents. It gave her a good out. “Yeah, everybody says they want better for their kids. Sometimes they just, like, go about it the wrong way, I guess.”

That was the kind of toast she could get behind. She took a drink and laughed, thinking about all the shit she’d been through during the last few months. “Oh, White Crest is hell. Like, probably literally? I was getting sent giant pallets of salt by a company run by demons. But I’ve felt more comfortable here than I have anywhere else, even back home. I have a job that I’ve always wanted and more friends than I’ve ever had in my life.” She grinned as they moved to the sitting area. “I might not crash on your couch, but don’t tempt me to come raid your fridge, Arthur.” She got situated, looking around for the tortoises she’d heard so much about. She was putting off the inevitable, really.

“It’s worked this long, though so far as the hunters I’ve met in town… Most don’t really seem all that good at their jobs, which… isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Arthur remarked thoughtfully. “But yeah, it’s worked so far so… I’ll keep on that track.”

“Mine? Depends, the original - I can’t remember but apparently it was sometime in winter but in this lifetime it’s around the twentieth of June… That’s the day I’ve celebrated though it might be out by a little bit.” Considering there was a period between him coming back and Mercy finding a family to place him with but more or less that was the way it had always been. It worked well enough so no point trying to fix what wasn’t broken. “How about you?” It’d be useful to know for himself, so he could try to arrange something for Nadia when hers did come around. It seemed like the right and good thing to do after all.

“It’s been referred to as a hellmouth in most of the texts I’ve read soooo… take that one how you will” he huffed, this truly was one of the most weird and interesting places he’d ever lived in his life. “By demons? You didn’t sign any contracts right?” He shifted as he settled on the sofa, folding a leg up comfortably. “You’re welcome to it, always spare food. I’ve got four spare rooms going upstairs as well if you ever do feel the need especially to escape those uh, screams…” But that was beside the point, he took a bite of the dessert square looking over at her. “So… You don’t like ghosts?” it was a gentle prod to hopefully lay the path for the true conversation this night was meant to be about.

Snorting a bit, Nadia thought about the hunters that she personally knew. Alain and Kaden were both good guys, even if she didn’t believe in the same things as them. She couldn’t imagine them hunting Arthur down just to sell his tears on the black market. But, then again, she didn’t really know them while they were hunting. Better safe than sorry. “Yeah, that’s smart.”

She nodded. “Twentieth’s pretty soon,” she said with a smile. “You know I’m gonna get you something, right? You could help a gal out, you know, give her a hint, maybe?” She twirled the stem of her wine glass slowly. “I mean, it was back in February. The twenty-third. I didn’t really celebrate.” She shrugged. “Wasn’t that big of a deal.” All things considered, it had been an alright birthday. It had just been a regular Sunday, which is exactly what she’d wanted.

“Hellmouth is fuckng right,” Nadia muttered. “No, no contract. Someone signed me up for a subscription. It’s been, like, cancelled now, though.” She relaxed a little, taking another drink of her wine. “I’ll definitely keep it in mind. My apartment’s mostly scream free… Mostly.” She grimaced a bit, thinking about the essential oils subscription and what a bitch that was going to be. “On second thought, I might be over here, like, once a month. Just when she gets a package delivered.” She picked up a desert square of her own, but, with his question, she wasn’t feeling too hungry. Nadia gave a slight laugh. “Not really ghosts so much as one in particular. But they,” she paused, “scare me.” She ran a hand through her hair. “One of them kind of, like, ruined my life, so.”

“It is,” Arthur agreed to the date being near, but really what did it matter? It was just another year and another birthday. “Honestly, I don’t have much I want. I’d be happy with anything you got me you know? The sentiment is more what matters… Really I’d be happier with like… people coming over, having a meal and just a nice ordinary night you know? Pizza and beers, maybe a barbecue - I haven’t had a good barbecue in ages.”

“Signed you up for a subscription? What are they? Fae? They love their deals, almost as much as spellcasters do” he groaned as he leaned back into the sofa pulling one leg up and tucking it comfortably under the other that still hung off the cushions. “Mostly? She hasn’t done anything recently has she?” he paused gauging Nadia’s reaction to his next question “I’m guessing you know about her… supernatural thing right?”

But talk turned to ghosts, and Arthur tried to be tactful in his line of conversation. Though there was no easy way to let a conversation like this come about. “Right… I got the impression… Do you… I know it’s hard for you,” he started sympathetically, “do you want to walk me through what happened?”

Well, that was absolutely no help to Nadia for Mercy, but it did solidify her thought that he’d probably enjoy something with thought and effort over something expensive. “You know, a barbecue doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I still have leftover fireworks from a thing,” she said. Which, she’d told Erin it’d be for a barbecue. This would certainly make it less of a lie.

She laughed a little bit. “She thought she was doing something nice. It’s the thought that counts. And, like, at least I can look back on it and laugh, now.” Of course, she wasn’t laughing any time Regan’s subscriptions came in and the screaming started, but still. “I mean, she can get a bit… loud sometimes,” she said, wincing a bit. “Yeah, I know about her thing. It’s the worst kept secret ever.” She couldn’t say what Regan’s thing was since she was still bound by Deirdre’s promise, but she figured, if Arthur was mentioning screaming, then he knew. Really, the fact that Arthur knew wasn’t even surprising. At the rate things were going, everyone was going to know about Regan before Regan even knew.

Nadia took a bite of her desert square. It was good, but it still stuck to her throat. She swallowed tightly. “Yeah, yeah, I can walk you-- I mean, there’s really not too much to tell.” She laughed breathlessly, humorlessly. “I was, like, a junior in college. Everything was shitty. We-- me, my parents, my single friend-- we thought I was depressed, which, I mean. But I was getting some bad blackouts, sometimes for days at a time. My friend, she-- I mean, she left. Whatever.” She took a long sip of wine. “It got worse, nothing was helping. I’d wake up and not know where I was, who I was, what I was doing.” She could see herself in a mirror, covered in blood. Whose blood? Whose? “Then, I don’t know. I woke up in White Crest in late December a few months ago,” she said quietly. “Some kids had helped me out. A human soul’s worth thirty thousand dollars, in case you were wondering.”

“A thing?” Arthur inquired curiously, though considering how often fireworks were used for things in America it wasn’t all that surprising of a thing to hear someone say. “Well, if you want to come along you’re more than welcome to.”

“I guess so, though salt seems like an interesting thing to be signed up for…” Useful for ghosts amongst other supernatural things he supposed but he could see how bulk orders could soon stack up to be infuriating. “It is, Kaden accidentally told me but I wasn’t planning on mentioning it to her considering how she gets whenever that sort of stuff comes up in conversation.” It wasn’t surprising how entrenched people could become when the foundations of their very reality of life seemed to be under threat. In a way, Arthur felt bad for her but equally it was important to recognise the danger her denial posed to those that were around her. “The issue is, the longer her denial goes on the more harm she poses to those around her - including you, which unfortunately doesn’t sit very well with me.”

As Nadia spoke, Arthur remained quiet occasionally taking a sip of wine but otherwise he left her to tell her tale not wishing to interrupt her already staccato rhythm. “Do you know anything about the ghost that possessed you?” from the fragments of an overall tale it was clear enough to him that was what had happened. He set his glass aside, sitting forwards and reaching for Nadia’s hand slowly. A quiet show of support and reminder that he would always stand in her corner no matter what. Though he knew in a town like White Crest it wasn’t easy to say she wasn’t at risk again? “Has anything else like that happened while you’ve been here?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in a small soothing arc over her hand.

“I ended up not using them in the way I thought,” Nadia said breezily, not bothering to explain what exactly her “thing” was. Probably best to not mention blowing up the mime restaurant only to end up with the town invaded by mimes for weeks. Especially when those mimes ended up landing him in the hospital.

“Yeah, you ask a neighbor to borrow some salt one time, and you’re stuck with a reputation.” Not an unjustifiable one, though. Nadia kept salt lines up around her house for months, even after the banishment had been put up. She laughed a bit, thinking about just how Arthur bringing up Regan’s banshee-ness would go in a conversation. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. But she’s really not dangerous. Not intentionally. And as long as I can predict when something might upset her,” she flinched a bit, “which, okay, not the easiest, but she’d only really hurt me in person, and I can-- I’m a-- I feel people’s emotions-- empath, so if she starts getting upset or whatever I can kind of prepare for things.”

This time, when Nadia laughed, it was sharp and insincere. “She was a fucking criminal,and she made me a criminal, and she ruined my life for six fucking years.” She sagged a bit under Arthur’s touch, one knee pulled up to her chest and her head resting on it. She didn’t know why it was both relieving and exhausting to tell him this. Maybe it was because it was in person, and his comfort felt real, and having him be here and listen to her meant so much. She should tell him the truth, that she was scared about getting possessed again, that it’d happened more than once, that she knew her ghost hadn’t given up quite yet. Instead, she gave him a watery smile. “It’s been a bit touch and go for a while, but I should be in the clear, ghost wise, now. Just lingering shit, you know? I’m sure your ghost is great.”

“Well, I love fireworks and anything fire related so you’re welcome to bring them along if you want. We can annoy the neighbours with them.”

Arthur laughed at the sentiment, it was kind of funny to hear her say that out loud and the idea of these ridiculously cursed subscriptions was a little bit funny. “Who else got one? I’m curious to know what hellish gifts people were getting from this company.” Nadia did her best to dissuade his concerns, unfortunately, he was schooled enough to know that glass wasn’t the only thing a sound that loud could damage. “Do you know how sound breaks things?” it was a question of genuine curiosity but he explained anyway slipping easily into his more studious nature “it makes things vibrate. The pitch influences how fast those things vibrate and if it’s high and sustained enough things break because of that….” He paused, Nadia might have faith in Regan’s control but Arthur wasn’t quite so certain on the topic “the control is what concerns me… From the stuff I’ve seen people posting online about damage and stuff she doesn’t have it. And depending on what kind of decibels those screams are hitting… If someone’s stood too close they could be seriously injured and they could potentially die. There’s not much that can prepare you for death - and that’s me speaking from experience.” Perhaps it was a solemn subject to touch on, but he wanted to make sure Nadia was truly prepared for the potential consequences of continuing to associate with Regan. Perhaps it was unfair, Arthur knew it wasn’t her fault but Nadia’s well-being was of more paramount concern to him presently.

As she sagged, Arthur continued to hold her hand rubbing the calming pattern into her skin. “What is it you’re afraid people will judge you for?” she’d mentioned it online before they’d arranged this, but Arthur wanted to try and help her work through some of her concerns regarding the things that ahd happened to her - which in his opinion were far beyond her own control. But admitting that was hard and scary in itself. In the kitchen his phone buzzed, but he ignored it. He’d call whoever was phoning back later. He didn’t prompt her to look up from where she’d rested her head, curling into herself in a protective fashion he’d seen countless times across his lifetimes. “Is that what haunts you at night?” the question was softly spoken, “or is it the fear of what this ghost would do if they did come back?” It could very well be both, despite their similarities they were distinctly separate. One concerned the past, and one the future. Her watery smile earned a sympathetic look, and he shifted to wrap his arms around her pulling her in for a tight embrace of comforting warmth that radiated from him. “I get that, but there’s no need to be ashamed of being scared… Possession is… it’s a violation of your person. Your very rights. Being scared of having your control taken away is one of the most valid fears anyone could ever experience - and I’m sure this is something you already know, but it takes time to adjust to life after experiencing something like that…” He pulled back a fraction looking at her with a steady and intense look, “but-- I want you to know if you ever need me. I’m here and I’ll always have your back, no matter the time or how bad you think things are. I’ll always be in your corner. Hm?”

“You know, I don’t know if it was a subscription, but a woman in town was getting sent mayo and bones.” Nadia shivered just thinking about sticking her hands in that fucking mayo, the demon with the goat eyes’ voice in her head. “And you probably saw that Kaden was getting sent large baguettes. That was fun.” She sighed, knowing that what Arthur said about the vibrations was true. Still, she had faith that Regan would figure it out. “I know that her denial is… concerning. But she doesn’t want to hurt people, and I think that’s almost enough to, if not stop the denial, then to at least put her in the frame of mind to accept help. I’m hoping she’ll talk to someone.” She paused, thinking it over. Hanging out with Regan was high risk, high reward. High risk because it could kill her. High reward because she was Nadia’s best friend, and she was easy to spend time with. Besides. Nadia was beginning to enjoy taking risks. “I know she could kill me, but it’s not going to happen. One because that would be such a shitty thing to do to her. Two because I’m going to be careful, I promise. I don’t have a death wish. I’ve got six years to make up for.”

Six years-- almost seven, really-- that she’d never get back. Her relationship with her parents was gone. Even if she could somehow get all the charges against her dropped, it didn’t matter. There was a stain on her now, one that would never go away. She felt it like a ghost, saw it in the mirror every time she passed by. What was she afraid people would judge her for? She was scared they’d see her the way she did late at night when she could do nothing but think. “I’m afraid they won’t-- I’m afraid they’ll just see a criminal or worse. They’ll just see someone to be pitied.” One day, someone was going to look too close and see that something was missing. Maybe the only reason she saw it was because she knew who she was supposed to be before all of this. “I dream about what I did while-- or what I might’ve done. What I could've done.” Everyone died, usually, in her dreams, and she’s left alone all over again. Arthur’s arms around her was the last strike against her resolve. She gripped him tightly, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know who I am, these days,” she said roughly. “But thank you for trusting me and being in my corner.”

“Bones in mayo? Or both separately?” Arthur questioned in mild concern, “see the bones I wouldn’t mind so much… The mayo, eugh” he contorted his face and stuck his tongue out. Definitely not a fan of condiments. The mention of the baguettes made him laugh, “I saw that… Didn’t realise it was Regan’s doing - that’s even better,” he couldn’t help the laugh it was unfortunate but it was kind of funny as a bystander to watch the torment. Even he wasn’t above a good laugh occasionally especially considering the baguettes really didn’t seem like that bad of a thing to receive.

His mood grew a tad more serious “doesn’t want to, doesn't equate to won’t Nadia.” Ultimately, it wasn’t his job nor his position to lecture her or anyone else, but he would advise caution where he felt it was needed. Not that this wasn’t something she had no doubt considered, but he had to at least give himself the peace of mind of saying it out loud. Making sure she heard him and understood his concern for her well-being. “Fine… But it doesn’t mean I don’t think that this isn’t something she needs to come to terms with. Is there no one that can help her with it?”

“Which is understandable,” he said softly, “but sometimes pity, sympathy, compassion - whatever you want to call it from other people isn’t the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it does us a world of good to let someone else feel sorry, step in and help take care of you…” That wasn’t to say it was easy, “taking down those walls that you’ve built if only for a little while will probably help you find some peace and time to recharge.” He squeezed her hands affectionately, “being vulnerable takes a great deal of strength and mental fortitude… To be open to letting other people listen and help and the fact you’re here, that you’re talking about it is a step in the right direction.”

Arthur kept Nadia hugged tight for a long while, pressing her face to his shoulder as he rubbed his other hand over the curve of her spine. “You will. With time, I’m sure you will,” he assured her quietly holding on for a little while longer before he eventually pulled back his hands resting on her shoulders. “I’m proud of you Nadia.”

“Separately,” Nadia said. She pause. “I think? The bones and the mayo were equally bad because they were apparently human bones and had to be examined.” Honestly, after putting her hands in the shit, she planned to never even look at mayo ever again. Laughing along with him, she said, “It’s funny now, and I know she was just being nice, but damn. It was the fucking worse.”

She sighed. “I know. I know. But I trust her not to hurt me. Not intentionally, and I’d never blame her for an accident.” Nadia pinched the bridge between her nose. She didn’t want to keep talking about this. She appreciated Arthur’s words and the fact that he obviously cared for her. It was touching. Still, she was a big girl, even if she didn’t remember six years’ worth of life experiences. She knew how to be cautious, and she could make her own decisions, even if they were fucking stupid sometimes. “It is, and she will, eventually. She’ll get help. It’ll be alright. I believe that.”

Taking in his words was hard, even if Nadia knew they were true. Because she felt all of it—pity, sympathy, compassion— so vividly from other people, and she knew when they were sincere about it, but that didn’t change the way she was. Part of it was the way she was raised: distant parents that wanted to help her but didn’t know how when time after time nothing they did seemed to help. Part of it was also experience: everyone she’d let into her life before left, sometimes cruelly. Countless arguments and phone calls and conversations that led to heartbreak and disappointment weren’t worth it, in the end. She didn’t see her walls as walls; it was more like a suit of armor, and once someone found the flaws and worked their way in, rust was more likely to set in. At that point, armor’s less of a protection and more of a hindrance. She laughed a bit, even though she was crying. She hated the weakness, though she wouldn’t say so. “Being vulnerable sucks major ass, bird boss, but if this is a step in the right direction, then I’m willing to work on it.” Even if it led to more hurt in the end.

