#talking all this shit about realism

[gothambat-nephilim-07]

Hey so what happens when Bobby is released/breaks free of government containment and learns that: Eddie is back and Buck is homeless, there is an infant named after him, he got "buried" in Minnesota, AND ATHENA SOLD THE GODDAMN HOUSE AS SOON AS IT WAS FINISHED???? AFTER TELLING HER KIDS, SHE WASN'T GOING TO SELL?!??!?!

[chulippi]

I was gonna do another one of these but like lost steam completely and also didn’t wanna do a background so I’m just gonna dump this here <3

That’s pookie bear 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️🦅🦅‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

[quackity1999]

Directed towards mod your lore is Soso cool anyway I'm going to go jump into L'Canyon byebye

-☾

[ OOC: brb joining you. BUT ALSO HI. HEY!!!!!! its mostly shit that Could logically fit into canon if you just dug a lil deeper into details. yk?

avian technicalities, functional businesses in LN, karlnapity backstory, pumpkinduo history, q's childhood, etc etc. its very fun i brainstorm A Lot and i hope u enjoy!! ]

[charmikarma]

maybe i'm just not looking hard enough, but i feel like there is a severe lack of fiction that actually digs into religious** trauma, especially for queer people. like yeah, blah blah, conservative queerphobic parents. but it goes deeper than that. it's not "my parents will mistreat me/kick me out if they find out i'm [queer]," it's "i've been brainwashed from birth to believe that people like me not only deserve death, but will continue to be tortured for eternity beyond death, just because of who we are." there's a pretty stark difference there! and even if you peel away the queer layer there's also the inherent trauma of "i am not in control of reality or my own fate and must defer to an authority figure i cannot speak to or even fathom." and maybe you get past the brainwashing, maybe they accept your queerness on some level, but you're still left with "if they find out i don't like the beliefs they have built their entire worldview on, they will mistreat me/kick me out." which just brings you back to square one. there's no winning in a religious upbringing. it's trauma all the way down

and again - i truly don't know if it's because i've just never looked for it - but i don't think there's like. ANY fiction that really digs into this. not beyond vague mentions. the brainwashing in particular is something i never ever see except in contexts like. idfk zuko being raised to be an imperialist prince or whatever. or someone being part of a cult (that is - not a "socially acceptable" form of brainwashing). IDK. it's not the same. i've never seen this experience of mine reflected in ANYTHING before and i hardly ever meet people who get it. which maybe is for the best, because.... It Fucking Sucks. it fucking sucks on so many levels

(**religious in my case means evangelical protestant, so idk if my experiences apply to other religions or denominations of christianity but if it fits it fits)

[3xc3lsior]

For context I asked what she thought about submitting a memoir / creative nonfiction for the application and she said the committee “wouldn’t even consider it” like. Okay I won’t then

[livingmybestfakelife]

Waiting to Exhale

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Reader

The hospital stank of sulfur and various of other chemicals used in an attempt to reduce the illness that was causing such suffering to the current patients of Mercy Hospital. You were one of the victims fighting tuberculosis, it weakened your already fragile body quickly. Being born with a scarred lung did you no favors, and even the best doctors in the state had little hope for your survival, they didn’t say it but you could see it in their eyes that they weren’t confident that your body would accept the treatments.

One of the frequent visitors you had was your childhood friend Elijah “Smoke” Moore. He hated seeing you so beat down by this disease. He’d give anything for it to disappear from your fragile body. But he had no choice but to impatiently wait for some hope that the treatments would work, and you’d bounce back to your old cheerful and mischievous self. But the other part of him knew there wasn’t much hope, and having to face that realism wasn’t something he was ready for.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time being here and worrying about me. You have a business to run”

He wipes some more sweat from your forehead, ignoring your words.

“Were you able to eat anything this morning?”

“Elijah, you should go on back to your off-“

“Did you?”

You let out a frustrated sigh at his stubbornness

“A little bit, I managed to eat half a bowl of oatmeal”

“Good….that’s good”

“Listen….Smoke, as much as you don’t want to hear this, all they’re doing is making sure I’m comfortable bef-“

“NO-no, don’t talk like that alright, you’re getting out of this alive and well, I won’t have it any other way”

“It’s not your decision Eli….it’s all in God’s hands now honey, please, let this be a positive last moment between us, okay?”

Your scratchy voice burned his heart. Gone was your smooth honey vocals that softened his spirit, now it had withered away in less than a week, he couldn’t take it anymore, when he said he wouldn’t have it any other way he’d meant it. After a nurse came in and told him that visiting hours were over, he kissed both your cheeks and lips and told you he’d see you later.

When he stepped out of the hospital he was met by Stack leaning up against the brick wall.

“How’s she doing?”

“She ain’t got much long until….”

“I know….I know brother”

“Stack, I….you know I don’t want this but”

“You want her”

He nods while chuckling, the tears are burning his eyes as the flow got heavier.

“I love that girl more than myself, I’d give up all this shit if she told me to”

“I know Smoke, I know you will, you’re in love it’s only natural, don’t we all do crazy things when we’re in love?”

His hand is resting on Smoke’s shoulder, they’re eye to eye now, Stack trying to make him understand his point, his real point.

“…..Don’t hurt her Stack-“

“It won’t be like how Mary did me, she won’t feel a thing”

Stack pulls him into a tight embrace before he enters the hospital.

———————————————————————————

You open your eyes to your hospital room darker than how it was when Smoke visited. The sun was setting quickly, and by how you’re feeling, it would be a miracle if you made it through the night. Something else catches your eyes, you squint a little to see a manly figure hovering over your bed, the fragrance wafting off of him was strongly familiar to you.

“Who is….” You could barely even talk, it hurt to breathe

“It’s gonna be alright cherie”

“No….no no no Stack please don’t”

“Shhhh”

You couldn’t fight him if you tried, your body had given up any strength you had left, and Stack had your limp wrist in his mouth in no time. He kept his word to Smoke, it felt like a little pinch, maybe a bug bite, but it wasn’t violent like how it was the night when he and others were turned. He finally removed his mouth and kissed your palm before gently placing your arm back down.

———————————————————————————

You and Stack walk out of the hospital as if nothing ever happened, you especially felt as though all those months of suffering never happened. You smiled when you saw Smoke and ran into his waiting arms, after sprinkling his face with kisses you squeezed him tighter in a hug, letting him swing you around, he took one look at his brother, who had a small cocky smirk on his face. This was the way, no more being trapped with mortal ailments, both physically and spiritual. Stack had won this battle with Smoke, he was able to manipulate the love his brother felt for their childhood friend, one down and hopefully soon, another to go.

“Thank you” Smoke mouthed to him and Stack gave him a salute before walking off home to Mary, letting the both of you have your moment together.

“First thing tomorrow you’re going to work Elijah, no more worrying about me, you have a business to run”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you

“Whatever you want baby, it’s yours”

[ms-demeanor]

Well now I'm curious what it is about Little Shop that sets it apart for you. It certainly feels validating as a Little Shop fan but I'd like to know your feelings about it specifically

Menken & Ashman

Main vocal roles aren't standard "broadway" sound, there's more room for expression than just belting and vibrato

Lots of good line-by-line jokes in the songs that are funny on purpose, which I think is less common than people think

Decent balance of talking and singing

Big puppet. I love a good puppet, this has a good puppet.

I think it strikes a balance between being funny, absurd, sincere, sweet, cynical, and silly. It's such an absurd concept that's played straight enough that it has an almost magical realism feel, it's cartoonish and goofy but also has some genuine moments of pathos and anger. It just does a good job with all of that while not taking itself too seriously.

Anyway check out Jinkx Monsoon doing "Somewhere that's Green."

That's just some good shit.