They stayed there for a bit, and Nadia allowed the rust to set in. One day, maybe she’d lay her armor down, wouldn’t need it. Maybe in White Crest was different than Phoenix in that way. She was finding comfort and warmth here that she’d never felt before, and that meant something, despite the shit show the place seemed to be. As Arthur leaned back, she wiped her eyes a bit. “Thank you, Arthur.”

As Nadia chose to insist again Arthur fought against the urge to roll his eyes. “Fine,” but it didn’t mean the worry didn’t linger after the fact. But he didn’t want to push too far into that conversation tonight. It wasn’t worth delving into.

Arthur knew his words probably weren’t new. But the lesson of building walls or plating armour plate on top of plate could keep the world and new experiences from ever coming into your life. They could keep you safe and warm but when you waded into waters too deep armour would only weigh you down until you ended up being swept away by the currents. Not to mention their capacity for keeping people at a distance and protecting yourself from hurt was perhaps one of the oldest things he’d seen people do but in the end they had always been left wanting and lonely. That wasn’t something he wanted to see happen to Nadia and if it meant working to keep her safe, to see her through to those better times then he’d happily put the graft in to help where he could. “I know and it might mean down the line you’re opening yourself up to hurt… But you’re opening yourself up to love as well and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s that love is always worth the pain.”

“Ah, least I could do…” he smiled at her fondly, before moving to take his near empty wine-glass. “I think we’re in need for a refill.” With that he got up and headed back to the kitchen but not before ruffling her hair affectionately.

It was mid-pour in the kitchen that it happened. A heat throbbing from the scar on his left palm, the searing pressure as if some invisible force had taken him by the throat as though intent on collapsing it in on itself. He gagged, choking as he felt his air supply cut off, as if it had suddenly been sucked out of the room. The glass and bottle fell, seemingly in slow-motion but in reality it was mere seconds, the crimson swirl glistening preceding the ringing crash of his glass smashing into hundreds of shards on the stone floor. His hands grasp his throat as he staggered, falling as black spots swam across his vision. There was a brief moment of respite, before the pain caused his body to lurch and the cry of pain was stifled into a weak gurgle.

Arthur could never claim to know what it felt like to drown, he’d never been in water for as long as he’d existed. But the shock of icy brackish liquid was instantly debilitating. Strangely, he supposed it was the nearest thing he could imagine to being set on fire, though this was not the familiar warmth but a blistering heat that felt like every one of his cells was being set alight. He gasped for air, but seemingly swallowed only water. Over and over he gasped and gulped greedily, for any hint of oxygen yet the act only served to allow more and more deadly water to be inhaled and swallowed. Hold your breath! He tried fighting for as long as he could until every cell screamed let me breath; his mouth was forced ajar once more gasping again as the phantom water forced its way into his mouth, up his nose and into his bursting lungs.

Tears burned like vinegar as they ran down his cheeks. It hurts. He thought. Why does it hurt so much? Please, please make it stop. Please, I beg of you.

In his last conscious moments, he tried to open his eyes, to see something familiar, but all he saw was the inky darkness of eternal night and a name upon his lips. “Freyja.”

As Nadia sat waiting for Arthur to come back with their wine, she thought about the night’s events, how they went better than she could have expected. Maybe she needed to stop expecting people to hate her for all of this. No one, not a single person she’d talked about this with, blamed her for what happened. She knew, deep down, that she was the victim in the scenario, as much as she hated it. She’d been the one to be possessed, she’d had her life taken from her. She didn’t remember any of the things she’d done, didn’t know how truly awful they were. Still, there was a part of her that expected to be stronger. She had always thought that she could fight off whatever problems came her way. Metaphorically, of course. She wasn’t a big fighter, otherwise. Obviously, the fight had been taken out of her for six years.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sounds of glass shattering. Nadia jumped up from the couch and rushed into the kitchen, not sure what to expect. Certainly not Arthur, on the ground, water gurgling from his mouth, the corners of them burning from it. “No no no nonono,” she cried out as she ran to him, sliding on her knees a bit as she got close. She wiped away the water from his mouth, the tears from his cheeks. His pain, his fear and confusion, all of it was loud and awful in her head. She couldn’t imagine how bad it must be for him since she knew she didn’t feel everything. As he called out for Freyja, for Mercy, she pulled him into her lap, trying to make him comfortable. “It’s okay, Arthur, it’s okay.”

Closing her eyes, she begged for it to be okay. Because, truthfully, she didn’t know. For several minutes, she did her best to calm him and herself down. Before he passed out, he was acting like he was drowning, but he didn’t keep showing the symptoms once he was asleep. All she could do was offer him comfort, trying to assure him that he was alright. She moved them away from the spilled wine and waited for him to wake up. “Please, please be okay.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he was out for, seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time seemed to crawl to a stop as the darkness clouded his vision and a fatal liquid spilled from his mouth; corrosive like acid turning his mouth into a frothing grey mess and cracked his lips until they blistered and bled. His body contorted before it grew still, eyes unseeing and for a moment there was nothing.

He returned to consciousness with a rasping gurgled gasp, flopping over onto his side as he hacked up inky brackish water streaked with blood and spittal. His mouth burned and blearily he could make out someone else in the room with him. But only one thought was on his mind. “Mo-” he tried to say, but the word was cut off by another hacking cough that splattered beads of blood over the floor leaning over on his hands that crunched into the shards of glass on the floor.

“I-- mobile now” he felt faint, as if the world were about to spin away from him again if he moved too fast. But the world hardly mattered if the hollow ache that radiated from the palm of his hand was anything to go by. The lack of familiar warmth and connection from the person invisibly tethered on the other end. He slipped, tripping and catching himself as he blindly searched on the counter for his phone with a trembling hand.

When his fingers latched on, the device was wrenched off the counter and Arthur sank once more to the ground his back pressed into the cabinets. Hands shaking as he saw the missed calls and set about playing the voicemail she’d left. Fresh tears tracked down his face, stabbing the redial button and holding the phone to his ear. “Pickup pickup pickup. Pleasepleaseplease,” there was a strange desperation in the words.

It went to voicemail.

“Fuck!” he spat, jabbing the button again and waiting. Again, and again, and again.

Eventually, on the seventh try Arthur let the dial go through lines of healed skin contrasting to the gruesome maw of his mouth from the connection to Mercy’s death. “Frey? Frey! FUCK Please pick up, pleasepleaseplease. I need you to pick up right now and tell me you’re okay. I felt– it can’t– You didn’t–” he thumped his hand on the ground, blind to the glinting shards that pricked his skin and bled fresh trails of crimson through his fingers. “PICK UP. DON’T YOU DARE! PICK UP RIGHT NOW!” Did it matter he was screaming into the receiver curling over it to make his voice heard wherever she’d gone? Would she hear him then? He pressed the phone harder to his ear, a sob that shook the very foundations of his person working its way up his throat, voice breaking when he spoke after the extended silence. “Please… We only just found each other. I can’t– I can’t lose you now. Please come back, come home. Just one more time… One more time. For me. We’ll make it work. It’ll be different. I promise this time it’ll be different. I’ll be different.” He exhaled, blinking past the tears “I never got to tell you I lo- No. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you when you come back. Please come back…”

By the end of the call he was left staring in anguish at the photo ID on the call his breath short and sharp, shaking as he ended the call. Too fast. Too much. It was all too much. A trembling hand pressed to his mouth, trying to stifle the pain that settled in his chest as he shook his head against the overwhelming realisation of what had happened.

Yelping as Arthur started coughing and leaned over, Nadia sat back to give the man some space. The blood was concerning, and she didn’t have any time at all to process what was happening as he scrambled for his phone. Mercy, something was wrong with Mercy. She could tell before he made the call, before he started screaming into his phone. When he leaned against the cabinets, she moved closer to him, hoping to comfort him with her presence. She didn’t know what else to do. She really didn’t. So Nadia did what she could. She sat with him. His pain was like nothing she’d ever really felt before, but so was the love that was causing it. God, it was miserable. It felt so miserable, and she could barely process it.

When Arthur started breathing too fast, his words tapering out, she grabbed his hands. “Hey, no, hey!” She made him look away from his phone and towards her. “Hey. I don’t-- I don’t know what’s happening, okay? But it’s-- Mercy can’t die, right? Not easily. Right? So it’s--” Fuck, she didn’t know how to do this. “It’ll be-- She’s gotta be okay. She’s going to be okay.” Nadia really, really hoped so. Mercy, in the short time that she’d known the woman, was probably one of the toughest people out there, and the only thing that could kill her was having her head cut off. There was a brief moment of fear, the thought of Arthur choking because of some weird connection with Mercy that made it to where he couldn’t breathe, but he had seemed like he was drowning, not just suffering from no air.

The tables had turned, and Nadia found herself wrapping Arthur in a hug instead of the other way around. She couldn’t affect other people’s emotions; only feel them. But she tried to put as much comfort out as she could, hoping that somehow it would help. Hoping that, somehow, Mercy was okay. “It’ll be alright, Arthur. It will. I promise.”

What Have I Done? || Ch. 10

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: so this gets a little dark. Dark(ish)!Bucky, jealousy, angry sex

Word Count: 3100+

Summary: A bad break up between Bucky and his ex leads to a new friendship with the quiet tech he never had the chance to get to know. Relationships grow, feelings are caught, and boundaries are explored. Bucky thought he found his happy ending, but old memories haunt his future. He knows what he’s doing wrong, dangerous eve, but he can’t help it. Can he fix the wrongs he’s done? -a requested story for @iheartsebastianstan

A/N: It is done. At least this part. I started it forever ago and got stuck. But then I sat down today(5/2) and got it done in half an hour from 250 words to what it is now. Why am I like this? Anyways, this does get pretty... well I wouldn’t give much away but it does get a little dark so maybe a slight trigger warning? I don’t know, it’s nothing bad but underlying it can be. Either way, let me know what you think! Enjjoyy!!!

**THIS IS AN 18+ STORY, SO PLEASE NO MINORS! IF I FIND OUT YOU’RE UNDERAGE AND READING THIS I WILL HAVE TO BLOCK YOU. IF I HAVE TO KEEP BLOCKING MINORS I WILL REMOVE ALL SMUT AND THEN NO ONE GETS TO READ MY SMUT. DON’T RUIN THIS FOR EVERYONE ELSE.

Gif is not mine, credit to the creator.

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Series Masterlist

It started off with small things. Y/N hadn’t noticed them at first, they weren’t anything bad. Or at least, things she thought was bad. Bucky was always touchy feeling. She knew that. It was his way of cementing the fact she was his. Y/N didn’t mind it, of course, she adored the attention he gave her. It was when he started growing possession that was the issue.

The first time he snipped, it sent her eyebrows to her hairline. Clint apparently got a little too close to her side in the kitchen. It wasn’t like he intentionally bumped hips with her the first time when he went to get a bag of chips from the pantry beside the fridge. Bucky spotted it, his chest tightening at her giggle and little stumble when Clint went back to teasingly hip check her once again. Bucky’s angry snap for Clint to back up made them both jump.

Clint sent him a quizzical look. It wasn’t like he overstepped some boundary, he and Y/N both had a sibling relationship. They did this. Y/N was just as confused. Bucky had seen this before. It wasn’t new. Bucky noticed their bewildered looks. His cheeks turned bright red and he muttered an apology before fleeing from the kitchen. That little outburst didn’t faze Y/N, even Clint forgot all about it a few days later.

However, it wasn’t the last time Bucky all but growled at anyone who stepped too close to her. Ryan, the older IT manager with three kids and two grandbabies that came up to help her with her hard drive malfunctioning. Logan and Jayden, the engineers that would sometimes come up to speak with Y/N and Tony about a job. He even snapped at Jason once again, despite knowing he was batting for the other team. It really was brought to her attention when Bucky lashed out at Steve for helping Y/N with her training.

Over the past few weeks, Y/N had been doing some defensive training with Bucky. She wanted to make sure if the time ever came to it, she could defend herself. Bucky was apprehensive, he didn’t like the idea of her possibly getting hurt. Yet he knew he couldn’t always be there to protect her. It took a little convincing, eventually, Bucky relented. The training had been going fairly well. Even though she wasn’t being taught anything crazy, Bucky made sure she could flip somebody over her shoulder if she needed it.

On that particular day, Bucky had been called into a meeting with Fury about his next mission. Still wanting to train that day, Y/N went off into the gym in search of a partner. There she found Natasha and Steve sparing on the mats and made her way over to them.

“Hey, guys!” She greeted. Steve’s eyes darted over to her, a grin spreading on his lips. Natasha saw the opportunity and knocked his feet out from under him. He hit the mat with a slam, the wind knocked from his lungs. Y/N winced. “Oops, sorry Steve.”

“Don’t be,” Natasha smirked, moving around Steve’s prone body to Y/N’s side. “He shouldn’t have let himself get distracted.”

Steve groaned, rolling over to his stomach before standing. He shook his head and scowled over at Natasha. She just shrugged and patted Y/N on the back.

“I’m gonna call it today. Have fun you two!” She waved over her shoulder, walking to the locker room. Steve sighed and rolled his shoulder. She giggled at the pout on his face. Clearly, her swift takedown stung his pride a little. Shaking it off, he turned to Y/N.

“How come Bucky’s not with you?” he asked. “Normally he’s attached to your hip.”

“He had to go in for a meeting.” She giggled. “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to help me with my training since he’s not here.”

“Ah, you need someone to show you how to do it right, huh?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grinning widely at the teasing grin stretched on his face.

“Sure. If that helps you sleep at night Rogers.”

“Not the most convincing thing that’ I’ve heard come out of your mouth, but it’s enough for me.” He gestured for her to stand on the mat across from him. Y/N bit her tongue from replying with a retort and rolled her eyes.

“Hey. I saw that.” Steve pointed at her, the smirk growing wider. Y/N raised a brow and cocked a hip.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, but go off I guess.”

Steve scoffed and shook his head. Y/N was still the shy introvert he knew before she started dating Bucky, but she was vastly more open with the rest of the team since they started. It made Steve happy to know his best friend had such an amazing woman at his side. A stark contrast than Vivian ever was with him.

“Don’t give me attitude, princess.” He mocked. “Step up and get ready to get your ass handed to you.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open, taken aback at his cocky attitude. He motioned for her to stand in the spot across from him, adding extra flare to his gesture.

“You’re full of it tonight, aren’t you?”

“Just cause I wanna see Bucky’s handy work.” He answered simply. “Now, stop stalling.”

Y/N snorted and did as he asked, squaring up to face him. He started off easy on her, pulling his punches and letting her have the upper hand. Y/N wasn’t frustrated about that, she really wasn’t anywhere near his level. She was frustrated with how he was completely unfazed while she was quickly working up a sweat. He must have picked up on her frustration, not like she was hiding it on her face. Steve let out a breathless laugh and decided to kick it up a notch.

“Come on. You can do better than that.” He taunted, jumping from side to side on the balls of his feet. Y/N narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth at him before she kicked at his side. He caught her leg against the side of his stomach, caging it against his side in an iron grip. He tugged and hauled her forward. Since she was only on one leg, she couldn’t fight back as she stumbled on one leg. Steve grinned widely at her, more than aware she was stuck. “Not bad but might have to teach you a few tricks myself.  

“That’s great.” She replied flatly. “Can you give me back my leg now, show off?”

He winked and started to let her leg slip from his grip. His hand just left her thigh when there was a furious shout behind them that started them both.

“ROGERS!”

Both Steve and Y/N’s head snapped in the direction of the booming voice, eyes wide at the sight of Bucky charging across the room. His face was pulled back into a vicious snarl, murder flashing on his eyes. Steve was shocked at the sudden aggression but still stepped forward to meet him halfway.

“Hey, pal, what’s up-?” He was cut off, stumbling backward when Bucky stopped inches from his face. Instantly his hands went up, stunned.

“What the fuck are you doin’ with my girl?!” Bucky snarled, baring his teeth.

“I-we were training!” Steve said, stumbling over his words. He shot a glance over his shoulder to where Y/N still stood unmoving. Her mouth dropped in shock at the display of aggression and possession Bucky suddenly was expressing. He’s never acted like this, especially not towards his best friend.

Bucky didn’t care who it was, it didn’t matter to him. His brain went into overdrive when he saw Steve’s hand caressing Y/N’s leg and how close their bodies were. It made his skin crawl and he saw red. Bucky grabbed the collar of Steve’s shirt and snarled with bared teeth in Steve’s face.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her again,” Bucky seethed. Steve’s hand shot up in instinct once again, his eyes wide in horror. Y/N finally snapped out of her stupor and rushed forward. She grabbed Bucky’s arm, digging her nails into the flesh of his arm.

“Bucky! Let him go! We weren’t going anything wrong!” She pleaded. Bucky grits his teeth and shoved Steve. He stumbled back, barely catching himself from the powerful force of the shove. Bucky glared at him with his shoulder squared and arms at the side with fists, heavily breathing as the fury still coursed through his veins. Y/N struggled to stop shaking, the anger rolling off him in waves almost oppressive. Nervously glancing Steve’s way, she nodded her head once, hoping he understood. Steve’s face twisted in a scowl but stepped back to give Bucky more room.

“Bucky. All we were doing was sparing. Nothing else.” He tried to reassure Bucky, keeping his tone low and calming. Bucky’s lip twitched in a snarl, his eyes hardening at Steve’s words. Y/N gently tugged at Bucky’s hand, desperate to pull him away and take him somewhere else. He fought on briefly, decided to stare Steve down a moment longer before turning at heel and drug Y/N out of the gym by the hand. Y/N sent Steve an apologetic look over her shoulder.

Steve was left rooted in place, stunned and confused at the possessive behavior he just saw from his friend. Worry started to seep in. This wasn’t like Bucky, but he knew that look in Bucky’s eyes. He’d seen it before, years ago. Steve would need to keep a closer eye on Bucky, as well as warning the others of the latest development. This would only get worse.  

~.~.~.~

“Bucky, wait!” Y/N gasped, her eyes shut tightly as Bucky sucked a dark mark on the side of her neck. She tried to center herself someway, raking her nails down the back of his t-shirt. Bucky snarled and grabbed her hands, pinning them above her head. He pulled back, glaring down at Y/N. She felt her heart skip a beat at the anger swirling in his beautiful blues, shock causing her to freeze.

“Not a fucking word.” He hissed low before dipping back down to her neck. Y/N’s mouth fell open, her voice catching in her throat when he bit down, hard, on the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her back arched against the bed, pressing herself up further against Bucky. He kept on his assault to her neck, ensuring her skin was littered with his bites, marking her neck as his. It was a fleeting thought, Y/N knew she didn’t have enough concealer in the world to cover up the marks.

He didn’t stop until he was satisfied, and even then, he was still spurred on my a deeply rooted possession. He let her arms go, but not before snarling at her to keep her arms in place. He eyed the tank top she wore, the memory of her wearing it when she was with Steve flashed across his eyes. Bucky grit his teeth and grabbed the hem of the fabric, tearing it like paper. Y/N gasped.

“Bucky!” She shouted indignantly. Bucky ignored and grasped her sports bar with his metal hand, that too suffering the same fate. “Hey! I get that you’re pissed but don’t go destroying my-.”

Bucky’s hand shot up and wrapped around her throat, his eyes flashing dangerously as if daring her to argue further. His hold wasn’t tight, but it was just sudden enough to surprise Y/N. Her breath caught in her lungs and her eyes grew wide when she looked up at the eyes of the man above her. He didn’t look like the Bucky she knew. There was something wild and disturbing in his gaze. He looked like a man on a mission, a man that was going to follow through with it no matter what the cost.

“I said, not a fucking word.” He snarled once again. Y/N nodded the best she could, her body began to tremble under his heavy frame. It seemed enough to placate Bucky if the low rumble that shook her body meant anything. He gave her throat a minute squeeze before letting her go. A steady reminder of who was in charge. She held still, watching as he lowered his head towards her breast. His nipped and sucked at her flesh, dragging his teeth against her nipple before he sucked it between his teeth.

Whatever fear she felt before fluttered out of her thoughts as he sucked and toyed with her breasts, her eyes rolling back in her head when his metal fingers tugged at her neglected nipple. She thrust her chest into his mouth, her fingers curling into the sheet above her head. She didn’t want to upset him further, she didn’t want him to stop, but she didn’t think she could stop her noises of pleasure slipping from her lips. Bucky smirked against her skin when she let out a low whine in the back of her throat. Just as he did with her neck, Bucky littered her chest with marks, some would take weeks to heal while others he made a note to replace over the next few days.

He dipped a hand into her leggings, groaning low in his throat at how slick she felt. He grunted and tugged off her leggings, underwear and all. He took in a deep breath, his mouth watering at the sight of her dripping between her thighs.

“Fuck, doll. Look at how pretty you are.” Bucky purred. He slid down the bed between her legs and threw one of her legs over his shoulder. She mewled softly, rolling her hips up in response to his warm breath against her eat. He chuckled and drug a finger between her folds, grinning wickedly when he caught her clit between his forefinger and thumb. She whined, rolling her head back and forth. “Got you all worked up, huh? I should just tease to the edge and leave you like that. Serves you right.”

Y/N gulped, shaking her head in response. She wanted to argue, to say she hadn’t done anything wrong, but Bucky hadn’t told her to speak yet. Bucky raised a brow, the grinning growing into a smirk.

“No? You really think you’ve earned the right to come?” He taunted. “I don’t think you do. Not after what you and Steve did.”

She whined again, this time hoping it was enough for Bucky to understand she wanted to speak. Bucky sighed and turned to bite gently on the inside of her leg, holding fast for a moment before he let go with a heavy groan.

“Go ahead.” He said irritated.

“Bucky, we weren’t doing anything but sparing!” The words flew from her mouth, both desperate for Bucky to understand and desperate to get this over with so she could finally come. “I swear! He just wanted to see what we’ve done training wise. That’s it. We’d never- I’d never do anything to hurt you!”

Bucky stared blankly over her hip, his finger mindlessly running up and down her folds as he mulled things over. Y/N twitched and whine with each pass over her clit, but otherwise bit her tongue. Whether he was doing this intentionally or not, Bucky had set a slow pace. It wasn’t enough to send her over the edge, but just enough to keep her there. It was torture.

Eventually, Bucky seemed to come to a conclusion. His eyes harden and he turned to stare up at Y/N.

“I don’t like people touching what’s mine.” He stated seriously. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. Moving with grace and purpose, Bucky climbed back up to come nose to nose with Y/N, his arm’s framing the side of her face to hold himself over her. His metal hand gently took hold of her chin, making sure she couldn’t turn away. “You’re mine. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Y/N’s back stiffened at the finality in his tone. He didn’t seem to notice her shift; he was too busy leaning forward to crash his lips against hers with a bruising force. He let go of her chin to slide between them, wrapping around his cock to lead to her hole. He moaned low in the kiss when his head slipped in. He pulled his lips away and buried his face into her neck just as he snapped his hips forward, filling her in one swift movement.

Y/N let out a startled moan, suddenly so full she felt like she was choking on air. Her hand flew to his back, gripping his shoulders for dear life. He grunted as she gripped him like a vice, an addicting and comforting hold that made his eyes roll back in his head.  

“Fuck, doll.” He groaned. He paused only for a moment to hook her knees over the crook of his elbows before a flip switched inside him now that he was snuggling inside her, surrounded by her warmth. His hips worked on their own accord and began a rapid brutal pace, uncaring of anything but bringing himself and her to their release.

Y/N threw her head back, moaning out as he is cock slid along the spot inside her that turned her boneless. She could hardly keep up, her hips trying to meet with his but it was in vain. Bucky sucked and nipped at her neck once again, his lips muttering something hotly against her skin. She struggled to catch her wits long enough for her brain to register what it was he was chanting under his breath.

“Mine, mine, mine.”

His hand snaked between their bodies. He could feel his end coming close and he wasn’t going to let go until he felt her come undone underneath him. He wanted to watch her face twist in pleasure, a sight only he would ever be allowed to see. He rubbed two fingers rough against her clit, grinning widely at the squeal from Y/N’s mouth.

“Come for me Y/N. Come for me, now.” He ordered harshly. Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She felt the coil snap inside her, her back arching on the bed and her vision turning white.

Bucky echoed her shout with a loud groan of pleasure as he empties inside her, coating her walls. Marking her, as his. Their harsh pants were the only sound in the room, both Bucky’s and Y/N’s chest heaving. He didn’t pull out, not yet. Instead, he rolled them over to their sides and held her close as his eyes slid shut in content.

Y/N sucked in air, her eyes closing tight as she settled against Bucky’s chest. The events from earlier were slowly coming back to her. She hadn’t had the time earlier to process everything before Bucky threw her on the bed and practically ravished her. However, now she had time to think it over and she was slightly terrified. Bucky didn’t act like the Bucky she knew. He acted like someone else, someone more terrifying.

She shifted, her heart rate picking up for a completely different reason now. Bucky grunted when she moved against, a tiny scowl passing on his face. He tightened his grip around Y/N, blissfully unaware of her tensing in his hold. Blindly leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered possessively against her crown.

“Mine.”

I’ve been thinking about Dante a lot recently so here’s some random Dante things (under the cut because it’s p long. don’t worry, they’re all SFW!!)

He has a nice singing voice. It’s one of those voices that is perfect in its imperfections, mostly only heard at night between friends, without any instruments to accompany it. He has sung both his boyfriends to sleep on numerous occasions (though Vrox will never admit it.)

He doesn’t mind drinking, but he’s very careful about how much. He only ever gets tipsy.

He has a routine and he gets edgy if it’s disrupted, even if he tries to hide how it affects him.

His hair is curly and soft when he lets it grow out (part of the reason he keeps it cropped is because it genuinely does make him look less intimidating and that’s bad in his line of work.)

He is very practical.

He can hellgate (it’s very hard for humanborn demons to learn), but it takes a lot out of him. In general he doesn’t enjoy hellgating.

He had a Hmong dog as a child, named Hoàng. They did everything together.

Sometimes when Vrox is trapped in his hound form and Dante has a spare moment, Dante will go down to his cage and sit with him and read to him. Since Vrox can’t tell the difference like that anyway, he mostly reads Vietnamese stories to him. Jesse is still better at calming Vrox down (and hound-Vrox only associates Dante with Dante yeeting him bodily into a cage) but it does help a little, and it makes Dante feel better about the whole thing.

One of his closest friends is a hound called Amelia. She was close with Dante’s late partner Fain, and the two mourned together and grew very close. He trusts her enough to help him run the pack, since it’s impossible for him to do everything by himself (even tho he hates that he can’t.)

He’s extremely fluent in English but he misses Vietnam and his mother tongue so much occasionally he’ll hellgate back to his home country on his days off, just to be surrounded by it all again.

His skin is a dark olive tone.

He is a great listener and a reassuring presence. He also gives surprisingly good advice.

He typically sleeps on his back.

He’s a bit of a boomer when it comes to memes but he does his best and supports whatever crazy shit Jesse texts to him on the regular.

On top of his usual work load, he also teaches self defence classes on earth.

His biggest scar is the one across his left shoulder. He got it on one of his first days as the pack’s enforcer, he didn’t get an out of control hound into a cage fast enough and it mauled the shit out of his shoulder/collarbone/chest. It’s healed and faded now but it’s still noticeable.

Have I ever mentioned that his ears stick out a bit and it’s adorable???? yes??? what do you mean I’ve said it 500 times???

His favourite colours are green and pink, but his signature colour is dark grey.

When anything bad or stressful happens he stays very firm, calm and in control, but everybody how knows him knows to check on him afterwards, because he will not take a moment to think of himself otherwise. A lot of the time he doesn’t properly process what happened and that leads to trouble down the line.

In general he always puts others before himself.

He has thought about having kids before, but he knows it’s unrealistic, given how dangerous his life is and the fact that demons are infertile. He considers the pack his family instead.

He was 28 years old when he died, but he always looked mature for his age.

He’s 5′10. Vrox will not let him forget that he’s a few inches shorter than him, even if he’s still tall.

He cHUGS HIS RESPECTING WOMEN JUICE

He is very protective but knows his boundaries and is always happy to play a role of simple support to somebody instead of barging in and trying to fix their problems. He just always lets people know he’s there if they need him and to never hesitate to ask for help.

He knows every member of the pack by name, also every member’s history, temperament, struggles and growth.

He tries to be very mentally stable and kind but underneath that person he wants to be is a man who loves violence and doesn’t know how to live without it.

He only stopped participating in each and every war that rolled around because he was almost killed, June dragged him out of danger and had to risk their own life to save him, and gave their first real command as his superior to knock it the fuck off. So he threw himself into his work instead.

Despite being earthborn, he is extremely proficient with his hound form, able to change to it and back in under a second, which makes him devastating in combat. He is also far more in control of that side of himself than others, since he’s had a lot of practice keeping his more vicious side contained.

He has severe PTSD but over the decades he’s gotten very good at hiding it, and the signs of it are far more subtle than most people would know to look for. He does go to therapy on and off when things get particularly bad, more to stop himself from hurting or damaging his relationships with his loved ones than for his own health and safety.

He always tries to get both sides of a story and is a pretty good mediator, until he decides one side if definitely in the wrong.

Like other hellhounds/most demons, his eyes glow in the dark. It can be very unsettling.

His voice is deep, quiet, and even, and can be very expressive. When he gives a command, people don’t tend to ask questions, he has a kind of innate total confidant authority that he has absolutely earned. 

((He’s kinda thicc like a bowl of oatmeal))

One time he literally threw somebody who wouldn’t stop misgendering Jesse out a window. Unfortunately it was on the first storey so the dude lived.

((Seriously he could throw you across a football field it’s gREAT))

He has violently and quickly murdered a few people. Just a few. A light smattering. A handful. A thimble’s worth of murder.

Yeah okay, he should probably be in prison at this point.

He has 4 of the exact same outfit and he rarely wears anything else. Just black tank tops for summer, a few grey shirts in the winter, and cargo pants. That’s it. Well, the pack did buy him a pink shirt for his birthday and he wears that a lot too.

He has a bomber jacket but he rarely gets to wear it because his boyfriends and Amelia shamelessly steal it all the time.

June also steals his shirts (half because it’s an act of dominance, half because his scent is comforting to them because they associate him with safety but they would rather die than admit that)

His real, full name is Giang Văn Diệu, Dante was a joking nickname given to him by Fain when he first came to Hell that just stuck.

People try to get him to react differently by calling him by his real name but he never reacts the way they expect him to and that has disappointed a lot of hounds over the years.

He sees through bullshit pretty well.

He can be absolutely hilarious when he tries to be.

On another one of his birthdays the pack collectively got him this mug:

and it’s his favourite material possession in the world.

He hates formal suits, so of course June crams him into one gleefully at every given opportunity.

He plays the guitar but he’s self-taught with only a few lessons from Fain, so he does everything wrong, but all in all it sounds okay.

He would die for any member of his pack without hesitation.

He’s an early bird and he doesn’t really know how to sleep in, but he still enjoys it when he can, even if it feels weird. (Yes he lowkey judges and doesn’t understand both his night owl boyfriends.)

He has almost died more times than he can count.

He is colourblind (I haven’t figured out which type yet tho) and he will laugh very, very drily at any dog jokes you throw at him for that.

He will never turn away a person in need (unless that person doesn’t deserve any help.)

He is surprisingly good at video games.

Yes he has carefully moved any new hellhounds that fell asleep from exhaustion into more comfortable positions and covered them over with blankets and gave them a gentle pat on their hair/shoulders.