[aimasup]

2025 lilo and stitch rant, super long post, mega spoilers

might make changes to this later, no beta we die like Stitch's personality

"ohana means family, family means no one gets left behind, which includes you Nani 😇" (not a direct quote from the 2025 film)

WHO?????? WHO IS LEAVING HER BEHIND?? Is it her sister fresh out the womb, apparently a burden making sure Nani never gets to be her own person?? Is it Nani herself?? Someone who was completely rewritten to have different goals for a good message in the wrong movie?? Is it the 2 childrens' dead parents?? If so then what about Lilo?? What happens when Nani is too busy to visit in her new college?? Don't talk to me about how David and his mother are also family, it's the principle of the changes in plot.

Those are sisters who have lost their father and mother. They literally only have each other. I find it hard to believe that after such a recent loss that Nani would just: "*sniff* you're right *sniff* I DO have to put myself first!!! I'm so tired!!" and already start thinking about college?? I'm not saying it's selfish of her to want it I'm saying it's, to me, a coping mechanism that the movie wants to say was her real hidden motivation all this time.

You ever have to move away from your best friend? Not a good feeling, especially when there's options in the same area you could've chosen but you can't for some reason. You can still visit, but it is a huge change. That's the best case scenario this movie decided on for Lilo and Stitch.

Original Nani literally wants the best for Lilo and understands that her little sister is different (read: likely neurodivergent). A massive strength of original Nani was that she had the maturity and ability to understand that. That's not something their parent's death made Nani have to come to terms with, that's something about Lilo that she already accepted long before.

I cannot stress this enough, they are sisters. Nani sticks her tongue back at Lilo, Nani teases Lilo (oh nooo gravity's increasing on me!!), Nani rolls her eyes at Lilo - have you considered, that these traits are not caretaker/mother Nani just playing along with her kid's games, but that Nani is naturally silly and Lilo brings out that side of her more?

There's one scene in the original where she may be 'playing along' with Lilo.

Original Nani makes Lilo feel better about her losing her job, but that vampire excuse came so naturally to Nani that I personally interpreted it as,

a.) holy shit Nani is an extremely good guardian,

but also

b.) Nani is creative enough in her own right to play off of Lilo, and

c.) Nani seems to even cheer up a bit when making up this absurd tale to Lilo. This is headcanon territory but I feel like they used to fill each others' heads with stories like this all the time, Nani may not get everything about Lilo, but she's smart and whimsical too - IDK IF IM GETTING THIS ACROSS RIGHT BUT THEY'RE SISTERS. THEYRE BESTIES. NANI NEEDS LILO AS MUCH AS LILO NEEDS HER

For what reason did she have to do this. Nani you are being such a piece of shit I love you

And then in the new movie Nani is just seems to be completely annoyed Lilo's - everything?? They added this layer of tiredness and anger to Nani for 'realism', she loses control and takes it out on Lilo for 'realism' - but she loses control and takes it out on Lilo in the original too without telling her to 'wake up and stop living in fantasy'.

There's literally a whole scene in the original showing how Nani and Lilo are not adjusting well, and Nani calls Lilo misbehaved and a pain, but she doesn't RANT AT HER. There's a difference in original and new Nani's anger. I can't explain it.

Lilo being taken to the adopt a dog wasn't just Nani listening to a request, it might have been her trying give Lilo a friend. Lilo doesn't even know Nani overhead her star wish, Nani just wants Lilo to have one friend that won't run away, something that they both know Nani, Lilo's own sister, can't be for her full-time anymore.

Then they made it so Nani couldn't even do that in the live action film so their new characters could have something to do.

It's all girlboss girlpower until the girl loves her sister so much it hurts and she's entirely fine with it

The more I think about the ending of the live action Lilo and Stitch the more it baffles me. It's like reading a bad-end fanfiction where the characters end up evil or separated except the movie's trying to say it's a good thing somehow.

Also I'd rather they not add Cobra Bubbles at all with how little he contributed here. You guys do know when you divide a character in half the characters are only half of themselves right. Right

They've watered down all the characters tbh - Lilo, Stitch, Pleakley, that tall alien leader woman (idk her name), even that mean girl in the hula class. So I wanna talk about Jumba real quick (lie)

Jumba

And how do you misunderstand Jumba so bad?? He definitely wasn't good in the original, literally says he will take Stitch apart and remake him, but he isn't totally malicious?? Original Jumba was just an antagonistic mad scientist motivated by - like many other mad scientists, science.

In the original, Stitch both aggravates and intrigues Jumba, and this dynamic is fun because of:

a.) the little blue shithead's evasion of Jumba's grasp and

b.) the little blue shithead's responses to the new environment variables.

"I'm coming to kick your ass you bitch homunculus I literally made you"

Therefore Original Jumba is literally so pissed at Stitch but so happy to observe his creation under a microscope. That indestructible monster is his pride and joy!! They're on another goddamn planet, why wouldn't Jumba play Animal Planet while trying to keep up with Stitch (before shooting him)!! That's a biologist given a free study trip!!

In the original when he's telling a sad Stitch that he has no family, he's stating a cold fact as impassively as possible, that's just who he is!! Jumba is antagonistic to Stitch' development because he is reminding Stitch of his purpose - Jumba has no reason to believe this feral terror creature can ever be domesticated.

Original Jumba didn't really see Stitch as anything but an unruly test subject (affectionately) - here's the thing though, he was willing to have this instant change of heart because Stitch is his test subject. No Victor Frankenstein is a totally sweet dad to their lab abomination children let's be real.

Basically Original Jumba adores science. Stitch is his greatest scientific creation, and when Stitch began to be more than just an experiment to him, he embraced that too because Jumba, plain and simple, was never so unlikable that the audience couldn't believe he didn't have a heart. Because Stitch, mindless monster or not, was always his beloved/beloathed child.

Also the dialogue in the whole 2025 movie is so bad. everyone feels dumber now.

Gonna stop talking about the writing now

The presentation

I don't think this movie should've been made in the first place but they should've just used puppets for the aliens, like in star wars.

Could've even used camera tricks to make Gantu enormous like those monster movies from decades ago. Have someone in a shark cop costume stomp around a tiny model of an island i dunno

And why are the colours so bad?? this is live action yet real life literally looks better than this movie lol

It goes by so fast, no suspense to leave room for interest and no pauses to let the jokes breathe. Everyone talks like they're in such a hurry like slow down!!!

Also the hologram disguises, the reasoning is so odd. If the aliens don't look convincingly human, they just don't.

'it worked in the animated version but it doesn't work in real life' NO TF IT DIDN'T. They could not have been MORE OBVIOUSLY ALIENS, even in the original animation!! I don't even think humans are that easily fooled, I think everyone's just too polite to say anything about this random couple's appearance!!! Jumba and Pleakley did not pass as humans in the original because they were animated they passed because the plot let them PLEEEEASE

'this didn't work in live action' and 'that didn't work in live action' then don't make it! The audacity!!!! To not only make this a real thing, but also be cheap about it. Like pick a struggle mate

[ktownshizzle]

Magic & Mayhem | 002

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader, Kim Namjoon x Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: So your relationship with Namjoon has gone to shit. Your solution? Hit up a sex shop and try to salvage things in the bedroom instead of dealing with the real issues. (Solid plan, right?) What you didn’t expect is to walk out with a blind box and pull a toy called SUGA—magical, stupidly hot, and guarantees to fix your 99 problems, but he actually becomes one. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternately: Yoongi is a Labubu / Sonny Angel. (Kind of.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Crackfic galore, Magical realism slash wifi, Non-idol ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: banter heavy, more fluff than crack, lore, namjoon’s a bit of an asshole :(, nudity, MC gets a glimpse of Yoongi’s ass, breaking the fourth wall ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4.2k 🤪 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: I love writing this, that's all I gotta say. Thank you to Tea for betareading and enduring my ramblings. Hope you enjoy~

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Fifteen minutes and one humiliating scramble through Namjoon's dresser later, Yoongi is lounging across your sofa wearing your boyfriend's gray sweats and a black hoodie, sleeves pushed up to reveal surprisingly toned forearms. A sporty black bandanna skims his forehead—where did he even get that?!—and his whitish hair is floofier than clouds. You loathe to admit that the whole look screams more boyfriend than your actual boyfriend.