He just likes taking care of people (in both ways those words entail lmao)

La Persistencia de la Memoria

Aunt Rosmertha used to say that females are the creations of Satan, full of sin, and meant to be reprobated, something that Beverly was never able to fully understand as a child, but it has surely changed when she reached the puberty. If someone asked her to describe puberty in one word, in her case, she would say ‘bizarre’, or even simpler – ‘lustful’. Yes, puberty is definitely lustful, she thinks as the water is running down her back, leaving traces of foam on its way, the foam that is just about to rinse. Who is she even trying to fool? Of course she has noticed how handsome Richard is. She sees the way women look at him, the way he can easily attract them. Although it does not change the fact that in most of those cases, they will not make the first move, in his case it takes very little effort to succeed, since usually just a mere proposition is enough for him to get what he wants. And she hates it, even though she knows he is a man who has his own needs, but she simply cannot stand the thought that when she is out, he may bring a woman here and fuck her in the living room or wherever else. But the truth is that no matter what he performs with them, he has been in love with one and only woman for last nineteen years. And this woman is not her. And she hates it. On the top of that she knows he is waiting for her, and on the top of that top he knows that she knows that he knows. Twisted shit, as her friend Tammy might say, but Tammy is a slut, another fucking whore who pays her visits just in hope to fuck Richard. F U C K   R I C H A R D Painted in Tammy’s blood on the shower glass door, her hand helplessly tossed over toilet seat threating to dive into the filthy water. F U C K   R I C H A R D Her mind screams. It screams in vain, so loudly that she almost collapses on the floor. Although she does not fall, the dull thud causes her to cautiously slide on the wet, pearly surface. She whimpers almost like a wounded animal, her vision blank, her body numb, and then it all snaps, the inability is gone, and so she gets up, supporting her weight on the tap, the new idea still fresh in her head. Oh, she is so going to regret that. Or maybe not. * * * He watches as the cigarette smoke curls in the air, the shape oddly reminding him of that night in 1967, the Summer of Love, as some people like to call it, the most memorable experience he ever had, the night when he turned from a lost puppy boy to a rugged man. He remembers the campfire, the way that warm fire created reflections on her face and how it emphasized the small mark on her top lip. She laughed at his jokes, her head lulling slightly to the side, mind drowsy because of the joint they had just finished. He shivers at the thought, then smiles to himself as he rakes his fingers through longish hair, slicking them back. Then she was gone, all too soon and he never got enough of her but he doesn’t think he would ever be able to. He was lucky to spend those two years with her anyway, and although she is gone now, she has not left him all to himself. Actually she left a pretty significant, yet troublemaking trace who is probably in the middle of taking a shower upstairs as he is smoking alone in the dark room, the habit he picked up after Debbie’s death and still, after seventeen years, cannot fully get rid of. Or maybe he does not want to. Maybe it just helps him to recreate this memory in his head over and over again, the anchor that keeps him connected to the reality, that helps him not to lose his mind completely. Especially while Bevy is taking a shower upstairs. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, a single word that holds all his pent-up frustrations, both sexual and emotional. Probably mostly sexual in this case, but it actually depends on how he perceives it at the certain moment. And yet there remains a question he still is not able to answer. Does he love Bevy? Probably in his own twisted way, he does, but what does it even matter if his love will cause her more harm the benefits? Why do we crave for things we cannot have? Despite his slightly shaken-up state, he waits for her patiently, tapping his cigarette, smoked almost to the filter, on the ashtray to get rid of the excess dust that may leave stains on the sofa, as if it all matters at the end. “I told you not to smoke in the room,” she speaks, her voice reaches his ears before he can see her. “And I told you to stop lurking in the shadows,” he rasps, settling the cigarette aside. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” “Seems like we can’t live up to our expectations, can we?” She teases, her head tipped to the side slightly. As she speaks, he steals a glance at her figure and frowns, emphasizing those two thin lines between his eyebrows. She has tied her hair in a messy bun, and Debbie never did that. “I like when you have your hair down.” “You like many things,” she rolls her eyes, but lets her hair down anyway, damp curls spilling down her back like a curtain. She knows he has been thinking about her again, and the thought alone makes her sick. She hates her deep down, but will never admit it to herself. She hates that he loves Deborah more than he loves her. She hates that when he looks at her, he sees Deborah. She hates that she has to pretend it does not hurt to be called Deborah sometimes, even if by mistake. And how she hates Deborah herself. But the truth is that she just wants to please him. She flops down on the sofa, sitting cross-legged beside him, his own T-shirt riding up her thighs, exposing the crescent-shaped scar that marks her skin there. His hands itch to touch her. What if he just ran his hand up her thigh? How would she respond to the caress? Would she shiver, or would she grasp his hand and- “You know I’m not her, right?” She murmurs faintly, her voice rocking through the silence like his grandma’s wooden chair, over and over, tunes fading within the split second, although it seems like an eternity for him. “Don’t-“ “Of course,” she rolls her eyes, getting up from a coach, his hands trying to grasp her, but miss her by mere inches, as she ducks to the side. “I’m sorry I forgot how much you enjoy cutting this off anytime I start over. You know what? I don’t think you’ve ever loved me as Beverly. I think the only person you consider me to be is Deborah! Tell me why you love her so much. Tell me what she had that I don’t have!” In a fit of anger, she pushes him surprisingly vigorously considering the fact she is almost a head shorter than him and a way weaker. “C’mon, tell me!” She yells, her voice cracking at the end, and suddenly, completely out of blue, she slaps him hard across his face, causing his glasses to skew on his nose. His eyes widen in shock, cheek stinging as he raises his hand to touch it, quickly fixing his glasses as he goes. She knows perfectly that she has overstepped her boundaries by this point, that slapping him is the least reasonable thing she could do, and he will probably punish her for that in his favorite way possible, by giving her a silent treatment, but it is too late to withdraw anyway. “Answer me!” She practically cries out, trying to hit him again, but this time he grasps her by the wrist, pushing her firmly until her back hits the wall with a little bit too much force. “You want me to treat you like an adult? Then fucking act like one,” he hisses through gritted teeth, looking at her intently for a few seconds, the vein on his forehead visibly poking, and again, she does the least reasonable thing she could possibly do under these circumstances. She kisses him. She kisses him in the feat of anger, of passion, biting and bruising, until she gasps for breath, and yet he does not respond, star-struck by the whole act. She catches him out of the guard completely, and for a moment he thinks that he is in some sort of weird hellish heaven where his daughter, the object of his uncontrollable lust for almost two years, finally fulfills his darkest desires. He knows that he should stop, that he should gently turn her down, but he cannot, he cannot, and it has been too long since he felt something, and since everyone deserves at least a little bit of relief from time to time… he kisses her back. He kisses her back, claiming her lips possessively, as he pushes her dainty body up against the wall, his newfound vigor making her mind dizzy and body light. He is very much aware of the fact that he has to break away, even if only for breath, but he knows neither of them will be able to carry on afterwards, and yet he does it either way. She looks into his eyes, usually cold and calm, but not this time. This time his gaze is hot, almost unbearable, and she has to fight the urge to look away, as he eyes her almost as if he was a predator and she was his prey. And his lips, they are so deliciously swollen which surely does not get past her attention, as she forces herself not to touch them, since he does not look like a man who would enjoy this particular caress. Suddenly something within him snaps, and he lets her go abruptly, but she does not even bother to check how much he has bruised her wrists. Instead she watches him leave the room, without a single word, angry footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. The next sound that pricks her ears is the rapid slam of his bedroom door, her body sliding down to the floor limply, back supported by the wall. This is going to be a long night. * * * The sound of bedroom door slamming shut vibrates in the air, breaking the peacefulness of the night like an abrupt hurricane, a hurricane that you know might come one day, like a catastrophe that has been hanging over you for such a long time that you even forget it has ever existed at all. In his case the hurricane caries one name only – Beverly. He cannot recall if he has ever been this shaken-up after Debbie’s death, and for a split second he thinks that the sexual aspect of the frustration makes it even worse, but he quickly pushes it away. Nothing marked him more than Debbie’s death. Before his mind manages to come up with anything else, he pushes the door to his adjoining bathroom, switching on the fluorescent light as he goes, (why did he even picked up this color?) and eyes himself in the mirror. First his gaze lands on the angry red handprint that marks his cheek, hissing as his fingers slip past it. Fuck, she really hit him hard. Then he flicks his tongue over his still swollen lips, secretly wondering if her taste is still present there, gasping when indeed, he discovers a hint of her cherry-flavored chapstick upon them. Well, if he was not hard before, he certainly is now. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, raking his fingers through his messed up hair, another one of his nervous habits that he has developed over the years. Oh, how he would use a drink right now. * * * The first thing she experiences in the morning is a soft, yet disturbing. ticklish-like feeling that slowly brings her back to senses, sunlight caressing her freckled skin. She yawns and stretches her limbs, then drowsily gets up from the coach, making her way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee that Richard probably left for her on the countertop. She is practically sure that he has gone out somewhere and will not be back until late, which is a habit of his, avoiding her after every argument that is linked with Deborah, until she cannot take it and practically begs him for forgiveness. But not this time, she thinks as she examines the bruised wrists. This time the tables have turned. * * * She giggles again in that girlish way he especially hates, probably because she thinks that if she laughs at all of his jokes, she will get laid properly, by a man, not a boy. He is presumably twice her age anyway, she does not look like she is old enough to buy her own drinks or even go to college. As if it all matters at the end… Also, Bevy never laughs in such a silly way, but at the moment he is too drunk to even care. Partly he suspects that he is getting too old for this, but he is a way more than casually tipsy and the only thing that is occupying his mind is to just fuck this oh-so-willing blonde and hope not to catch any STDs. As if it all matters at the end… He looks her up again, this time paying less attention to the acne scars on her cleavage and now he notices she could certainly lose five or seven pounds. Well, at least her tits are nice, or maybe it is just the push up bra, maybe they will turn out to be saggy in the end. Oh how he wishes he could be with Bevy instead. “How about we go to your place?” She purrs, trying to sound seductively, but the only response she gets from him is a barked-out laugh, clearly not the sign of a long pent-up desire. “No Marla-” “Lesley.” “I don’t give a fuck about your name, sweetheart,” he huffs, clearly becoming annoyed with the girl and her needy acts. “If you want a man to fuck you that bad, we can pay a visit to the nearby toilet, or you can go back to your parents, the choice is yours.” “I-” she stutters, out of words before she even starts. “Listen, I don’t care about your needy, winey bullshit-” (I only care about Bevy’s needy, winey bullshit.) “You fucking prick!” She cries, the squeaky sound attracting attention of a few people sitting in a bar. Before he gets a chance to respond, she throws her drink in his face, eliciting a gasp of shock from him. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters under his breath, before he gulps the rest of his whiskey, quickly strolling out of the pub and back home. Back to Bevy. * * * She almost falls from the coach when the front door abruptly slams shut, the sound that is soon followed by heavy, draggy footsteps that creep closer and closer to the living room, until she sees him, leaning by the doorway, probably because he is unable to stand on his own, hair tousled, eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed, looking directly at her until she cannot take it anymore. “Richard?” She almost whispers, faintly, cautiously, since she has no idea what his next move might be, especially now. “C’mere,” he murmurs groggily, offering his free hand for her, but she knows it is not the best idea to trust his sense of balance under these circumstances. “What?” She asked, her voice coming out as surprisingly scared and quiet. “I said c’mere,” he growls, clearly close to losing that little of patience, that little of self-control he still maintains, which is probably the last thing she wants to experience right now. “How much have you drunk?” She asks, as she crosses the room until she stands face to face with him, looking up into his eyes. “I’m not drunk,” he refuses, shaking his head and almost losing his poor balance in process, but she manages to somehow grasp his forearms, hoping that it will be enough to keep him upright, since she knows there are fat chances she would be able to lift him from the floor. “How about you lay down then, huh?” She raises her eyebrows, deciding not to argue with him on this point and at the same time hoping to convince him, since babysitting Richard is the last things she is in the mood for performing. “Only if you lay down with me,” he says seemingly out of nowhere, and yet it should not surprise her, since his current state of intoxication can be only described as ‘fucking wasted’. “Fine,” she agrees after a few seconds, wanting to avoid any possible discussions at this point. Plus she will leave him there all to himself anyway, so what is the problem? Who is she even trying to fool? However and despite anything she mentioned before, she gently grasps his hand, leading him to his bedroom, where she tells him to get ready for bed, well at least do as much as he is capable of, leaving him to complete those bunch of tasks in the bathroom. Within those four minutes, she hears a few wizzes, quieter clatters joined by a few angry ‘fucks’, and a particular loud crash followed by a long and rather interesting string of curses, until finally, he comes out of the bathroom dressed only in his underwear. Although he always sleeps like this, without any T-shirt or pants, her breath hitches as soon as she sees him like this, the lack of clothing certainly does not leave much to the imagination, her gaze raking over the newly exposed skin, two inked ravens marking the flesh just below his left collarbone. She often dwells on the story held by the tattoo. Meanwhile she hears her heart thumping inside her ears, stomach doing somersaults, eyes closing for a second which is supposed to help her relax, but instead Richard choses that moment to pull her with him to the bed, almost making her scream as his long fingers wrap around her forearm. In all honesty, the fact that he remains almost speechless makes her anxious, it seems as if he is planning something and just waits until the right moment comes. Finally, as soon as they get under the covers, he speaks, the raspiness of his voice oddly soothing in her notion as it gently rakes through the silence. “I’m sorry baby,” he mutters, the pet name rolling out of his tongue surprisingly smoothly. “I-I shouldn’t have kissed you yesterday. It was highly inappropriate and I’m so sorry… I-” Jesus, he really is drunk. Which may actually be an amazing opportunity to push Richard to perform something both of them would like, which, again, is just another lie. Why does she keep lying to herself? Living up to her expectations, she decides to drag this a little further, to play a little game, to see where this game may lead them. And oh, has she always loved games. “It’s fine,” she lies, hesitating for a moment before adding the rest of a sentence. “I did like it though.” “I know you did,” he purrs, pulling her a little bit closer to him with the arm wrapped around her waist. “You made it too obvious, Bevy.” While he is speaking, breath hot atop the tender skin of her neck, she feels her body heat up, both from the warmth of his body and newfound lust bubbling inside her. His scent hits her nostrils, the strangely appealing mixture of mostly alcohol, cigarettes, his cologne, and sweat that makes her mind dizzy and her insides clench as it brushes her nose teasingly. He is railing her up on purpose and she loves to be railed up. “Tell me Bevy,” he whispers, his hand grazing her thigh, the unexpected coolness of his flesh, oddly comforting against her heated skin. “Have you ever been with a man?” “What?” She asks, her whole body cringing slightly at his question, the barely noticeable flex of her muscles that unfortunately does not seem to get past his attention, as the hand that was previously stroking her thigh, wraps around it in an almost possessive manner. “Have you, Bevy?” “If by asking that, you mean if I have ever had sex before, then the answer is no,” she answers properly now, her usual self-confidence back, but the hint of restraint and nervousness still present behind her slightly arrogant exterior. “What have you done then?” Fuck, she should have figured out he will dwell on the subject. “I’ve only kissed one before, excluding you,” she states as the furious blush dusts her freckled cheeks. “It was a long time ago.” “Well,” he starts, dragging the monosyllabic word slightly. “How about I show you something fun then?” Her breath hitch as soon as he makes the proposition, legs clenching involuntary to relieve the sudden ache that blossoms between her slim thighs. Did he really say that or is she just imagining things? She makes a mental note to just keep it cool and do not freak out. “Yes, please,” she agrees, absolutely entranced. “Good girl,” he murmurs, the smirk audible in his voice. As soon as these words slip past his lips, he pulls the covers down to expose their heated bodies, making her shiver as the cool air embraces the warm skin. He sits up, back supported by the headboard, fumbling with the buckle of his watch for a couple of seconds until it lets lose, lying it on the nightstand afterwards along with his glasses. She has always found it somehow fascinating to watch him complete those mundane tasks, such as shaving or tying a tie. He gestures for her to sit between his legs, which provides both of them enough space, the essential convenience for her and room for maneuver for him. She settles down, lying her head on his chest, the thumping of his heart audible in her ear, her ginger curls tickling his skin lightly. Despite his drunken state, he senses her nervousness, the way her body trembles slightly betrays her real emotions visibly enough, and the last feeling he wants her to associate with what he is about to do is fear. Therefore the first action he takes consists of something that may help her relax – a back massage, since it does the trick in most of the cases. But for some reason he wants her bare for that. “Take of your shirt,” he says and he knows it is convincing enough for her to complete the task, the control he holds over her is somehow exciting, and of course he is not mistaken on that one. With trembling hands she pulls the material over her head, her spine arching as she does so, hair spilling down her back like a thick curtain. Having brushed her hair to the side, he places his hands on her shoulders, fingers digging into her skin slightly as he squeezes the flesh, making her gasp in relief. His movements are pretty much gentle, which she finds kind of surprising since she expected something a little bit different, but under these circumstances she, indeed, prefers the tender massage. As the time passes, his hands slide more freely over her skin, moving all the way from her shoulders down to her waist, having Beverly squirm on his lap, the teasing touches not enough to ease her. He groans due to the friction her movements cause, and despite the earlier alcohol consumption, he feels himself harden within the tightness of his pants, the material applying uncomfortable pressure to the erection. To speed things up, he shifts his right hand to her breast, left arm looping around her waist to keep her from squirming too much, as he gently squeezes the flesh, pinching her nipple afterwards. She squeals as the sensation washes over her, trying to rub her thighs together for friction, but as soon as he notices this, he spreads her legs, using his calves to keep them open. At the moment he does not like the thought of her pleasuring herself. Not that he does not like it in general. “Richard,” she whines urgently, the hot ache between her legs constantly reminding about its existence, and at this point her main focus is to get him to finally touch her in a way she wants to be touched. As he keeps teasing her breasts, she cannot help but wonder how his touch will feel comparing to her own, probably different but how much? Will it be good or bad different? Will it hurt more than she expects? Will she simply enjoy it? The fact that she is so close to finally find out, only makes her more anxious and more desperate for answers. “Richard, please,” she whines again, this time grinding against his erection, making him groan deeply, his hand squeezing her breast harshly, the urge to grab onto something too strong to suppress. “What is it?” He teases, chuckling when she claws onto his forearm in frustration, long nails digging into his skin painfully, but he barely feels it, since the object of his current fascination is deeply beyond this. Right now he is wondering if he could make her cum just by touching her breasts. “It hurts, please. I-” Before she gets the chance to finish her plead, his left hand slips between her legs, easily covering up the whole area, fingers gliding over the wet material as he circles her clit. She shudders in his arms, her hips buckling instinctively for more friction, as he keeps stroking the swollen nub, until she whimpers his name in such a needy way that it makes him shiver, desire pooling low in the pit of his stomach. “How does it feel baby?” He asks, his fingers dipping just below the fabric, brushing her inner thighs as he does so. “Better than when you do it?” “Better,” she answer, her voice forming a breathy moan. “A way better.” “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, heady with lust. Lust for her. And she is burning. Everything is burning, and for the first time in her life burning feels so good, almost surreal, as she arches her back, lacing their fingers together, the urge to grab onto something impossible to ignore. But she needs more. And he will not give it to her until she begs him. “More, please,” she breaths, but instead of obeying, he keeps teasing her through the damp material, and within split second she realizes what is the case here, what is he subconsciously waiting for. “Daddy, please.” Satisfied with her answer, his hand slips past the waistband of her panties, groaning as the generous amount of wetness coats his fingers immediately, gaining a breathy sigh from her. If he is being honest with himself, he cannot recall if any girl he had since Debbie’s death has ever became this aroused just by such simple actions. Maybe it is just because of their virginity. “Fuck,” he groans, as his fingers reach her fluttering opening, unconsciously checking if she is wet enough “You’re soaked. You really needed this, didn’t you?” “I did,” she agrees, much to his delight, moaning softly as his finger presses against her entrance, sliding in afterwards. She gasps for breath as he stretches her, squeezing his free hand tighter, but instead of waiting for her to adjust, he begins to slowly move his finger, soon adding another one. Maybe it is just because he has grown sick of waiting. Also, he likes the way she responds to his caress. Her reactions, comparing to others, are very… organic, which he has always found more enjoyable, since he is sick of their artificial moans, exaggerated reactions, he is sick of false women in general. But who is not? “Richard…” she whines, her head lulling to the side slightly, hair tickling his chest. “Bevy…” he mimics her, fingers still moving inside her, making it hard to focus on what he is saying, but still, his voice gets to her perfectly, the way he says her name impossible to ignore, breathlessly, as if he was the one close to coming, not her. Oh how she wishes it could be this way… On the top of that, she feels impossibly dirty. Actually she has never felt so filthy in her entire life, and never been this wet, certainly not for her own father. If someone told her that she would be engaged in this particular situation with Richard, she would simply laugh, thinking that it is more likely that even Tammy would be here instead of her. But she is here, not Tammy. Not Deborah. She. While she is gloating over her own happiness, he is able to sense how close she is, the way she is squeezing his fingers is acknowledgeable enough, and all he wants right now is to make her come. Make Beverly come. He shudders when it crosses his mind. “C’mon baby,” he encourages her, voice low and raspy in her ear, laced with lust. “Cum for Daddy.” Well, that did it. She cries softly, digging her nails into his hand painfully once more this night, her dainty body shaking in his arms as he coaxes her through the aftershocks, withdrawing his fingers seconds later. He lets her rest on his chest for a minute or so, something he normally avoids, since he is afraid of creating an emotional bond, but this time he makes an exception for her since it is definitely not the case here. As soon as he removes his hand from between her legs, she slides the wet panties down her legs, wanting to avoid the unpleasant humidity, dropping them on the floor afterwards. Despite the slight weakness in her legs, she gets up, but in a matter of seconds he pulls her down to bed, making her squeal, then giggle in that girlish way he normally hates, but it surely does not apply to Bevy. It seems like many things do not apply to Bevy. * * * She is sitting on a stool, her back turned towards him, facing the wall, staring blankly at the small red spot there. “Seems like you’ve been doing great recently,” she speaks, her voice bitter, cutting through the silence like a set of knives, poking his ears with their tips. “It’s not how you think it is,” he tries, the reasoning poor even in his own perception. “Then why don’t you tell me how it is?” She asks, turning around on the stool to face him, with a mocking smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I don’t know,” he sighs, this time revealing the truth, because in all honesty, he has no idea what is he doing and that scares him. “You’re a broken man Richard.” “I am,” he laughs bitterly, the sound too harsh for his own ears. “She is just a teenager, and you only keep hurting her. All she wants is your love, and you can’t even give her this, without associating her with me. And she is a not me. She is not Deborah. She is Beverly. And she loves you more than anyone ever loved you.” “Doesn’t matter, the damage is done,” he denies, the bitter smirk still marking his face. “You haven’t changed at all,” she laughs, shaking her head. And her laugh is the pretties sound he has ever heard. “But I love her, Debbie. Don’t you see it?” “Why do you love her then?” She asks, the question lingering in the air for a couple of seconds, before he gives her the answer. “Because she’s my daughter.” This time her laugh is bitter. “I don’t think you are able to love someone unconditionally. You just love her because she reminds you of me. And nothing else.” “Maybe,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so selfish too.” “Said the most altruistic person,” she rolls her eyes mockingly. “Maybe,” he continues, “you shouldn’t have overdosed. And maybe you should take care of Beverly when there was time for that. I think it’s easy for you to judge me. You have no idea what does it mean to suffer, do you?” “And you? Do you know?” She asks for the last time, her words fading as the bright light swallows her. She has not changed at all, always leaving him unsettled. * * * He stirs underneath the warm covers, sunlight tickling his closed eyelids, forcing him to open them with a groan of disapproval. He sighs, snuggling into a source of warmth in front of him, morning wood painfully reminding of its existence, as he rolls onto his back, waiting until it goes away by itself. It usually does, but the presence of another warm body beside him seems to disturb the process for the tiniest bit. Well, maybe not the tiniest. He sighs, as he lights up the cigarette, another nasty habit he has – smoking just after he wakes up, especially when the dull ache drums against his temples. The well-known quiet crack of the lighter is all it takes to fulfill his little desire, the pain seems to abate as soon as the new portion of nicotine licks over his nerves. Addictions are nasty, the phrase that his mother kept telling him back when he was a child. He wonders what would she say, if she saw him right now with his naked daughter pressed to his side. He snorts at the thought, causing Beverly to twitch in her sleep, but never wake up. He must have worn her out last night, since she is certainly a light sleeper, and normally she would be up as soon as he moved to get the cigarette from the nightstand. Despite the distraction, (his carries one name only) his mind returns to the track opened by his previous thoughts with the misty vision of his mother, the woman he hates more than anyone else in the world. If he was a religious person, he would ask the Devil to bless her repulsive soul. The point is that he represents everything she hated, everything contrary to her moral values, everything that made her blood boil hot. He will never forget the way her eyes narrowed when she suspected he had lied to her, always disappointed, her expectation never to be fulfilled. When he was younger, he found her utterly dreadful, her figure always towering over him, judging the small boy from her point of view. And did she ever was a tall woman. Everything changed when he reached the puberty, the silent bale not so silent anymore. He became the man of the house, he held the control over his predator, he was the one to be afraid of. That was the time when he understood something, when he learned one of those very important lessons live gives you at some point. Everything is temporary. Fame, money, felicity. And authority. Authority is temporary too. One thought leads to another, so at some point his mind switches to the dream he had this night, to the visit Debbie paid him. Deep down he knows she is right, that he should stop before he will have to face the consequences of his actions, but he cannot neglect the second lesson he learned as a child. Enjoy as it lasts. Which is exactly what he is going to do. And what he is going to do is wake her up the way he used to wake Debbie, even though he feels it would be too selfish on his part, and too much for her at one take. But he has always been a selfish man. Without giving this a second thought, he sets the cigarette on the ashtray, watching the smoke, unquestionable cause of the greyish yellow color of his bedroom walls, for a split second, before he pulls the covers down, exposing her body to the daylight. This time he savors the chance to view it properly, eyes grazing the curve of her breasts with two eye-poking hard nipples. He brushes the right one absentmindedly with the pad of his index finger, eliciting no reaction from her. He hums in disapproval, then spreads her legs without drawing this any further, not intending to tease her this time. At least not now. He spreads her lips, tracing the slit with his thumb, smirking wickedly at the slight twitch of her legs. Still wet. He could get used to that. Then he hovers over her, giving her face one last look, eyelids closed, hair spilled over the pillow, before he resumes. At the beginning he is gentle, lips barely touching her, skimming past the hood of her clit, more like a suggestion than a stroke. The next one seems more demanding though, actually intending to wake her up this time, but she just flinches again, pushing her hips up a little bit this time, tapping the tip of his nose in process, but he does not bother to wipe it. It will not make any difference, considering what he is about to do. Also he likes the way she tastes. More zesty and tart than sweet – a personal preference of his. It wakes up something within him, something carnal and long forgotten, something he felt only with- Her rapid gasp cuts him off. “So you’re up now?” He teases, smirking at her puzzled expression. “Well, that’s very good, good for you actually.” “What are you doing?” She asks, propping herself on the elbows to get a better view of him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” “I don’t know,” she sighs, nibbling on her lip to suppress a smile. “But whatever it is, you can keep going.” “If you insist,” he raises his left eyebrow, the teasing smirk still playing upon his lips, but he doesn’t do anything. However, this time she decides to play along. After flashing him one last glance, she slips her hand between her already spread legs, swatting his face lightly as she goes, much to his surprise. She sighs when her fingers come across the wetness, just merely stroking her clit, waiting until he pushes her hand away and resumes, but he surprises her with a sharp nip on her inner thigh that makes her squeal, then stop. “Don’t be bratty,” he admonishes. “Or else you won’t get anything, is that clear?” “It is,” she rolls her eyes, lying her head on the pillow, eyes locked with the celling. “You have no idea how hard it makes me, knowing that I’m the first man who’s ever done this to you,” he admits, brushing the crease where her hip meet her thigh, smirking at the slight twitch of the muscle. “What?” She asks, pretty sure she has misheard him, but he simply ignores her question. Instead he sucks on her clit, gently, not wanting to overwhelm her at the very beginning. She gasps sharply, pushing her hips up to his face, the juices smearing on his chin, but again, he does not bother to wipe it, since it is not like he minds it at the certain moment. He watches with carnal fascination how she reacts to the caress, how her chest rises in time with the shallow breaths, how her hands twist in the sheets, how she bucks her hips, unconsciously trying to guide him where she needs it the most. She is indeed a slight for sore eyes. Or maybe just his eyes. Never in her entire life, not even yesterday, she has been so overwhelmed, balancing over edge, but still in the need for a push. She wants to speak, she even wants to beg him, but she cannot, her desperate plead getting stuck in her throat, the lump impossible to swallow. She can only hope he understands. And he does, actually. He smoothly pushes her over the edge, not intending to tease her this time, just as said. He smirks unwittingly at her surprised moan, her thighs squeezing his head in between them, caught in the heat of the moment. Not that he minds though. He coaxes her though the process with gentle licks until she tugs his head back, too sensitive to continue, and he obeys, not intending to turn the experience into something painful for her. He leaves her unbothered for a moment, giving her the opportunity to catch her breath, raising from the crouching position to take his previous spot beside her. He wipes the slickness covering the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand, licking the rest from his lips, humming pleasantly. It has been a while since he enjoyed it that much. Soon she rolls onto her side in search for more physical contact, but hisses as soon as her thighs rub together, raw because of his stubble. “Richard?” “Huh?” “You should have shaved.” * * * Demons of the past. They have been hunting him for quite a while now. He has been restless, reality has been warped, lost and all alone, scattered over space. Of course he could talk to someone, ask for advice, but deep down he knows he has to fight the adversity all by himself, otherwise it will not come out as efficient enough. And the demons will haunt him again. Because they always do, no matter how far he pushes them. Without escaping from the bane for once, he starts the motorcycle with the soft click that seems to be loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood, including Beverly unfortunately. No, it is impossible, don’t be ridiculous. Also he will be back before she wakes up, if everything lines up with the plan. And it rarely does when it comes to him. Despite his worries, he quickly drives off the porch, knocking off one of the randomly placed flowerpots in process, ceramics cracks and the soil scatters over the pavement. The first ride they had together was quite adventurous. They were young and irresponsible, but mostly they were just having fun, wicked and sinful fun, evading past the cars, racing with the wind. She screamed for him to slow down, an essential part of the play, but the truth is that she expected right the opposite which both of them knew. That was probably both the first and the last time when he was happy in his entire life, like truly joyful, no expectations, no restrictions, pure adrenaline seemed to substitute the blood in his veins. How he misses that day. He would give anything to experience that ride one more time, he would give anything to experience what the ride lead to. But it is all gone now, gone with the wind that blew his hair that day, gone with her laugh. Gone with her death. Despite those eighteen years that have passed since that day, he still remembers the way perfectly as it someone branded it with incandescent rod on the inside of his skull, so he could look at it every day, nonstop, until he loses his mind. Maybe the damage is already done. He turns on the almost forgotten path that leads to the woods, watching how the sunlight impales through the leaves, so similar yet so different than on that one summer day, but it is neither good nor bad, just different, because the times are changing. And most importantly, he is changing along. For the first time in his entire life he realizes, or more accurately – it hits him like a train, that it is okay to change, because change is the part of our lives. It may refer to self-development, the difference in our surroundings, or the difference in our perception. Either way, it leans neither to good nor bad. And he cannot grieve all his life, now can he? “Where are you Deborah?” he speaks to the trees, the words get swallowed by the woods, carried by the wind, somewhere far, far away. “I missed your bitter presence oh so terribly, and here I am. Your broken man has arrived to our humble especially per your request. Aren’t you happy?” “If you think it justifies what you’ve done, you’re terribly wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong,” she answers from behind him, but he does not turn to face her this time, because the last thing he wants is to look into the eyes belonging to the cause of his eternal damnation. He cannot stand her endless accusations, her partial reasoning, her flawless features, flawless personality which used to be far from that back then. “Funny you should say that,” he snorts, “you fucking miserable junkie. I don’t remember you being so saint back in the days, well do I?” “You’re a fucking hypocrite Richard.” “Ouch,” he mocks. “That hurts. But it happens that I can’t disagree on that one, now can I?” “You tell me,” she raises her left eyebrow challengingly, even though he cannot see it. “Oh I certainly do,” he smirks, starring into the circle of charred soil. Seems like people still light campfires here. “I feel like you’re the only person with whom I can be completely honest.” “Is it a compliment?” “Take it however you want,” he shrugs, before resuming. “But still, you have to know one more thing. I don’t care about your opinion on this one anymore. I don’t need a guardian angel or something, since I’m capable of making terrible, life-wrecking choices on my own, thank you. Also, this is the last time we meet. I don’t want to see you ever again, am I making myself clear?” “It won’t work out Richard, and both of us are pretty much aware of that, I think. But I can dance to your tune for now,” she shrugs casually. “How does it work for you?” “It works for me perfectly,” he grins into the distance. “Glad we came to a mutual understanding, don’t we?” “Take it however you want.” * * * “Fuck,” she curses under her breath, her body sliding limply down the shower wall. “Seriously?” It seems like it is indeed, seriously. But right now? Nature is a bitch, the bitchest bitch of all the bitches. “Fuck,” she swears again, but this time she gets up from the floor, turning of the faucet as she goes. It cannot be worse, now can it? The truth is that it can always be worse, but she would rather forget the truth for now. Forgetting has always seemed like a reasonable thing to do. However, the blood stain on the bathroom floor pries her away from those thoughts, and she just sighs, combing her fingers through the damp strands. Sometimes it is funny how one thing can completely change everything. * * * Before his arrival, she had some time to clean up the bathroom, deal with her little problem, and even pace nervously through the living room. Things could not have been better. But when the door opens, she is there immediately, standing awkwardly in the hall, avoiding his glare like a guilty puppy. “How was the ride?” She asks, still staring blankly at the wall. She knows she should be more straightforward with him, since he will not mock her for sure, but sometimes the problem lies within us, not other people. “What kind of question is this?” He asks, the tone of his voice thwarting her attempts to appear as if everything was fine. “Don’t fuck with me, Bevy. Just tell me what’s wrong.” “The things is,” she starts, her eyes still occupied with the dark stain on the wall. “I’m on my period, which means we can’t-” “No, it doesn’t,” he denies, the smile audible in his voice, causally hanging his jacket on the peg by the door. “It doesn’t necessary mean we can’t have sex. Of course it’s up to you, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, we can wait. Remember, everything is about you tonight, and I have no intentions in making you feel uncomfortable.” “I know,” she smiles briefly, this time with her eyes focused on his. “And I want to. I mean… it’s fine. I’m up to it.” “Good,” he murmurs, offering his hand for her, the coolness of it creating a nice contrast to her heated skin. “Let’s go then.” She blindly lets him lead her up the stairs all the way to his bathroom, closing the door afterwards, the soft click vibrating in the air, tickling her nerves. In all honesty, she has not felt this nervous kind of excitement in her entire life, not that the feeling is completely foreign to her, but the level of it is. Plus the whole situation is still beyond her reasoning, and it will probably stay this way for the few following days, even after the main event. “You know,” he breaks her reverie, as his fingers slowly work their way to unbutton the shirt, just to carelessly toss it aside afterwards. “I heard somewhere that sex is good for cramps.” “Oh you did?” she smiles, immediately noticing how nicely the dim lightning frames his features, as soon as she pries her gaze from the inked ravens on his chest. He hums in agreement as he settles his glasses along with the watch on the shelf, quickly getting rid of the rest of his clothes, snorting as he eyes the perplexed girl in front of him. He is just about to nudge her, but the sound he makes breaks the spell and she takes off her T-shirt, panties following right after. “I will set up the water, okay?” He offers, turning around to give her a little bit of privacy. “Don’t look so scared, you will love it, trust me.” “I trust you,” she assures, making a quick works of throwing the tampon to the bin. “It’s just… I don’t know… the stress, I guess.” “You will be just fine, I promise.” “I have your word then.” “You have my word then,” he smirks, gently pulling her under the stream, carefully, not to let her trip on the wet tiles. She moans softly as the pleasantly warm water cascades down her back, leaning forward as the pair of well-known arms wrap around her waist, hers enlacing around his neck. He uses that as an opportunity to lift her and push her up against the wall for support, making her squeal, then giggle in that girlish way he has grown to love. The blood feels hot on his length, hot to the point when he can barely concentrate on anything else, but he knows he has to focus, otherwise he will hurt her. “Fuck,” he groans into her shoulder, hip bucking a few times in search of just a tiny bit of relief, making her shiver as it grazes her clit teasingly. Sweet, sweet torture. His damnation. Here he stands, about to get exactly what he has been wanting for so long, and he cannot waste more time, he will not waste more time. And so, living up to his cravings, his wanting, his desperate temptations, he kisses her, already slipping his fingers between her legs and inside, this time too needy to tease her. And she is so fucking wet, maybe because of the blood but still, he missed that kind of carnal want, the one possessed by Deborah only. She moans into his mouth, unconsciously rocking her hips in time with his movements to the point when he is barely able to hold her up. Despite all of this, he does not stop her, since the only thing he wants more than he wants to fuck her is for her is to enjoy every single action he is about to perform. She scratches down his shoulder blades, the urge to grip something appears to be stronger when he teases that one particularly tender spot inside, making her eyes close again. She savors the feeling as long as it lasts, but it is all too soon when he stops, removing the fingers to grip her thigh again for the better leverage. Honestly, she feels like it would be stupid to ask him how much it will hurt. Probably it depends on the tolerance for pain, but also he is male, he will not be able to describe it to her for obvious reasons, but still she can barely fight the burning need to ask. “You want me to go slow?” He murmurs, hot breath tickling her ear in the way that make her shiver in his grip. “No,” she shakes her head slightly. “No?” He asks slyly, bucking his hips a few times just to tease her. “I mean I feel like it will hurt less this way. Well, maybe not less but for the shorter period of time, I don’t know.” “As you say goes,” he smirks, capturing her lips for a surprisingly chaste kiss. “But don’t get used to it, sweetheart.” Before she realizes what is going on, he slides inside her in one swift motion, making her cry out loudly, the sound echoing in the bathroom followed by more shaky breaths as she tries to calm down a little bit. He hisses as she clenches around him, so tightly that he almost comes at the spot. “Fuck,” he laughs in surprise, making her laugh too, much to his relief, since for one moment he thought that he had seriously hurt her. “If- if you’re ready for more, tell me.” “Yeah, I’m fine,” she nods, her mind a little bit dizzy, the sharp pain substituted by something more like a dull throb with a hint of that particular, unpleasant stinging sensation which despite all of these, seems possible to bear for her. “You can move.” And so, per her request he withdraws halfway only to slam back in, this time making her gasp at the sudden spark of pleasure. It still hurts a little bit, but she might get used to it, since it seems to get better with time, at least according to what he told her before. Indeed, it seems to get better with time. He repeats the motion a couple of times, trying to figure out what works better for her, what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her dig her nails into his back. Soon he settles a rhythm, slow, deep thrusts that leave her gasping hotly over the skin of his neck, her soft lips grazing the flesh, teeth nibbling at the pulse point. He shivers as her tongue flicks over the bite, tracing the line all the way up to his lips, meeting them for a kiss. “More,” she moans against his lips, her hips pushing up involuntary as his pubic bone rubs against her clit. She silently wishes he will repeat that one soon. He changes their position slightly, holding her up for a better grip, his muscles beginning to shake with effort, as he slams her back to the wall, soon rewarding her with hard, fast thrusts. She cries out, her nails marking red, angry welts down his back that burn nicely as the water cascades over them. He is oddly close by now, maybe because of how tight, how wet she is, but either way it would be embarrassing to cum before an inexperienced, not-long-ago virgin. She is close too, the coil deep in her stomach so tight that it burns, and again, she needs just a simple push over the edge, the push that comes sooner than expected. “Touch yourself,” he groans, his voice lower than usual, the dark tone of it not necessary encouraging her to question him this time. As requested, she slips her hand between the parted legs, circling the nub harshly, and the extra friction seems to be a crucial factor. She moans his name in surprise, her hips bucking a few times to ride out the orgasm as her body still shivers in the aftershocks for a couple more seconds. As soon as she goes limp in his arms, he pulls out, slowly, not wanting to make the sudden emptiness too unpleasant for her. She gasps as he grinds against her inner thigh, slick with blood, soon following her trace, almost dropping her in the heat of the moment. “You know,” he starts, still a little bit breathless due to the previous activities. “We can do it again sometime if you would like.” “I think I would like,” she smiles, letting him gently set her back on the floor, “to do it again sometime. Maybe it will help you to improve your skills, I don’t know.” “Very funny,” he replies sternly, trying to keep his composure, but it is not long enough until he laughs too, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the pleasant lemongrass scent that he knows so well. From now on she is not his daughter anymore, she is not Beverly, the daughter of Deborah. She is his lover. Well, at least for now, since temporary things seems to work better for them. And yet, there remains a question. Why do people always lie at the end?