Yoongi glances around your modest apartment, lazily appraising the space with an amused tilt of his head. From a distance, he is studying one of your IKEA shelves, the one housing your boyfriend’s accolades: from leadership awards to thank you plaques for being a speaker in whichever event.

"So, Kim Namjoon, huh?" Yoongi rises and casually stands to pick up a framed picture of the two of you, giving it an exaggerated inspection. "Handsome. Looks boring. Like he talks about the metaverse in conventions and shit.”

You stare at him. How the fuck did he clock—

“…Like he can’t drive so he rides a bike and preaches about reducing carbon footprint."

“Alright, damn.” You snatch the photo away, placing it firmly back down, face hot. "I didn't invite you here to diss my boyfriend."

He smiles innocently, eyes dancing. "Actually, you kind of did."

“You know what. I just remembered. I actually didn’t invite you! Get your ass outta here.”

“Can’t. You activated me.”

That makes you stop. You raise your brow. “What do you mean?”

“I have to be within like 30? 40? feet from you at all times, sum’ like that? Forgot what K said.” Yoongi picks at his nail, then looks up at you.

“No!” you laugh incredulously. “You’re shitting me…”

“Yeah… nah…” He lengthens the sound. “I don’t make the rules.”

You blink, still stunned at the new information.

“If you go further, I hear the force field burns your skin or whatever…”

“The what?!” You flop on the couch next to the creature who is now apparently your human ankle monitor. “Where do I fucking put you then?”

“Your bag?” He nods to your purse on the coffee table, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have a handy dandy keychain that appears when I change back. Don’t ask how.”

A monkey-eating eagle can enter your mouth with how agape it is.

“But if I may make a recommendation…” he says, coolly. “I’d actually really like to be placed on the belt loop of your jeans, like near the zip. It’s… fashionable that way.”

You narrow your eyes, because his tone was dripping with mischief. “Sus as fuck.”

He chuckles, tipping his head back, adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Why the belt loop?”

“So I can protect your pussy at all times.“ And then he has the audacity to erupt in a fit of giggles.

Oh you are NOT impressed. Not in the slightest.

You cross your arms, needing to sound authoritative. "Are you always like this?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, stretching his arms over the back of your sofa, hoodie riding up just enough to tease a hint of toned abdomen. Then, he surprises you with the softness in his tone. “I’m just having fun, baby. I haven’t been pulled in a while. Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“A little…” you say, pulling your sleeve over your knuckles.

“I am here to help.”

“Doubt it, but okay.”

"Wanna start with a reality check?"

You bristle, scowling lightly. "I don’t need that.”

"Look," Yoongi sighs, leaning forward. "Your bath products, your boyfriend's wardrobe—it's all so aggressively vanilla." He waves a hand around the room. "I mean, your furniture matches perfectly. That's never a good sign."

Your cheeks heat again, and you glare defensively. "What does my furniture have to do with anything?"

"Everything," he says simply. "Predictable couch, predictable love life. You’ve never even had sex in this thing, I bet."

You blink, mouth falling open slightly. Namjoon did love this boucle couch he got from some designer. You’re not even allowed to have colored food here. Yoongi sees your reaction and grins, eyes softening.

"Look," he says gently, voice suddenly warm, disarming. "Tell me about him. He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you respond automatically, hugging your knees tighter to your chest. “Namjoon’s great.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “But…?”

How do you even answer this? Should you even take this magic toy human thing seriously? Wow he’s really looking at you like that. Oh shit what if he can read your mind?

You groan, and stomp towards the kitchen, his eyes following your movement. If this is gonna be some interrogation, you might as well do it with a buzz. “Hey, you want a beer?”

You already have one can on each hand even before you hear his affirmative.

A crack and a gulp and a satisfied exhale later, your eyes drift to the framed photo again. “Lately it feels like he's more invested in his books and work and art and...plants, rather than me.”

“Plants? Seriously?” He asks, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb.

“He likes gardening. He says it’s therapeutic.”

Yoongi tilts his head playfully, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Maybe he’s watering the wrong flower.”

“Stop, that’s terrible.” You roll your eyes but laugh despite yourself, shaking your head, before you take another swig in time with him.

“Worked, though,” he counters smugly, leaning back on the couch with an arm outstretched. “You should smile more. Pretty.”

Your breath catches. Yoongi’s eyes hold yours for a beat too long, loaded with something you don’t know how to name. You hesitate, picking at a stray thread on your sweatpants. "Joon… He's sweet. Caring. We've been together ten years. Things just got… comfortable?"

Yoongi nods, watching you carefully. "Comfortable isn't always bad."

"It isn't," you admit quietly, suddenly vulnerable under his gaze. "But lately it's felt empty. Like we're just roommates. There's no passion, no excitement. And, I don't know," you shrug weakly, "maybe it's me?"

Yoongi tilts his head, expression thoughtful. "Nah, it's definitely not you."

"You don't even know my name."

"Doesn't matter," he says with a confidence that makes your heart flutter annoyingly. "I know your type. You're funnier than you let on, smart, bit of an overthinker, though. You want more. Excitement, spontaneity, risk. You wouldn’t have picked me out if you didn't."

You pause, stunned into silence. 

"Maybe," you murmur, eyes flicking up to meet his. "But how exactly do you plan to help apart from psychoanalyzing the shit outta me? Are you like… Cupid or something?"

“Cupid?” He laughs—a low, genuinely delighted sound that lights up his face. "Hell nah. I'm more like a... sex coach with magical powers."

“Sketchy."

"My ‘job’ per client is different. But I think for you, it’s to help you understand your needs. Then we get you confident enough to voice them to good ol’ Kim Namjoon."

Honestly, you will take any help you can get just to salvage your relationship. And the beer is smoothening out the creases of your brain enough to take the help of a crazy-hot blind bag toy person. Shit sounds totally insane, but you say fuck it. "How do we start?"

"With honesty. First, tell me what you're missing most in your relationship."

Heat creeps up your neck, your heart hammering under his intense gaze.  Because the truth is you don’t even know where to begin. There’s a lot you miss, a lot that has changed in the last decade with you and your first love. Passion. Spontaneity. But at the risk of getting too emotional, you manage a meek, “just feeling wanted, maybe?"

Yoongi’s expression softens, brown eyes gentle yet burning into yours. "You're definitely wanted," he murmurs, voice dropping to a velvety whisper, "impossible not to.”

You're momentarily breathless, stunned by how easily he makes your heart race. Is this part of his magical powers? To butter you up like this? To make you feel… good?

He continues, “Maybe he’s just forgotten how to show you."

Clearing your throat, you glance down, forcing your voice steady. "And you know this because you're magic?"

He chuckles again, the sound sending warmth flooding through your chest. "I know this because I'm observant. And because you…" he pauses meaningfully, tilting his head teasingly, "blush whenever I look at you."

"I do not!" You protest feebly, warmth overcoming your face and it’s not from the alcohol.

"Sure," Yoongi says softly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If that's what helps you sleep tonight."

You sigh exaggeratedly, ignoring his little smirk and how it’s making you feel. "So how do I remind him?"

“I’m gonna ask you some questions first, that cool?”

“Fine.”

Yoongi shifts, leaning back comfortably, dark eyes burning confidently into yours. His voice lowers seductively, "When was the last time you guys fucked?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, glued to his lips and how it’s rounded with the sound of the word, and how his tongue swept past his lower lip as he waits for your reply.

You haven’t had sex in a while. Yeah, maybe you sucked his dick once last month? He fingered you in the car two months ago, but you were too uncomfortable so you didn’t really finish? It’s been bleak.

He notices instantly, the mental gymnastics happening in your brain. "I’m guessing it’s when dinosaurs roamed the earth. What's Namjoon's biggest flaw in bed?"

Your cheeks flare hotter instantly, and you groan, covering your face with both hands. "You're seriously asking me that?"

He gently tugs at your wrists, peeling your hands away from your mortification. "C'mon, honesty, remember?"

You meet his eyes reluctantly, and he offers an encouraging smile. With a deep breath, you finally admit quietly, "He's too... methodical."

"Mm… same, predictable moves?"

You shrug, sipping from your can.

“And is there something you've always wanted but never dared to ask Namjoon for?”

You shake your head adamantly. "Uh-uh."

"Aw, shy now?" Yoongi teases gently, "I'll go first if it helps."

"You?" you ask incredulously, eyebrows lifting. "You don't seem like you hesitate to ask for anything."

He smirks, shrugging easily. "True, but it's a trust exercise. Besides," he murmurs, his gaze lingering meaningfully on yours, "I wouldn't ask you to do something I'm unwilling to do myself."

"Alright," you nod, anticipation thick. "Go ahead."

Yoongi smirks, fingertips sweeping thoughtfully against his lip. "I've always liked the idea of someone trusting me completely, they'd let me take total control… mind, body, everything," he says, slowly, deliberately, gaze locked onto yours. “No questions. Just trust. Get them begging and crying and screaming for more. Show them how real fuckin’ good it feels to let go."

A hot, dizzying rush floods your body as you imagine his words in your mind’s eye. "Wow," you whisper, trying to laugh off the heat climbing your neck. "You don't hold back, do you?"

He shrugs playfully, eyes glittering. "Your turn."

Your stomach flips nervously, but something about his bold honesty empowers you. Swallowing your embarrassment, you quietly admit, "I… I’ve always kind of wanted someone to just take me, own me, treat me like…" You bite the bottom of your lip, heat dancing across your neck.

Yoongi’s gaze grows darker, more intense. "You want someone to treat you..."

Is he gonna say what you can’t say? Your eyes follow as he tongues the inside of his cheek and rasps, “…like their little fucktoy?”

Your heart slams in your chest. "Fuck."

He moves closer still, his weight dips against the cushions as the space between you shrinks dangerously. "Sounds like we're both saying the same thing."

Your voice is teeny tiny. "Seems so."

You're close enough now that his eyes dip once to your lips, lingering, and the air between you is crackling dangerously. Yoongi's voice turns rough, low, teasing but still careful. "You think Kim Namjoon can give you that?"

The mention of your boyfriend jolts you back to reality, and you pull back slightly, suddenly guilty. "He's my boyfriend. I should at least try, right?"

Yoongi leans back as well, eyes softening with understanding. "Fair. But there’s one more thing."

You raise an eyebrow, wary yet curious. "What's that?"

He smiles lazily, mischief returning. "I can help you practice."

Your eyes widen, shocked laughter bursting from your lips. "Excuse me?"

He chuckles, holding up his hands innocently. "Relax, babygirl. I'm a professional. Think of it as… free training."

"Training," you repeat skeptically. “Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t cheat.”

“I’m just a toy,” Yoongi shrugs. “Is it cheating when you use your vibrator?”

Your mouth is agape, completely gobsmacked. He looks completely serious except for the glint of amusement in his eyes. "I am totally professional, entirely educational. Purely for your benefit. Only if you want it."

Your cheeks are flaming. “You’re crazy.”

“Been called worse." He takes a swig of his beer, slurping the last few dredges of fizz.

Silence hangs between you, chemistry simmering just beneath the surface. Yoongi finally stands, stretching casually, hoodie riding up his abdomen again, deliberately teasing. "I'll let you think about my offer."

Your eyes flick briefly to his exposed skin before quickly darting away. “You’re a freak.”

“Nah, I think it’s fuckin' simple, practical. Convenient, even. Besides, it's the only way you’ll get rid of me.”

“I need to fuck you, so you’ll fuck off?”

“Wow, she’s a poet,” he laughs, sitting back down to explain. “So I disappear, only when I’ve done my duty for my client. Unfortunately, I don’t decide when. Only Jimin knows. So while I’m here, I plan to make myself useful. And knowing what I know now, I’m here to help you resurrect your deceased sex life.”

Before you can ask more questions (because whoever this K is, really made this plot so complicated!), the shrill ringtone of your phone shatters the moment. Namjoon's name flashes across the screen.

Taking a shaky breath, you answer the call, doing your best to sound calm. "Hey…."

Namjoon's voice comes through, but is distracted. "Hey babe, I'll be home pretty late tonight. Work stuff came up, ‘kay?"

You glance up quickly to find Yoongi walking towards the window, looking out, pretending to give you some semblance of privacy.

"But this is the third night this week," you say. 

“I’m really swamped at work, babe.”

“Okay, sorry. I'll see you later."

“Bye. Don’t wait up.”

You end the call, letting out a shaky breath. "He'll be late."

Yoongi pokes the leaf of Namjoon’s monsterra plant. "A true gardener."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Stop that. It’s not funny."

He walks over to sit casually on the edge of the sofa again. "Never apologize for wanting more."

You don’t know why tears start to prick the edges of your lash.

"Alright imma have to freestyle this," he begins, tone gentle yet firm, "for our next session, I want you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"I want you to make a list," Yoongi instructs. "Write down everything you desire in your relationship—emotionally, physically, intimately. Be honest with yourself. What do you crave? What's missing? What fantasies have you kept locked away?"

You feel a flush creep up your neck, the vulnerability of the task both daunting and intriguing. "That's... quite personal."

Yoongi nods, his eyes holding yours with unwavering sincerity. "It is. But understanding your desires is the first step toward fulfillment. This isn't just about Namjoon. It's about you recognizing and voicing what you need. We can’t fix it, if you can’t face your truths."

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Okay. I'll do it."

A warm smile spreads across Yoongi's face. "Good. We'll discuss it next time."

Glancing at the clock, you notice the time. A sudden wave of fatigue washes over you, the day's events catching up.

“Yoongi, it's getting late," you murmur, stifling a yawn. But then you perk up, because where the fuck is Yoongi even going to sleep? Can you even hide him in your guest room? What if he snores?

He follows your gaze to the clock and sighs, a hint of melancholy in his expression. "Yeah, it is."

As if on cue, Yoongi's form begins to shimmer subtly, an ethereal glow enveloping him. What in the Twilight?! Your eyes widen in astonishment.

"What's happening?" you ask, a mix of awe and concern in your voice.

Yoongi offers a reassuring smile. "Every three hours, I revert to my original form until you activate me again. Read the damn box… Y/N.”

Before you could respond, the glow intensifies, and in a blink, Yoongi is no longer seated on the couch. In his place sits a heap of clothing and underneath, the small, inanimate figurine you had unboxed earlier. 

He does know your name.

You pick it up gently, and you carry Yoongi's miniature form to the living room shelf, placing him beside one of Namjoon's beloved plants.

"There," you whisper, stepping back to admire the sight. "Now you can watch him water a different flower."

The tiny figure stands stoically next to the vibrant green leaves, an unexpected yet oddly fitting addition to the room. You can’r help but smile at the absurdity and charm of it all.

With a final glance at the shelf, you turn off the living room lights and head to bed, the anticipation of your next session with Yoongi lingering in your thoughts before sleep claims you.

The sound of the front door slamming shut wakes you. Frowning, you glance at the clock on your nightstand—7:15 AM. Pushing aside the covers, you slip into a robe and make your way to the living room.

As you enter, Namjoon stands near the entrance, setting down his briefcase with a weary sigh. His tie is loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. There's a subtle sway in his stance, and as you approach, the unmistakable scent of alcohol wafts toward you.

"You just got home?" you remark, striving to keep your tone neutral.

Namjoon runs a hand through his disheveled hair, avoiding your gaze. "Yeah, the project ran late. We... uh, grabbed a few drinks after to unwind."

You nod slowly, the tightness in your chest growing. "I see. A message would have been nice."

He finally meets your eyes, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "I literally called. Didn’t think it was a big deal."

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it. "Not a big deal? Namjoon, this is becoming a pattern. Late nights, zero communication. You smell like shit."

His expression hardens slightly, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "Work has been demanding. I'm doing my best to provide for us."

"I understand that," you reply, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Don’t apologize, a voice in your head reminds. Don’t apologize for wanting more. "But it's not just about work. It's about us, about feeling like we're partners in this relationship."

Namjoon exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. "I don't want to argue. I'm exhausted."