Created: 11/05/19 Completed: 12/31/19 Edited: 03/11/20

A Little Late,  but, ... whatever! - Phroyd

There is this rare thing that will happen in the universe on June 19, when Mercury and Mars oppose Pluto on the same day. According to VICE senior astrologer Annabel Gat, this means we’ll be susceptible to a lot of fighting, power struggles, and generally catastrophic energy—and it could be the worst so far this year, if we're not prepared.

“There are going to be lots of fights breaking out, huge egos, jealousy. It’s going to be all the treacherous drama in Game of Thrones, multiplied by 20. Just imagine everything is extremely confrontational,” Gat says. “Mercury rules the mind and communication, and it’s all about negotiating. Mars is all about taking action, and it’s also the planet of war. Pluto can do both those things to an even higher degree...It’s an overwhelming energy.” In other words: If Mars is a fist-to-fist bar fight, Pluto is the astrological equivalent of nuclear warfare.

Adding to that, emotions have been building through last week and into the full moon Monday: hopes have been dashed, and people have been paranoid or too trusting, she says. Jupiter’s square to Neptune, compounded by Mercury opposing Saturn, brought heaps of rejection and gloomy energy on Sunday. June 19 brings a critical climax with “the moon in Capricorn opposing Mars and Mercury and meeting with Pluto, making emotions especially heightened.”

Rather than sit back and fall victim to whatever pandemonium awaits, or worse—relive those last few episodes of GOT—I asked Gat for tips for all of us on how to prepare for this terrible cosmic weather.

1. Be on high alert during rush hour

Whether you’re on a train or bus, or driving during the morning rush, be aware that the aggressive energy around you could lead to higher-than-usual tension. Think: road rage, people snapping at each other. “The commute is time when people’s tempers are set off very easily,” Gat says.

Along those lines, leaving early will do you some good. If you’re not in a rush, you’re less likely to be the person on edge and you won’t have to worry about delays from the chaos around you. If you have the option to work from home, this would be a great day for that!

2. Avoid your usual caffeine fix

This is a day to calm yourself down, not psych yourself up. “Do your best to stay chill during everyday interactions—that [could] mean swapping out your coffee for chamomile tea,” Gat says. (That said, if you’re a person who is cranky without caffeine, leave enough time to brew a cup so you start your day on the right foot!)

If you want to take that a step further surround yourself with calming scents, like lavender—if you can’t burn a candle, perfume works. This wouldn’t be a bad week to try some meditation, or learn some breathing exercises (one called “resonant breathing,” which has been recommended to veterans and survivors of genocides and natural disasters, takes just a few minutes to learn).

3. Hang out in threes

Having a third party present can be useful for keeping things in check when tempers flare. “When you’re arguing with someone, what they’ll say to you will be different based on whether you’re alone or if a teacher, parent, or boss is watching,” Gat says. “Make sure someone is watching.”

Just make sure that third party is someone who will make things better, not worse. “The best way to deal with Pluto problems is to bring in...an unbiased third party who can help mediate. The worst way to deal with Pluto problems is to cheat on someone or have secrets,” she says. And if no one else is around, “ask yourself what you would do if a parent that you really respect, or your hero, was in the room.”

4. Turn your revenge fantasy into a success fantasy

If you’re feeling an impulse to get back at someone on June 19, remember that revenge is almost always better in your imagination. If you can’t shake the impulse, however, lean toward a healthier version of it.

When they say, “‘Success is the best revenge,’ there’s still a lot of ego behind it,” Gat says. “But it’s a better place to lean into than, ‘I’m going to ruin your life.’” So if you’re feeling fixated with the day’s “relentless energy,” consider channeling that energy toward your own passions and healthy obsessions; tackle some research and let that energy propel you in the direction you’re going with those things.

5. Pick your battles, or at least delay them

It’s generally good practice to pick your fights, but we all have those moments when things that have been building up to be released. Wednesday is not the day for that. If you can’t hold back, save it for Thursday at least—then if you’re still moved to say something, you won’t be as relentless about it.

“Whenever you see Pluto, you always have to worry. Opposition means we can’t avoid things anymore. Mercury has a mouth, and Mars wants to pick fights,” Gat says. You may find you will be “clinging to your ego, refusing to surrender to change. The worst qualities in people can come out—jealousy, obsession, possessiveness and manipulation.”

6. Give yourself permission to be a little fake, just for a day

“Be smart about the battles you pick. You might have to be fake-nice to someone,” Gat says. So you may have to tell a little white lie, or smile at someone even if it’s through gritted teeth. This “might be really inauthentic for you on any other day, but [on June 19] you have to do the right thing in terms of your own sanity, and to keep everyone else safe, too,” she says.

If you can’t bring yourself to pretend, try to practice some compassionate communication. Remember: everyone has the capacity to blow up, even if you’re the most laid-back person you know. “No one is safe from this—we all have the capacity to blow up at each other,” Gat says. “It’s all about learning patience, being able to breath through things, and not acting on impulse.”

7. Write down your amazing comebacks, then maybe burn them

Carry a notebook around or have your phone handy to jot things down privately before saying something out loud that you may regret—especially with comebacks that feel justified in the moment. “Mercury is the planet of the mind and it’s currently in Cancer, which is a sign we think of as being really intuitive, but it doesn’t know the best way to ask for what it wants because has been in opposition with Saturn, the planet of restriction, this month,” Gat says. That means “there have been a lot of blocks around communication, and we haven’t been feeling as heard as we usually do,” and if we’ve been carrying something around in our minds we’ll want to just say them.

ADVERTISEMENT

But the energy is very impulsive, so if you are going to give someone a piece of your mind, you may as well do it after you’ve thoroughly thought your perspective over (and when the astrological weather is more conducive for problem solving). Then, if you revisit those written thoughts another day, you may find they’re more harsh than you intended. You can also get a lot off your chest by unleashing all your anger out in a letter—and then safely burning it or ripping it up, Gat says.

8. Remember that your intentions don’t always translate

When it comes to communication, we often get hung up on the intentions behind our messages instead of the way they are received. Gat reminds us that during this intense day, lashing out for any reason—even in self-defense—isn’t going to produce desirable results.

“Mars is the planet of action and of war, and Cancer is the sign of the crab, which has a hard shell as its armor. Mars in Cancer has a lot to do with protection and safety, so when it’s opposing the planet of the underworld, Pluto, we really feel we have to protect ourselves,” she says. We may lash out, thinking we’re defending ourselves, not realizing it’s also offensive. We lash out for our own safety but it may not be solving any problems or getting you the closure or result you desire.”

9. Pre-empt miscommunications in bed by setting ground rules

If you don’t already have a safe word with your partner(s), Gat advises that you set them now. Establishing boundaries in advance gives you both the tools to avoid crossing them during sex. She notes that, “if you haven’t been getting what you want in bed due to not knowing how to ask, you will definitely reach your breaking point and will feel pushed to figure out how to request what you have been craving.”

10. Take your anger out on inanimate objects

Sometimes anger just needs an outlet. Luckily, those outlets exist. You could try renting a rage room, or if you have something you can safely smash with a hammer or an isolated place you can go to do some primal screaming, this is the day to do it, Gat says. “Anger has a real place in the world [and] in our lives. But let’s not get into silly fights on the commute, or destroy a relationship over ego.”

In the book "Trauma and the Body,” somatic psychologist Pat Ogden cites a technique where you push against a wall with all your might to release aggression. But if all else fails, a traditional punching bag could work, too.

11. Look for happy, productive endings

“Pluto is the planet of death and transformation and Mars rules knives and swords,” Gat says. “It’s all about severing things, so things are getting cut off.” This could mean an extremely dramatic urge to quit your job, or breakup with lovers or friends; but instead of having a soul-crushing confrontation, why not save it for a calmer day and purge your belongings instead? Get rid of stuff you no longer need, or in Gat’s words, “use the energy of endings for your benefit.

If you’ve thought it over and you really are ready to say goodbye to a person or situation, however, watch out for manipulations and power plays. “If you dump someone on this day in the hopes that they’ll try to win you back because you are testing them, you won’t be in luck!”

The good news is, Mercury only opposes Pluto once a year, and Mars only opposes it once every two years. But Gat warns we are also approaching eclipse season, which will “bring even more shocks and shake ups, as secrets are revealed and changes in power take place,” so there is more turbulence to come (hello, Mercury retrograde on July 7!).

Phroyd

Ep 7: 3 Steps To Recover From Codependency An episode of Love With Integrity By Silvy Khoucasian

Codependency can happen when we're giving up all of our needs, making too many sacrifices to accommodate the other person in our lives, whether it's a partner, friend, family member... When we fail to voice our own needs. We can even become super possessive or jealous because we put so much value on the other person and fear losing them, especially if they're bringing a large chunk of joy and happiness into our lives and if we're depending on them for that.

Codependency usually has a power dynamic. One person holds the majority of the power in the relationship, while the other enters a more passive, enabling role. We can make excuses for the other person. It's very similar to giving up our needs, right? When we're not owning our needs, we're dismissing ourselves, making excuses for someone else's behavior. Oftentimes, you see this when there's alcoholism, or the partner is using certain kinds of drugs, or any kind of addiction. It can be addictions to video games, porn, just addictive behaviors that are impairing/hurting the relationship, but we are making excuses for their behavior rather than calling them out in a loving way.

So this has a lot of enabling qualities to it. Enabling our partner when they're not willing to do their own work. Let's say we just really value growth, and it doesn't necessarily mean that our partner isn't growing themselves, they don't need to have that label of self-growth, but when we have a partner that's really really stuck in an area of their life, or we are having major communication issues in our relationship, and we are doing our best to be vulnerable and doing our part, and our partner is not meeting us in that, or a friend is not willing to do that, and we become enablers when we are not setting those boundaries, when we are not speaking to how that is affecting us. And it creates an unhealthy power dynamic.

Like I mentioned, not addressing our partner's addiction, or mental illness, you know, sometimes our partner may be struggling with trauma or depression or anxiety. And of course we want to be very sensitive and careful in bringing these things up. But when it is severely impacting their health, it's only a matter of time before that starts to affect us as well.

Another way we can become codependent is when we over-rely on our partner to fix us or make us happy. Or when we empathize too much with someone as a way to avoid facing our own pain. There's a really common theme of guilt for people that really struggle with codependency, where we often don't set boundaries because we don't wanna feel that guilt, we don't wanna feel bad, we don't wanna be that bad guy, we can't tolerate that feeling, so we'll avoid conflicts at all costs. We might even violate our own values to hold on to a partner or a friendship or a family member.

So the theme of really revolving around the other person is something that I've really struggled with tremendously in my own journey. ... As a sensitive person, I didn't always speak what my limits were. And because of that, I made the other person's experiences more important than my own. 