You bite back a retort, recognizing the futility of pressing the issue further in his current state. The room is thick with unspoken words, the chasm between you widening with each passing moment.

"Fine," you say quietly, turning away. "Get some rest."

Without waiting for a response, you retreat to the bathroom, the weight of disappointment settling heavily on your shoulders. 

Determined not to let the confrontation derail your entire day, you shower and prep for work, setting up your laptop near the window. Your eyes land on the shelf where Yoongi's figurine stands beside Namjoon's plant. The juxtaposition is almost poetic—a symbol of the mundane routine you've been trapped in, and the unexpected disruption that has you questioning everything.

Namjoon leaves again around lunch. He has the decency to apologize and drop a kiss on top of your head before he’s gone for the day.

With a sigh, your mind drifts back to Yoongi's assignment—your list. Perhaps it's time to confront the truths you've been avoiding.

You finish your work day feeling drained. And you work from home, so you don’t even need to commute: Everything about today had been exhausting, from Namjoon's passive-aggressive excuses this morning, to eating lunch alone while scribbling down Yoongi's awkward assignment, to the bajillion emails you had to clear.

Yet you still decided to cook dinner. You don't even know why. Maybe because somewhere deep down, you're still holding onto hope. Or maybe you're just stupid.

Halfway through carefully plating pasta—because carbs make people happy, right?—your phone buzzes from the kitchen counter.

Namjoon: Hey. Sorry again, work's crazy. Don’t wait up.

The plate clatters onto the counter with a frustrated sigh. You're not even surprised anymore. You glance at the table you had meticulously set for two and feel a painful tug in your chest.

"Awesome," you mutter bitterly. "Dinner for one. Again."

Cold air sends a shiver through you and you cross the living room to close the window. You're tugging the glass shut when your elbow accidentally knocks into the shelf beside you. You hear a small thud followed by a faint splash.

Your eyes widen in horror. "Oh, shit."

You glance down just in time to see Yoongi’s tiny figurine form sink into Namjoon’s water pail—exactly what you didn't need tonight. Before you can even fish him out, the water begins bubbling with that familiar glow, and seconds later, Yoongi is standing in front of you, drenched head-to-toe, NAKED, and oh my god that’s a huge—

You duck your head, hitting your forehead against the surface. “Ow.”

"Did I just fall into a bucket?"

"Watering pail," you correct with a groan, eyes still averted. "And yes, you did."

"Creative activation, I’ll give you that… I’ll be right back.”

You hear him pad away from you and you glance back long enough to see his perky ass before he disappears into your room to find a towel and some clothes and the words bubble butt suddenly come to mind.

God you’re a pervert. And also you’re really letting this stranger feel so at home huh? Should you start setting him up with stuff in the guest room? What are you doing?!

He walks out a few minutes later in a white tshirt and black pajamas.

"I swear I wasn't trying to activate you tonight."

"Obviously," he says dryly, glancing around at the carefully set dinner table, then back at your exhausted face. His voice softens. "Rough day?"

You sigh heavily, shoulders dropping. "You have no idea."

Yoongi scratches the back of his head, "Actually, I kinda do… that Kim Namjoon’s a dick."

You cringe immediately. "Oh god, you hear things when you’re…?”

“Part of the cur—" he coughs. “Never mind that. I'm sorry you're dealing with it alone."

Something in his quiet sincerity loosens the knot in your chest, and your voice comes out smaller than you intend. "It’s fine. It's just… lonely."

He steps closer, carefully, hesitantly. "Hey. I'm here now, right? How about we eat whatever you made—"

"Pasta," you interrupt sheepishly.

"Perfect. Let's have pasta, then."

Dinner turns out to be surprisingly comfortable. Yoongi listens as you vent about Namjoon, about work, about your frustrations—and he never tries to fix it. Maybe a snide remark here and there, but he just listens, nodding sympathetically and occasionally stealing bites from your plate. It's almost perfect until, twenty minutes later, his face suddenly pales.

"Um," he clutches his stomach, "this... might’ve been a mistake."

You blink, instantly worried. "Yoongi?"

He bolts from the table to the bathroom, and moments later, you hear sounds you never thought you'd hear from a supposed magical creature.

When he finally emerges, his face is pained and pale. "Turns out... toys aren’t supposed to eat."

You bite back laughter, shaking your head. "I'm sorry."

He huffs, dropping dramatically onto the sofa beside you where you’ve migrated. "Don’t apologize. I’ll just have a drink next time."

“Wait. You can’t eat, but you can drink?”

“Sue me for wanting a beer once in a while.” He stretches his leg out, massaging his tummy with his hand. “Also, read the damn flyer, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, turning on Netflix as silence settles comfortably between you. Somehow, his presence makes the emptiness of the apartment feel less overwhelming. Before you know it, your eyelids are heavy, and you lean your head against his shoulder, letting exhaustion finally win.

"You okay?" Yoongi asks softly.

You nod sleepily, sinking into his side. "Better now."

As sleep claims you, you're vaguely aware of Yoongi shifting to cover you with a blanket. You hear the gentle hum of his voice, a song you’re not familiar with but you find it really soothing, and feel his fingers softly brush hair away from your face.

In this moment, you're okay.

Maybe you’re still lonely. But at least, you’re not alone.

003 >

A/N: Did we likey? Yoongi is... sigh... like if you're not in love with him at this point, get out. Lol. Tell me your thoughts? Love to see y'all in the comments. And if you want more, please do reblog. 💜🥹

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human xo

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Divider by: @/saradika-graphics

[doppel-doodles]

That illustration is making me want to slam my head against solid concrete, Art block said no, and I know when to pick my battles so fuck it we ball-

A normal post about Matthew Hallard from Poppy Playtime

I briefly mentioned this in the Jack post, the fact that I didn't think I had anything new or particularly interesting to say on Matthew as I always thought the Fandom had a lot of the bases covered.

But the more I actually thought about him, the more I wanted to talk about one thing in particular:

Let's talk about Doeys tape.

In game we find a vhs tape recorded by Doey, talking about how he almost ditched everyone in favor of running away, ultimately deciding to go back for them instead. It reveals a lot about how he truly feels about the responsibility that has been given to him.

I think it was so important to include this and the reason why is quite simple:

It humanises Matthew for me.

Why I point him out specifically is due to reasons I mentioned in my other analysis, Jack's control is mostly passive, Kevin only really comes to the forefront when he feels like there is a threat to assess or deal with and it has been confirmed that Matthew is the oldest of the children as well as having been a leader of sorts since he was still a human child, so in the tape it's basically him venting.

Which is great as it makes something crystal clear: He is not a perfect saint.

Matthew is a teenager who has been parentified from an incredibly young age, places immense pressure on himself, is suffering from more burnout than a college kid and not to mention the horror that is his current existence and life-

He doesn't WANT this responsibility, he only takes it on because nobody else will or can.

And nobody even thinks to ask him ONCE how HE is doing, no,no it's him who has to do that, he is not allowed to have breaks.

For godness sake he literally tells us in the tape that he is recording it because he feels like he can't talk to anyone about his problems!

The toys- The children having someone like Doey or more accurately Matthew is not a guarantee, it is a privilege but it's a privilege Matthew needs to!

And you rarely ever see kind characters COMPLAIN about having to be kind all the time, truly looking after everyone else drains you, it's exhausting to fulfill the needs of others, more often than not you'll have to put aside your own and when you really pull the shit end of the stick you get more complains then appreciation for your troubles.

It is such a CHORE and I think a character struggling with being so selfless actually can have such a massive impact instead of just being able to handle everything, it's that tiny bit of realism I love.

Despite how exhausted and miserable Matthew was over being stuck in this position in the end he turned back. Because he loves his friends that much, and he should get massive props for that.

And to think he still did so much but didn't think anything he did was good enough is just painful, like no honey you are enough, more than enough-

Also Poppy having once been the leader makes you think that maybe Matthew might have been hurt the most by her disappearing.

Like her leading was the closest thing to a break he ever got- and then she just up and disappears?? And it's all up to him now? Not to mention the concern? The worry??