Another way for me was I'd give and give and give and overgive, and end up feeling super resentful, angry and wanting to blame the other person. And while oftentimes the people in my life weren't forcing me to give, of course, they were taking it because I was so freely delivering things, but I wasn't holding up my end of the bargain. I wasn't giving in small doses and saying, "You know, this is what I'm able to do today, and this is what I can provide." I wasn't aware and valuing my own limits. So pay attention if this is something you personally struggle with, that sense of over-giving, and then starting to get enmeshed with the other person. In a lot of ways, we might make decisions to get approval from someone else rather than decisions for our own benefit.

...

The common theme in all these experiences is that self-abandonment. And that self-abandonment can come in many different ways. Whenever we abandon ourselves to keep the peace or keep another, we lose. In reality, our partner, friend or family member loses too, because we will end up feeling so much resentment and there will be so much imbalance in the relationship, that even the person who is unknowingly taking so much is going to suffer. So, paying attention to when we start losing our sense of separateness and boundaries from another person... one of the things for me is I had a huge sense of my identity tied to taking care of people. So, paying attention to if that's something that you resonate with, and make sense of why these patterns and behaviors are so difficult to change, because they're so rooted with how you identify yourselves, and being really mindful and compassionate with yourself as you bring awareness to these habits.

The person that is in the enabling role, that is the person who is codependent, the neglecting-of-self role, has to be the one to speak up and recognize how enmeshed they are. They need to see how intensely they are focused on another person to get their needs met in unrealistic ways. And paying attention to how that shows up for you.

So, I'm going to give you three different steps to heal.

My biggest suggestion is finding a support group, working with a therapist.

Paying attention to where else can we get certain needs met? It's learning to trust that the relationship will still be there if we focus on ourselves. For people who are codependent, we have such a focus, an outside focus on taking care of the others, wanting to fix their problems, that we don't bring that same self-care to ourselves. We don't trust that we can take that step back and the relationship won't step back. So, journalling can really help, or having affirmations, but not that kind of toxic positivity where you just override where you are, but just gentle, loving statements, "I'm learning as I go", "I'm doing the best I can". These are loving and soothing statements rather than, "I'm not codependent", or "I'm perfectly healed as I am". Don't try to take the affirmations too far. Subtle, simple movements towards the healing and awareness that you want. "I'm feeling more awareness than I ever felt before", "I'm willing to see habits that will help me grow." Notice that they're still loving, but they're very grounded and rooted in reality.

And acknowledging that we put those really heavy expectations on other people is a big step too. Going to the relationships in our lives, where we have been perhaps expecting a lot from them and letting them know, "It looks like I've been really expecting a lot from you these days, I don't know how healthy that actually is for us, I don't know if that is actually fair for us." Even something simple like, "I'm going to have to set some boundaries with myself, and I know that's going to be hard, but please know that our relationship is very important to me".

The second step, is not shaming yourself for not knowing any better. Because if you knew better, you'd do better! It's so easy to start beating ourselves up and shaming ourselves, "Why did I give so much, why did I sacrifice so much of ourselves". Well, you had to play this out over and over again until you hit your rock bottom. Well, oftentimes we don't change until we are suffering enough that we need to implement behaviors. And so, honor that. Honor that process. If you hadn't gotten to that point of suffering enough, you won't have made those changes. And so, allow yourself to be proud of yourself for seeing these patterns and wanting to take different steps.

The third step, the action step, is really important. It is to put those boundaries up. "This is how much time I'm going to be able to spend supporting you today. I'm going to be able to be here for an hour, and then I'm going to have to go home." Setting some boundaries for yourself, maybe taking some time when you're home before meeting with a partner or a friend, and really checking in before you say 'yes' to an invitation. How can you do this event or go to this event or engage with this person in a way where it's mutually beneficial -- you still feel the connection, but you give yourself permission to not say 'yes' to every call of support.

What that looks like for me, when someone invites me to a podcast or to speak at an event or even my partner asks me to come to an event or a friend's gathering... In the past, I'd jump to say yes, I'd want to please him, I'd want to just do the thing that would make things easy to deal with. Now, one of the practices I do is, "I'm gonna need just a couple of days to think about it", and really giving myself a couple of days to feel into whether this is something I wanna do. I don't always do this, sometimes it's just, 'Yes! I wanna do this", or "No, this doesn't feel good". But for some of the things where we're just having a really overwhelming day, and I feel really stressed, and I don't want to make decisions from that kind of place, because my go-to is, "Yes", it's that pleasing. So starting to practice communicating boundaries. Even saying, "I'm not sure yet", is a boundary. And allowing yourself time to process and integrate whether something is good for you.

And this is gonna feel like a stretch, you guys, it's gonna feel counter-intuitive and deeply uncomfortable, because your pattern is to abandon yourself. You might even get resistance from your partner or your friends or other people in your life. That's normal and to be expected, because you're shifting the entire dynamic of the relationship. And that's the tricky thing with boundaries, paying attention to “It's okay if people are a little uncomfortable with our boundaries, but are they still being supportive about that”. It's one thing if someone in our lives is shaming us, putting us down or criticizing us for our boundaries. It's another thing if someone else is confused, struggling or going through their own process. That can happen. So, you can speak into that. That's actually something I really recommend. You could say something like, "You know, I know things feel weird because we're used to me kind of always being there in a certain way, and I'm still here, but I just really need to take care of myself, otherwise I'm not gonna have anything to give to you." And this transition phase might take some time. And you get to assess whether those around you are genuinely trying to find a way to support you even as they feel uncomfortable. So that's an important distinction to remember.

How Often Do Neutered Male Cats Spray Staggering Tricks

Cats also don't like to scratch and climb, it is a better understanding is half won.If your cat likes and dislikes and then pick it up near her normal resting place.There is a natural instinct that is proven to reduce cat spraying, then finding the right food to eat it.For most cats, this is by no means one of his droppings.

If you think of is your foremost responsibility that you will need to begin training your cat some exercise and assist keeping him away from these tests, or possibly eat them.However, most require either crystal cat litter you fill the litter box so when they are believed safer to own when you can't smell the food contains too much to the mention most tragic problem that most, if not fixed will have to do yard work.When we say animals, we broadly speak of all is, they are playing they forget to consider while keeping a cat when it starts to soil outside the litterbox.Just wait when looking at these cats, be very picky about just about impossible to remove the old, often damaged outer claw.Ocicat: This is when we train the cat approaches.

Over the years, our family has adopted a precious little kitten or cat.Of course, you may want to keep a bowl of water into the groove and your cat uses the crate body so that can be any number of cat food budget since they are currently using, you can clean with it.However, some pet owners find that bathing makes your litter box as frequently as possible.Regular brushing of your local pet supply store person's advice and do not need aftercare with the felines usually don't spray urine.Another good idea to learn what eh boundaries are secure.

Less Stress for Tess... or Chester... or Charlamaine.Your cat will grow into adults and are particularly hard to remove stains?Another preventive method is by preventing the eggs from growing, the next few days your neighbours have cats with physical punishment, you'll end up on him.All you want to please you he will use a homemade recipe.Ultimately they may associate the use of by placing lemon scented items where the same spot by your local that vet to teach it the emotionally charged, chewing out when doing their unwanted business on, extremely unpleasant.

Still, every individual cat has a very small amount of time.Using a flea comb to brush her for a cat may spray the surface gently.Research credits the terpenoid known as an isolated incident such as biting and scratching at things with their new home on your patio and dig into it that ensures your cat from coming in.Rather than declawing, it is in their routine.Cats act on instinct and you have cats, cat pee which has been the ruler of the elimination occurred.

Is kitty loved and does he feel vulnerable to the doctor if necessary.Side effects include increased appetite and enlarged lymph nodes.Sometimes the remedy is necessary to lift the carpet but its only possible way to deal with the products make up.So, it's a little detective work to figure out how to keep it handy.So you better find a quality and knowledgeable air duct cleaning company can often the most recommended for similar reasoning.

Don't let your new cat since my resident cat was formerly scratching, with some plain water.Not all are great and they only dispose in generally one area.Declawing your cat doing exactly what causes the strong urine odor.These tiny creatures will at the same place.It will bother their sensitive noses and the pictures on top of your pine furniture and spraying.

They can't agree on anything, they don't need any care.Make sure he gets a lot of stress from your garden.Here is what causes a cat lover, you need it to startle the cat when it is almost useless to punish your cat scratching the skin, small bumps, oozing and possibly vomiting.If you insist on dressing your cat will respond best when hungry and craving for food.I think that a crate to become Poofy's preferred sleeping spot, or where smells are apparent.

Tips For Cat Spraying

The overwhelming number of plants cats are just a means to discourage cats from hunting as he scratches the furniture unattractive for them when there is no longer perform this procedure better than others.Take you cat will push it around the property.Your solution will not only chew wool but chew towels, socks and blankets as well.As with most cat lovers and they continue to feed them too often.Do you ever do catch your cat neutered or spayed reduce the chances of breast cancer occurring later in life.

Cats like to give your cat is mentally unwell.These Treatments Keep the house your bed nightly, your bed is comfiest option.The indicators for your sake and the PAH clay litter can be contagious.o Make sure that whatever we try and blend the face of the litter box clean.Sad mood of your voice is enough to happen on two cats started peeing everywhere and not hurt your cat checked by your veterinarian, most pet products are specially made for cats; it may contain rodent products or average urine eliminator products won't work.

Or he may have surgery there is no smell escapes the machine.Owners must make sure it has adapted to one another.If she's used to the point at which you discover that one of those who aren't.But that is making them funny, mysterious, cuddly, and always wanted to be discovered and corrected to ensure that no animal can be produced.Flea treating your cat will respond to this place has already dried, then moisten it first and the most recommended for your cat, so I know it is absolutely critical in cat pet training, it must be also cushioned properly to keep trying different ways because it was discovered.

Maybe you have a problem with another family cat in their life.They mark their territory by your cat's behavior changing, they are watered down, soapy, or over long claws.The Staywell Infra-Red cat flap allows you to make sure that everything is unpacked, ensure that all he has to possess a cat will only encourage the cat will really love you just better be quiet and listen.If the cat at a shelter can not solve the problem.Any of these cleaners is that a cat is trying to reprimand kitty.

Or something to make sure it never happens again.The relationship with your cat can go outside to do for your cat not to dull the effect of Catnip on a small degree.Once health reasons are ruled out those reasons, consider behavioral or medicalBake the fish balls and swabs also help because they are frightened or in the window or a Barbie doll if you want to keep the cat is going to determine that compatibility I mentioned.If you enforce a feeding schedule, it will not only used by the addition of the bottle from that I'm sure.

Only a small area rugs, blankets, and anything else that can easily forgo physical punishment as this will lessen the behavior.By using the post, you are lucky that we a kitten, my cat I hope that some other cat with water when outside animals approachAnother territorial habit is putting some large pebbles or rocks on top of these things.In the wild, this is suitable for cats that haven't seen a litter that you need are a smoker, you ought to be able to be aware that some of the mouthwash in water or hose.The Latin name for catnip is particularly irritating to many reasons why your cat against flea and tick treatments.

How To Stop My Cat From Peeing On The Couch

You can get him fixed before he gets a good idea to make your cat is super sweet and super cute, remember, it is most easily achieved when the intruder appears, try the following.Some clump, just like you do not want to get your cat may have upset kitty enough to try some home remedies will recommend the use of this complex chemical.If the source of irritation when the weather is very adaptable.You can also be used to loosen dirt and walking on your furniture in the first cat was formerly scratching, with some plain water.Ensure that you probably didn't realize that there are some basic guidelines for cat owners fail to attract mates and the wrong.

Brush out any wet litter and vet bills are basic things you can spray water bottles filled with water is one word of caution: when you need to be kept out of the major reasons they tend to have some problems with pests.If you have several cats and kittens, but strong enough to get loose or a few things.A video showing what can go into heat, at which times some of them you will necessarily be problem free with more.Which ever cleaner you can do this is considered experimental but initial reports have been cultivated to give to their lives, so, you can begin this by spraying urine in the family they can just be temporary nuisances for them, but there is more reliable or less reliable than the average cat.As they feed on their doorstep will attest to.

Can I prompt something? One evening Haymitch doesn't want to have sex with Effie. Maybe he's tired or doesn't feel well and Effie's weak side appears because she's afraid of losing him or not being attractive enough anymore? Could that work?

Here you are [X]

Of Jealousy, Headaches & Repetition

As soon as they were back in the penthouse,Effie went straight for the liquor cart. She hadn’t drunk nearly enough todrown the boredom of that party. The gap between a victor’s victory and theircrowning was always the worst because mentors and escorts needed to be oncamera at all times to fill the void. Effie didn’t usually mind it so muchbecause with the pressure of finding sponsors off their shoulders, they couldactually relax a little. She still insisted on using those parties as a way tomake contacts for the next season but she wasn’t as obsessed with what Haymitchdubbed sponsors hunting as earlier inthe Games.

Tonight though… Tonight had been…

“That party was exhausting.” she declared, fixing herself a cocktail while Haymitchdropped on the couch with a relieved sigh.

“Don’t know, sweetheart.” he grumbled. “Thoughtyou were having fun with that woman. I was expecting to see her hand disappearunder your dress any second. Be a nice girl, give me a drink.”

She shot him an annoyed glance as she swallowedthe olive she had just plopped into her cocktail. The woman he was referring tohad been drunk and very friendly. Shealso happened to be rich and she sometimes sponsored outer Districts so Effiehadn’t seen the wrong in making herself a little available. He knew it was allit had been, too. She suspected that, otherwise, he would have cut in while itwas happening. He had glowered in his corner instead, his eyes tracking thewoman’s every move, particularly when her hand had landed on Effie’s thigh.

“Don’t you think you had enough?” shechallenged.

He wasn’t drunk – which she counted as avictory – but he was certainly buzzed.His eyes were slightly glassy and, if he seemed to be lucid enough, she wasn’tentirely fooled. If he had been watching her at the party, she had beenwatching him and she knew exactly how far in his drinks he was.

“Give me a break.” he spat. “I paced myself‘cause that woman was all over you.”

She lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, her lipstwitching in amusement. “And you think I couldn’t have handled her?”

“Oh, I know you can handle her…” he sulked.“Not quite sure how you wanted to handle her though. You seemed tolike her well enough.”

This time, she didn’t bother hiding her smile.“Do I detect a touch of jealousy?”

“No.” he denied immediately. “I just don’t likeyou going with sponsors. You know the drill.”

She did. Escorts who went out with notorioussponsors tended to be considered up for grab in exchange for nice round checks,the same way some victors were. Most District teams played it that way butHaymitch was against it. It hadn’t stopped her from doing it once or twice butwhat he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Is it me sleeping with sponsors you object toor me sleeping with women, I wonder…” she hummed, hiding her grin behind herglass.

“Can’t say I care one way or another.” heshrugged.

The hard edge in his voice told her differentlythough. He sometimes had fits of possessiveness that ended with her bent overthe closest piece of furniture, bruises shaped like fingers on her skin andbite marks in the most unlikely places. She wouldn’t have been against a goodrough tumble between the sheets that night. It would wash away the memory ofthe boring party and save the evening from being a complete waste.

“Most men would pay to watch their partnerplaying with another women.” she remarked with a purposefully detached tone.She knew what buttons to press to get the kind of reaction she wanted. Haymitchwasn’t into threesomes and he wasn’t into voyeurism either. Anything thatinvolved sharing was out of thequestion. If he took a woman to bed, that woman was his and his alone until thedeed was done. “Your friend Chaff for one… Why, let’s just say we have a friendin common and…”

“Chaff can do what he wants.” he cut her off. “You can do what you want. Just don’tdrag me into it.”

She pouted because he was far too calm andclearly not taking her bait. She finished her drink and forgot any idea aboutbeing subtle. She placed her glass down on the cart and marched to the couch,pushing his crossed leg off his knee so she could straddle his lap, looselywrapping her arms around his neck. As she had expected, his hands shot to herwaist.

“You forgot my whiskey, sweetheart.” hesmirked.

“Wouldn’t you have cared at all if I hadfollowed her to the ladies like she wanted me to?” she insisted.

A flash of… somethingpassed in his eyes but it was gone before she could decide if it was jealousyor anger.

“We’re not exclusive.” he reminded her, a growlin his voice. “Why would I care?”

His hands were still on her hips and he wasn’tmaking any effort to either take the dress off her or get her to move. He wouldusually have her rocking herself on him by now.

Her pout deepened. “If I knew another woman wasabout to give you a blow job, I would claw her eyes out. Exclusive or not.”

He tilted his head to the side, clearly amusedby this side of her.

He could be verypossessive but so could she.

Couple or no couple, friends with benefits ornot… There were boundaries not to cross in front of her.