Boy it speaks volumes that he doesn't seem to display more hostility towards her considering Poppy doesn't even EXPLAIN herself on why she left or why she couldn't come back.

He is even civil in discussing the fact that she demands for them to be okay with being blown up(also correct me if I'm wrong but didn't Poppy also include in her plan that SHE will get to live? If I heard that I would be flabbergasted.) But that's something I should discuss in another post.

For now that is everything I have about my boy, if you want to see what I have to say about other characters here is Kevin annnnnnd Jack, plus some extra stuff on Doey

[heavenlymorals]

Details that I've noticed about Arthur Morgan-

-He, for the most part, despises male touch, especially if it's overly affectionate. He gets tense anytime a man hugs him and wants it to be over as quick as possible (Jamie, Mickey) and he looks visibly offended when Professor Bell touches him. He even sometimes gets annoyed when Dutch touches him on his shoulder, someone who he considers a father figure.

-On the flip side, he does not mind female touch at all. He even initiates it sometimes (Tilly, the girl at Beaver Hollow). Now one could argue that they were high stress situations, but if Tilly was a dude, he would've just set her free, make a snide remark, give her a gun, and then he'd expect her to help him with the fighting. He is completely cool with the nun giving him a hug and doesn't get offended when Mary Beth touches his hand in their therapy session.

- He seems to be pretty well read. He knows Shakespeare, with Romeo and Juliet, and Icarus. He makes other literary references. This is probably due to Dutch. Dutch is clearly very well read and cultured. However, Arthur seems more interested in practical works like guides then philosophy and stories, given that the only book he has on his tent desk is a plant guide.

- He's great at remembering faces and less so on remembering names.

- He does have an amazing propensity to remember physical features, like how he is able to create amazing portraits of the people he meets without consistent reference. It's incredible and works back to the whole great at remembering faces thing. Same goes for animals.

- He is very curious. He is always touching things, looking at things, critiquing things, and trying to understand how they work.

- He generally refuses to be emotionally open with men and does it only with women- this could be due to the idea of the Cult of Domesticity. I've made a post about it before. Compare him speaking with the nun to Reverend Swanson. Compare him speaking to John about Dutch leaving him to him speaking to Sadie about Dutch leaving him.

- He is very connected or is fond of artistic people. He and Mary Beth talk about their journals. He is fond of Albert Mason's photography and helps him out. He is interested in Charles Chataney's artistic work, even if he doesn't like it or connect with it.

- Since a lot of camp members respond to Arthur's antagonizations with something like "not again" or "I knew I'd be next", it's safe to assume Arthur will go off on people from time to time, regardless if you play high or low honor.

- Does not have a fixed temperament. In some missions, he is more energetic and in others, he is more downtrodden. Very realistic and I fucking love it.

- Has direct eye content at all times- will look anyone in the eye and does not give a fuck. NPCs will look away from him if he stares at them.

- Gets mad when men don't behave like men, especially when it concerns women. He gets pissed at John for not stepping up and being a man to his family. He gets annoyed and even pissed off when asking why Beau couldn't have helped Penelope Braithwaite as she is his woman.

- Given how the camp falls to shit whenever Arthur isn't donating, we can safely conclude that Arthur is the most valuable member of that camp, bar maybe Hosea and Dutch.

- He is very reminiscent of the Dark Romantic, which is really interesting as a lot of times, it can be looked at as the middle ground between Romantacism and Realism, two ideologies that were very popular in the 19th century. I will make a full analysis regarding this later.

- Introverted, but not shy at all. In fact, he's very charismatic and is just as good as dealing with people as Dutch and Hosea (The Riverboat Mission) This 'dumb, mumbling' cowboy thing he's dumbed down to in the fandom is an insult to his character.

- He probably acted like a father figure to Jamie Gillis when he was still with Mary, given the fact that he taught him how to ride a horse. Will probably also make a full post about this later.

- Some people say that Arthur is around 5'10-11. Others say He's 6'0-3. Whatever his height actually is, he's still way taller than the average man during this time period, who was around 5'6. Now imagine that with muscles and armed to the teeth- fucking terrifying.

- Very sentimental. He keeps a photo of his supposedly no good Pa and wears his hat. He keeps a photo of his mother who he doesn't really remember at all. He keeps a photo of his dog, a horseshoe that probably belonged to a dead and beloved horse. He keeps a flower from his mother. Keeps a photo of Mary as well. If he had a photo of Isaac, he'd probably keep that too.

-Arthur died at 36 years old from Tuberculosis if you play high honor. The real gunslinger and outlaw Doc Holliday died at the same exact age and the same exact way.

- Genuinely doesn't give a fuck about movements, social issues, and cultural issues, but does care about individual people.

- I love him

- So fucking much

- 😃

[mocchiixxx]

Words in Ruin Series # | 02 : Yoon Jeonghan 😇

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idol Life Realism, Slow-Burn Reconciliation

Warnings: Hurtful words, emotional vulnerability, soft guilt spiral, crying

Summary: Jeonghan snaps under the weight of stress, saying things he never meant to the one person who’s always been gentle with him. But when silence replaces your usual warmth, he realizes some words cut deeper than he ever intended and this time, sorry has to be more than just a word.

💌😇💌

The clock read 1:14 AM.

You sat curled up on the couch, a throw blanket around your shoulders, half a drama playing on the TV you weren’t really watching. Your eyes kept flicking to the door. Again. And again.

You didn’t even hear the key turn— just the sound of it shutting, and Jeonghan's familiar footsteps trailing into the apartment.

“Hannie?” you called out softly, standing.

He glanced up, startled, as if he didn’t expect you to still be awake. His face was pale under the hallway light, his hair tousled, the air around him heavy.

“You’re home late again,” you said gently, careful not to sound accusing. “I was getting worried.”

He exhaled sharply, tossing his bag on the floor without care. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need someone watching over me all the time.”

You blinked.

The tone.

He'd never spoken to you like that before. Not even during your few minor disagreements.

“I’m not trying to watch over you,” you said, fidgeting with your fingers. “I just… it’s been three straight weeks of you coming home past midnight, barely eating, and sleeping for what? Three hours, tops? I’m worried, Hannie.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fine. It’s just work. We’re all going through it.”

“I’m not doubting that,” you said, trying to stay calm. “I just want you to take care of yourself. You’re tired, and I—”

“God, Y/N, can you stop?” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “Why does everything have to be about me? You hover like it’s your full-time job.”

You froze.

Your heart dropped, the words lodging deep like tiny glass splinters.

Jeonghan immediately looked away, jaw tight like he was already regretting it— but he didn’t take it back. Not yet.

You stepped back slightly, the silence thick between you.

“I wasn’t hovering,” you said, voice small. “I was… caring.”

Something in that sentence cracked his composure.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he muttered, but even he knew it was cruel.

You didn’t respond this time. Just nodded faintly, turned around, and headed for the bedroom. Your hand lingered on the doorframe for a second longer than necessary before disappearing behind it.

Jeonghan stood there for a beat.

Then two.

Then—

“Shit,” he breathed.

He immediately followed you into the room a few minutes later, guilt trailing him like a shadow.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away, wiping your cheeks.

“Y/N,” he said softly, not sure how to begin. “I— can we talk?”

You didn’t say anything.

He crossed the room, crouched down in front of you, eyes wide and full of shame. “I shouldn’t have said that. Any of it.”

Your eyes finally met his. “Then why did you?”

His lips parted, but he hesitated. “Because I’m an idiot. Because I’ve been bottling everything up like always. Because I hate burdening people— even you.”

You stared at him, brows furrowed. “You think love is a burden?”

“No!” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No. Never. It’s just… when things get too much, I pretend I’m okay until I’m not. And tonight, I snapped. But you didn’t deserve that. You were being kind, and I was being—”

“Cruel,” you whispered. “You were cruel, Jeonghan.”

That made him flinch.

“I know,” he whispered. “I hurt you. I saw it in your eyes the second the words left my mouth. I’m sorry. I wish I could take it all back.”