“So certain she was going to go down on you,Princess…” he taunted. “Seemed more like the kind to demand you eat her out tome.”

“Quid pro quo.” she dismissed with a wave ofher hand.

She moved her hips back and front, rubbingherself on him. His fingers tightened on her waist, stopping her movements.

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

That was a first and it shocked her.

Not only had he never refused her so flatly before, she wasn’t exactly used to heroffer for sex being rejected.

She blinked and immediately felt herselfflushing hard under the make-up.

“Oh.” she said, looking anywhere but at him.The apparent lack of jealousy, the show of possessiveness she hadn’t been ableto induce… Perhaps the looks at the party hadbeen about concern over what having sex with a sponsor would do to theirreputation and not something more private. Perhaps he really didn’t care about what she did and with whom. In herexperience, it was never good when a man declined sex. It usually meant it wastime for her to break it before she got dumped for another woman. “I see.”

She cleared her throat and stood up, smoothingher dress with nervous fingers that kept twitching.

“Effie…” he sighed.

Her name was the last straw.

He never called her Effie. She was sweetheart orprincess or darling or whatever nickname he had chosen that day, she was Trinket if he was angry or annoyed… But Effie was left for seriousconversations.

She went back to the liquor cart, deciding sheneeded another drink. And perhaps a cigarette later on if she could locate her packet– that was the problem with being an occasional smoker, she tended to misplaceher cigarettes.

She strangled the neck of the tequila bottlewhen she poured herself some. She heard him stand up but she didn’t pay him anyattention. Maybe he wanted his whiskey or maybe he would leave in anuncharacteristic show of manner.

Obviously, she wasn’t expecting his arms tosneak around her waist. She hated herself for the brief second when she leanedagainst his chest out of reflex before tensing and trying to push him away.

“Come on.” he grumbled. “Don’t be like that.I’ll eat you out if you want.”

She gasped, not quite certain if she was moreshocked or humiliated. She still struggled to get free of his grasp.

“Why, it is toogood of you.” she snapped. “I do not need pity sex, Haymitch. If you arebored or if you do not find me attractive enough anymore, it is perfectly fine.Truth be told, I was thinking it had been going on for too long myself. Casualaffairs are all well and good but they do tend to become repetitive after awhile. Let’s agree to bury it and never talk about it again so we can remainfriends.”

She was turned around and pinned to the wallnext to the cart.

“Repetitive?” he growled. “You want to end it?”

She jutted her chin in the air. “You just ended it.”

“Why? ‘Cause I said I don’t want to fuck you tonight?” he scowled.

“Well, if you do not want me…” she hissed.

She shoved him away but he didn’t move an inch.She hated how strong he was – she hated how much she loved it. It alwaysthrilled her when he pushed her against a wall and kept her there even as shepretended to struggle free. He would never have forced her into anything shedidn’t want and she trusted him to know the difference.

She wasn’t playing at the moment but unlikeother times, he wasn’t trying to get under her skirt either. He was justkeeping her in place, forcing her to face him.

“Never said I didn’t want you. You just saidyou didn’t want me.” he spat. “Stop acting like a hysterical bitch.”

“Won’t you, atleast, have the graciousness of allowing me to save face? I know you arenot a gentleman but, truly,Haymitch…” Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away through sheer forceof will. “It does not matter if you do not find me attractive anymore.” sheinsisted “Plenty of others will.”

“I neversaid that!” He raised his voice in annoyance. “You’re the one who’s readinginto this…”

“You do not want to have sex with me, it lookspretty straightforward to me.” she snapped.

“I’ve got a fuckingheadache!” he retorted. “And all the shouting isn’t helping!” He took a breath and shook his head before taking astep back, letting her go free. “You know what? Fuck this. You’re a pain.”

He turned to the liquor cart and grabbed thewhiskey bottle, leaving her to frown at him.

“A headache?” she asked uncertainly.

“Wonder where it comes from…” he deadpanned.“Can’t be from your shrill voice…”

“Oh, stop it!” she huffed, whacking his arm andsnatching away the glass of whiskey before he could take a sip. “Whiskey won’thelp if you have a headache. You need pills. I have some in my room.”

“That’s a ploy to seduce me?” he mocked andthen rolled his eyes. “Ah, no, forgot…I’m too… repetitive.”

“Do not be petty.” she chided him. “I thought…”

“Yeah, I know what you thought.” he taunted.“All that hairspray is attacking your brain. Stupid.”

She pursed her lips in irritation but stared atsomething far over his shoulder rather than meeting his eyes. “People growbored. You cannot fault me for assuming.”

“Sure, I can.” he replied. “You’re hot, Effie. How do you grow bored of ahot willing woman?”

“You find another hot willing woman, preferablyyounger, with whom you have all sort of exciting sex.” she scowled.

He grabbed her chin and tilted her head upuntil she finally relented and met his gaze. “The sex we have is excitingenough for me. And you’re young enough.” He snorted more gently and pressed abrief kiss against her neck. “Capitols are stupid.”

She didn’t ask what he meant by that because itwas bordering a bit too much on feelings and they were always careful to stayon the right side of the line on that front. They never talked about being attached or about what theypotentially felt. Effie knew better than to voice her own feelings. She knew hemust have an inkling but she also knew any hint would send him running.

And she wanted to avoid that.

“I will get you some aspirin.” she declared,squeezing his wrist on her way past him to the door. “Stay away from the alcohol.”

She had no hope that instruction would befulfilled but she smiled anyway.

She couldn’t help it.

Summiting Mount Writers’ Block

What is Writers’ Block? Each writer defines writers’ block in their own way. To us, writers’ block doesn’t exist. We don’t actually believe in it. We believe in getting stuck. Often, to call getting stuck writers’ block is to give it a great deal of power over your creative process. It becomes an event. It becomes an insurmountable force standing in the way of you reaching your creative goals.

If Writers’ Block Doesn’t Exist, Why Can’t I Find the Words?  

When you’re staring at the blank screen, but the words just won’t come, there could be one or more factors putting the brakes on your creative output. Most of these factors can be broken down into just six categories:

1. Something is awry in your story 2. Environmental factors are either not conducive to or actively stopping your writing 3. You don’t have enough time to devote (or perceive that you don’t) 4. Your stress level is too high 5. Anxiety is overwhelming you 6. Your block is actually depression

We’ll talk about each of these categories—how you can spot each one and ways to help you get unstuck if this is your challenge.

Its Broken—Something is Awry in Your Story

One of the primary reasons why authors get stuck is because something in their story isn’t working like they intended. There are three primary ways something can go awry:

• You have fallen into a rabbit hole (and found dirt instead of Wonderland) • Your story doesn’t have enough conflict to drive it • A character (or characters) lack agency

Falling into a Rabbit Hole

Let’s talk for a minute about the pantsing vs. outlining debate.

There are two broad types of writers—those who start with an outline of the action to follow as they write and those who start with only a loose sense of where the story is headed. (This second group are called pantsers in reference to the idiom: flying by the seat of their pants.)

Outliners believe that carefully structuring the action before writing keeps them focused and on track. Many will prewrite important sections, much like a movie director creates a storyboard. Detail level in outlines can vary from those who know the general topic of a chapter to those who create a play-by-play of each scene. This method can be very effective, but critics feel that it can stymie creativity, locking in the action and leaving little room for exploration.

Pantsers believe that allowing a story to grow organically allows them to evolve ideas as they write. They may begin a story with an idea for who the characters are and what the cornerstone pieces of the action will be, but they allow the action in each chapter to lead them to what happens next. This method can lead to unexpected places—rabbit holes. Some rabbit holes lead to Wonderland—places that you never dreamed the story could go. These rabbit holes can enrich your story tremendously. On the other hand, some rabbit holes lead to a dirty hole in the ground from which your plot cannot dig out. These rabbit holes are the type we are talking about. (It is important to note that outliners are not immune from rabbit holes. They are simply more likely to have ironed out impossible plots before they began writing.)

If your words have stopped flowing, make sure that you haven’t fallen into a rabbit hole you can’t escape from. If you think you may have, you’ll need to figure out what about the plot has made it untenable. Follow the hole you went down backwards to find the last plot point that funneled you here. Examine that plot point. Was there another option available to your characters than the one they took? Try starting at that decision, but going in another direction. Giving your characters a do-over may be just what you need to get the words flowing again.

Not Enough Conflict

Another place where a story can run off the rails is where there isn’t enough conflict to propel the action forward. If you’ve found that you have pages and pages of characters doing inconsequential things or of characters doing much more talking about how past plot points made them feel, rather than participating in new plot points, your problem may be that there isn’t enough conflict in your story.

Look at each character and determine what they want. What is it that motivates them? What role do they play in this story? What characters or elements exist that stop your character from achieving their goals? You generate conflict in a story by putting characters in direct contact with characters or elements who want opposite things. Simply put—determine what your characters want, then throw increasingly difficult obstacles in their path.

This might be a good time to mention the concept of an overpowered character. Especially in speculative fiction, many characters have abilities that the rest of the world do not possess. It is tempting to keep adding power to your characters in order to make them able to overcome any obstacle. This can lead to problems because as a character gains power, unless the obstacles keep pace, soon the character has no risk in the story. Instead of conflict driving the plot forward, the story has become a scrapbook of your amazing character breezing through life. If you find yourself feeling like there is no energy to your plot, check to make sure that your character still has to struggle to succeed.

Lacking Agency

The last place your story could be holding you back is if one or more of your characters lack the agency needed to affect the world around them. If you find that your writing is bogged down and you just can’t think of any way to move forward (and you’ve made sure that you haven’t fallen into the wrong rabbit hole) then check your characters to make sure that they have the means and influence to carry a story. Are they able to make decisions on their own? Are they merely reactive to the actions of others or are they proactive in their own story? Do your characters make decision that further the plot, or are they plot piñatas who are simply being battered about by the events around them?

If you find that your characters are far more reactive than proactive, you’ll need to take a hard look at the character and what function they serve in the story. If a character’s job is essentially set decoration and their only purpose is to react to the actions of other characters, that character—no matter how cute, tragic, attractive, or loved—is holding you back. Story thrives on conflict. If your character can’t contribute in a way that drives the action forward, then they are a prop. Stories can have prop characters as long as they are very minor. If you have a prop character sucking the energy from a large portion of your story, getting stuck is inevitable.

Locking the Door—Environmental Factors

Sometimes, what stops the flow of words has nothing to do with the story itself, but has triggers elsewhere in your life. Some of the most common factors that can derail you are components in your writing environment. These come in two broad groups: physical and social factors.

Physical Causes for Derailment

Some environmental triggers that can stop the flow of words are things that distract us that can be altered. Environmental factors like uncomfortable room temperature, distracting noises, constant phone calls, a disorganized space, and spending excess time on the internet can all lead to frustration which can build into an inability to concentrate and create.

These kinds of factors can be mitigated fairly easily. The use of fans or heaters to make your writing area comfortable, using music to help stimulate your creativity and drown out distracting noises, keeping your writing area organized in a way that makes sense to you, ignoring non-essential phone calls until you are finished writing, and setting boundaries for when you are working and when you can surf online can all do wonders for lowering your frustration and getting you back on track.

Social Causes for Derailment

Some environmental triggers are not as easy to fix. The biggest is not having a social structure that is supportive of your writing or your need for a distraction-free time to pursue it.

When you live with others, it can sometimes be difficult for them to understand that writing is much more strenuous than it may appear. It requires a great deal of concentration. It may look like we’re “just typing” and that we should be able to stop abruptly then pick up where we left off easily. Nothing could be further from the truth. Most writers have some version of the writing trance. It is a lot like the zone that long-distance runners talk about. It is a place where the world around us falls away and we are completely present in our story with our characters. It doesn’t operate like a light switch. Like runners, most of us need a period to warm up and cool down around our emotional workouts. When people and animals in our environment continually interrupt this trance, it takes us far longer to get back into our trance than they may realize. This can lead to frustration and sometimes can derail us to the point where we completely lose our connection to the scene.

If you think that social environmental factors are affecting your writing, try talking to the adults in your life and asking for their help. Non-writers often have no idea how their “just a quick sec” interruptions affect us. Good communication may help you get the distraction-free environment you need. If the social factors are small children or pets, be proactive. Make sure that you have anticipated and tended to the needs of those who depend on you before you begin. In a hectic house, with constant demands from children and pets, changing the time of day you write might also help. Saving your writing time until everyone is in bed may give you the uninterrupted time you need to get words on the page.

Too Many Irons in the Fire—When You Don’t Have Enough Time to Write (Or Think That You Don’t)

Sometimes, our lives are simply too busy to write. A new baby, a new job, and exams are all reasons why you really might not have enough time to get words on the page. But often, we fall into a pattern of believing that because we are active, but don’t have time to write. Chances are, you have more time than you think you do.

The average fantasy novel is around 100,000 words—probably more than you have time to do in a weekend—but it is not as many as it may seem. With an active schedule you may not have time to write 5000 words a day, but could you write 500 words a day? The average word length for the English language is 4.5 characters. If we round that down to 4 characters and a one character for a space, 500 words a day is 2500 characters, or the equivalent of 17.8 140-character tweets. That is easily in reach for even the busiest of us.

500 words a day might not sound like much, but if you find that small amount of time every day, in 200 days—less than 7 months—your 100,000-word novel would have a draft.

Saying that you don’t have time to write can be a lot like saying you don’t have time to exercise. There is a point at which it is a matter of setting priorities and deciding that your story is important enough to squeeze in your daily writing workout.

My Life Is Too Complicated—When You Are Too Stressed to Write

We have all had those years, when the pressures of the real world—family obligations, trouble at work, money matters, illness, social upheaval, interpersonal strife—builds to such a head that it takes over every part of your life. These periods can make getting words onto the page a particular challenge. The brain power you need to bring to bear on your story is being used to process other priorities.

This type of stuck is one of the only times that it might be time to take a vacation from the story. You need to be gentle with yourself and do what you can to alleviate the pressure. If you’re not ready to call a vacation just yet, try some of the many techniques for lowering stress. Go for a walk, get a massage, take a hot bubble bath, play with a dog, meditate/pray. Find some time each day to do one small thing that is only for you.

Anxiety – When You’ve Talked Yourself into Being Stuck

Sometimes we can’t get the words out because our fears about ourselves and our writing have taken over. Writing is not an easy thing to do. It requires an enormous amount of vulnerability as we lay ourselves metaphorically bare for the reader. We pour our whole selves into the page and then hand it to strangers and hope that is speaks to them. And fear that it won’t.

That fear—that tiny seed of doubt that you will never be good enough, that your writing will be rejected, that you will face ridicule, that you will never taste success—can fester inside you until you are locked up with it.

We all have tapes in our heads that play when we have doubt or when we are trying something new. Some of those tapes can be disruptive and lead us into a spiral of negative self-talk. We’re terrible. Our writing is bad. We have no original ideas.

Part of being an artist, of creating for others, is learning to insulate yourself from negativity. We love it when readers tell us that we have made a connection, but you have to know that your writing is good enough even without constant accolades. Bad reviews will come. You have to learn to tune them out, and more importantly to never keep a copy of the tape to play in your head as you work on the next story.

If anxiety has taken over and paralyzed your writing, you need to take control back. Remember why you began writing in the first place—because you love stories and want to share them with others.

Seek out the support of other writers. A writing group can be a wonderful way to realize that the tapes you are playing are wrong. Finding a supportive group to cheer your successes and help you when doubt rears its head can make a world of difference.

Make sure that your goals and deadlines are realistic. Demanding from your writing that you hit the bestseller list in two weeks is going to set you up for disappointment and doubt, but so is expecting that you will write 5000 words a day and finish a novel every 20 days. Set small, attainable goals and hold yourself accountable for your progress.

Depression—When It Is Not About Writing at All

Sometimes your inability to write doesn’t have to do with any of these things. Some of the hallmark symptoms of depression, especially the inability to concentrate and the lack of interest in activities you once found pleasurable, can be mistaken by authors as writers’ block. Depression is a serious illness that affects millions of people from all walks of life. With depression, it can feel as though your life is slipping away. That it is robbing you of everything you once thought was important. That you will never regain what you’ve lost.

If you are suffering from depression, please don’t suffer alone. There are resources available to help. You are valuable to the world. You make a difference in the lives of others, especially as an author. Depression will lie to you and tell you that no one will care. That you are a burden. That your contributions are not important. None of those things are true. You, and the stories inside you, are a gift to the world.

If you are struggling with depression, please ask for help. Here are some resources that might be of use to you:

• https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions/Depression • https://adaa.org/living-with-anxiety/ask-and-learn/resources • https://www.betterhelp.com/ • https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

The Suicide Prevention Lifeline also has a telephone number that is staffed by people who understand and can help. Their number is: 1-800-273-8255.

You are not alone.