He reached out carefully, brushing your hand with his. “I just… didn’t want to fall apart. And I think deep down, I knew that if you looked at me like you were really worried, I wouldn’t be able to hold it together.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Why wouldn’t you let yourself fall apart… with me?”

His throat tightened. “Because you’re the only peace I have. I didn’t want to taint that with all the chaos I’m carrying.”

You finally met his eyes. “But I want all of you, Jeonghan. Even the tired parts. Even the messy ones. You don't need to protect me from your storms... I just want to be your umbrella.”

Jeonghan let out a trembling breath, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I’ve never deserved you. But I swear, I’ll try to be someone who does.”

You closed your eyes at the warmth of his touch. “Just promise me next time, talk to me instead of shutting down or snapping.”

“I promise,” he said without hesitation. “Even if the words are ugly, I’ll say them before they rot inside me and hurt you again.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he buried his face into your neck, holding you tighter than he had in days.

“I love you angel, never forget that.” he whispered kissing your neck gently and burying his face to it even more, affectionately.

You smile and kisses his head before replying, “I love you too, hannie.”

In that quiet embrace, Jeonghan let go of the weight he carried and picked up something gentler in its place... you.

Taglist: @babycaratdeul @viacb97

[liveyun]

the archivist.

life has bothered you enough that you end up taking a job at a forgotten archive. somehow, one of the barren books seem know too much about you, and so does he.

▸ pairing. namjoon x fem reader/oc

▸ genre. dark fantasy, liminal horror, magical realism, mature

▸ warnings. (for this one-shot) soft eldritch joon ? ? , surrealism , unreality, oc is a broke student, mentions of a toxic ex, time gets weird, mild possession ? ? . . kind of yearning ? , also — there’s erotica appearance!! namjoon is very gentle but also very intense, emotional vulnerability x10000. english isn’t my first language so pls excuse the lil mistakes ! !

▸ wc. 2.2k +

part of the “DEADL7NES” series

────────────────────────

You take the job because you’re broke.

You found the job on a half-broken bulletin board behind the convenience store, thumbtacked between a flier for lost kittens and a “no questions asked” roommate search.

The paper looked old. Faded ink. Just a time and an address.

No title, no description. No contact number. No interviews, no prior experience needed either.

Desperation has a sound — it's the growling of your stomach on the fourth day of instant ramen, the shame of unread emails with subject lines like we regret informing you.

So despite this whole ordeal sounding shady at all points, you show up.

The building looks like it’s seen some pretty tough shit.

It leans into a pocket of space between two concrete towers like a secret. Ivy coils up its bricks like veins, there are signs of ageing and neglect, but there’s a certain vibe which just screams vintage is undeniable. There’s no signboard, only a brass doorknob that’s too cold for your touch.

You step in. Dust sighs under your shoes. The air is still, too, like it’s listening.

The timing was listed at 7:00 PM sharp. A quick glance to your wrist watch tells you it’s 6:56, and you let out a small exhale of relief through your nose.

“I see that you’re quite punctual. . .” a voice as deep as sounds echoing back from vast halls startles you as you flush momentarily. you were zoned out on the small creeper plant which seems to have no roots at all, claiming the wall from the wood floorboard.

Kim Namjoon.

That’s what he introduces himself as when he steps out from behind the desk, his voice as quiet, yet raspy as the rest of him.

“I’m Namjoon. You’ll be taking care of the shelves,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the books that stretch like ribs around the room. “Call for me if you need help. I’ll be at the desk.”

You nod.

You do not speak, because his presence has stolen language from you.

It’s not just that he’s handsome — it’s that he’s unreasonably and unfairly so. Not the kind from glossy advertisements or late-night dramas, though, this. . . is different.

He is carved.

Ancient. Like a statue that forgot it was stone and decided to breathe. Like the sculptor blew the breath of life to their creation.

There’s wisdom in the slant of his eyes. Softness, too. Like an ancient, old dragon who never ages. The dragon, who believes that there’s strength in gentleness.

His hair is thick and dark, parted gently like the petals of a bloom. Dimples bloom when he smiles, but it’s rare.

You find yourself waiting for them like sunrise.

────────────────────────

You start the job.

It’s mostly cleaning — dusting shelves, sorting book returns, arrivals, fixing the labels that curl off from old spines, and sometimes even wiping, although that’s rare. Sometimes people come in, reserved and quiet, as though they too stumbled in by mistake. You suggest titles. Smile when they leave. You see the same names again and again. No one ever asks for a library card.

The place smells of paper and petrichor.

He’s always there, somewhere—at the big desk in the corner, writing into thick journals. Sometimes you catch the curve of his hand around a pen, ink smudged on his fingers.

He doesn’t talk much. But his plants are always freshly watered. You often catch glimpses of him lovingly watering his potted plant of night jasmine, admiring the tiny life with his gentle, calm eyes.

Something strange happens: your life starts to fix itself.

The rent gets paid on time. You get better sleep. An old wound on your ankle fades like it remembers how to heal. Your ex no longer harasses you over texts. Your fridge now has fresh produce instead of ancient boxes of takeout. Your stomach issues are gone, your skin is devoid of acne and hyperpigmentation, your roommate finds a better apartment and moves out, and the silence she leaves behind is warm, not cold. Your grades improve almost magically. The professor who you swore couldn’t stand the sight of you automatically starts giving you extention periods for your assignments.

It doesn’t make sense. But you don’t question it. Not when you can finally exhale for the first time in months, can buy yourself a latte without getting concerned glances from the barista regarding the embarrassingly low balance in your student card.

You feel grateful. You feel. . . happy.

────────────────────────

One evening, you’re working, as usual. You shelve a set of old poetry books and your fingers brush against a cover that looks newer than the rest. Bound in deep crimson, its spine uncracked. The pages look white instead of yellow.

No title. No author.

You pull it free.

It’s erotica. The kind that moans long and slow.

You shouldn’t read it, but you find yourself reading it. You cannot make yourself resist.

Your eyes devour the first few lines.

“Her limbs trembled like branches after rain, heavy with want.

His hands were galaxies, tracing constellations across her skin, stars burning beneath each fingertip.

She opened beneath him like dawn, and he worshipped like a man made of midnight.”

You think you’ve forgotten breathing.

“He pressed his lips to her collarbone, reverent, like a psalm sung in a forgotten tongue.

The mouth of the beloved does not ask permission.

It tastes. It drinks. It sings against the skin.

Her breath caught like a bird between palms—

desperate, fluttering, sacred.

When her eyes closed, it was not from fear.

It was surrender.

The world vanished beneath her spine.

There was only warmth,

and the memory of a name

moaned, but not spoken.

And when he took her, it was not just a body—it was a memory. It was a myth. A myth only he could unravel from her.”

Warmth pools between your thighs, unbidden, shameful, aching. You press your thighs together, hoping for a bit of relief.

“You found that one.”

You jerk. The book nearly flies from your hands.

Namjoon stands across the aisle, arms folded loosely, gaze dipped low. His eyes are unreadable—amused, yes, but something else. Like he’s expecting this of you. Like he’s seen it happen before.

You stammer. “I, uh, — I was just—”

“Curious?” he offers, head tilting slightly. The sleeves of his khaki cardigan are folded up to his elbows, showing the delicious, golden skin of his arm.

The silence thickens. Your throat works. He doesn’t approach — he just watches you. Eyes slow, deliberate, knowing. You feel exposed, naked, like the words you read clung to your skin and spelled your desire in script only he can decipher. Shame crawls down your neck like branches of a tree, swirling with the desire which bloomed in between your legs.

He smiles. One dimple appears.

You close the book and try to breathe.

That night bothers you enough to have you squirming in your bed, aching with need.

That night, you dream of slender hands roaming in between your legs and sending you to the clouds of heaven.

────────────────────────

You don’t speak of it again.

But it lingers.

The air between you two crackles differently. Some days he looks up when you pass, and the corner of his mouth lifts. Some days you catch him watching you through the reflection in the glass door. He never stares.

Just. . . observes. Like he’s waiting for you to notice something you haven’t yet.

Weeks pass.

One night, you’re working late again, alone among the shelves. The rain taps the windows in a quiet but soothing rhythm. It feels warm. Cosy. You don’t feel sleepy working late anymore, and you feel this library has become your small world. You’re humming under your breath, dusting the top of a shelf, when a heavy book slips from its place and falls with a thud. You reach down—

—and hear a click.

There’s something behind the shelf. A panel has loosened, just barely. You dig your fingers in and pull it open.

A drawer. Hidden, because you swear that you come by this shelf almost everyday and you’ve never once caught a glimpse of it.

Inside there’s a stack of thick, leather-bound books. The top one slides forward and you stumble to catch the fat book.

You lift it.

And on the first page, you see your name.

Your full name. Handwritten in that same smooth ink you’ve seen on his desk. In the same, smooth drawl you’ve seen countless times.

You flip through it. The first pages are mostly empty, and you feel like this is some sort of a very cruel joke. Frustration touches you, and soon you’re vigorously flipping through the pages untill you reach the middle of the novel, the text written in a muted shade of blue.

I. Childhood

She was a girl with small hands and wide eyes.

She knew how to be quiet,

the way others knew how to dance or sing.

Or maybe because she was often told she spoke a lot.

When no one looked, she tucked her hands in a sack of grains, finding comfort at how the grains brushing against her soft palms felt home. No one answered her questions of wonder when she asked how did butterflies learnt how to fly, or how did they get such beautiful colours in their wings.

She was always waiting for something —

not a person, not a thing.

Just . . . something.

Maybe it was kindness. . .

Or maybe a door.

II. Adolescence

At night, she’d trace the ceiling with her gaze,

as if searching for a skylight no one had built.

There was a fire in her,

but she hid it well—

tended to it like a secret she couldn’t afford to burn.

She’d try to figure out the changes she’d went through, trying to understand if she willed them, or they just happened.

And when her tender heart was thrown away by someone insignificant, she didn’t cry.

She just curled up in her bed and stared at the light

leaking in through the window

like it was your last friend,

wondering what was wrong with her,

Or if she could ever be good enough.

III. The becoming.

There is no single word for surviving.

You did it by half.

One shift. One skipped meal. One train. Years away from home.

You stitched rent money and broken dreams

into something like hope.

No one clapped.

But you kept waking up.

That was the miracle.

—

The letter that never came,

But you expected it the most.

You checked the inbox like a ritual, a routine.

It was summer—

the air sticky and humid with waiting.

That one line, that one school—

you had braided your future around its name.

But the screen stays blank.

You laughed.

Then you cried until your chest hurt

and your throat forgot how to make sound.

You touch your stomach when no one looks.

You cross your arms when you speak.

You fear being too much,

but worse — being not enough.

You pretend you don’t see the way people look past you.

But you do.

And it breaks you.

Quietly.

But you still keep going.

—

You were cleaning,

thinking of bills and bus rides.

You find a nameless book,

But the texts inside named a different spark inside you.

You tremble, not out of fear.

Your thighs press together,

slickness blooming between them like honey under sun.

You gasp when the thought touches you—

of lips against your collarbone,

of fingers ghosting down your spine,

of someone saying your name

like a prayer without God.

You are not shy.

Only aching.

—

Your days are brighter.

And your nights are peaceful.

The wind touches your cheeks gently and you don’t question it anymore.

Because you truly feels the tranquility of happiness in a very long time, so why even think about it?

The drawer.

You didn’t mean to find it.

You were lost in the puzzle of your own mind —

Dreaming of endless skies and the rain that fell.

Then the book fell.

And the drawer opened — like it had been waiting.

Inside: parchment, ink-stained and breathing.

A book too thick to belong to anyone.

Except you.

The first page had your name.

“Is this a joke?” you ponder, but it isn’t.

Now that you’ve read your story,

You taste salt. But you don’t know if it’s bitter or sweet

Because the tears which depart your eyes aren’t of sorrow, nor fear

But your heart feels heavy,

And your body trembles.

It’s because the soul remembers

what the body has not yet learned.

You didn’t realise you were on your knees now, your hands shaking as you come to an end of the novel. Your eyes burn with tears as your heart threatenes to trash out of your chest.

He is there. Right beside you.

Close enough that his warmth shouldn’t feel so cold.

Close enough that you wonder how long he’s been standing there as you slowly turn your head to look at him, kneeling down before you. Your eyes are hazy with tears, but..

His eyes— they look gentle, soft, and almost sorrowful. The kind of softness that ruins you quietly, like lullabies sung in the wrong language, tender but distant, like a poem written for someone who died too young.

But his smile. Ah, his smile. The kind which has dimples popping out, the kind which makes his eyes turn to gentle cresents.

That smile is nothing like his eyes.

The touch which brushes your cheeks is warm, but cold at the same time, as if he knew what the turmoil inside your heart was like. His fingers, his thumb, wiping away your tears.

“Now, now—don’t cry. You yourself wanted a better life, love.”

But that’s not what scares you.

It’s those eyes which don’t look as gentle as you’ve always seen them to be.

“Did you think I would do this for free, love?”

───────────────���────────

[ironunderstands]

Ngl I despise stupid ass tweets like this

There is a time and a place for talking about sexualization, but like you cannot be serious.

It’s shorts. She’s wearing shorts. I know part of the reason why her thighs are exposed is because people like to look at thighs, but oh my god. For 5 seconds, 5 goddamn seconds can the people in this fandom not treat women’s bodies like they are some inherent sin? ITS SHORTS.

Based off this tweet you would assume she was dressed like THIS or something (although this one has SOME armor LMAOO)

But not just by hoyo standards, but by normal people standards, Feixiao is wearing a regular outfit, especially considering the climate she lives in is probably fairly warm, and she’s not a normal human being, so all that extra armor wouldn’t be doing much for her anyways.

Hell, this is a universe where shit like the antimatter legion exists, and I’m sorry, but a few pieces of metal really aren’t going to do much against the stuff that Feixiao might be facing, and considering how restricting armor can be, a pilot such as herself would prefer lighter clothing. Honestly if we want to have a discussion about practicality or realism, the flowy/longer parts of the outfit should be the ones under fire, but that’s not the complaints here.

And I get where this person is coming from.

I understand wanting to see an armored lady, especially considering her male counterpart seems to possess that, but this is not the way to approach it at all.

But calling it misogyny? AND SOFT PORN?? SHORTS??

SHORTS

Like do you hear yourself? You sound like a puritan right now? Honestly I’d prefer Feixiao having her thighs out over hearing someone talk about them like they only exist for gooners to gawk at.

Moreover, considering the absolute nightmare that was the copy-past female Luofu designs, I’d say that hers is a breath of fresh air

Also, if you supposedly can’t take a woman seriously because her legs are exposed.. get help dude. Please.

I don’t even think it’s ridiculous to believe that her design is sexualized, especially with the garter, but like, why like this?

Oh, and Jingyuan’s design is sexualized as well, it’s just not through exposed skin. He has a whole ass corset and thigh garter and he’s imposing and has a deep voice and glowy ass eyes and long hair and he stares at the camera in his splashart like That and you get where I am going with this because HES MEANT TO HE HOT TOO. He just has a different kind of appeal

For fucks sake his lightcone literally has him lounging in a chair legs spread eyeing a bird sleepily as the light hits him like that and his face looks like that wand you expect me to believe this game isn’t trying to present him as attractive? For fucks sake he practically has an adoptive son. This is the dilf older man fucker final boss and yet a woman with shorts is what sends you spiraling?

Don’t act like you didn’t see the TikTok comments of people wishing they were his bird when he got released. Or the master stroke jokes? Or everyone and their mothers (literally according to Cyyu) drooling over his EN voice? “I AM the reinforcements?”

If you want to talk about non-sexualized generals and pull up a picture of Jingyuan I will (and currently am) laugh in your face because to be honest more revealing clothing would make him less horny because the uniform is part of the appeal.

I rest my case

[elodieunderglass]

Slightly morbid Horse Dynasty question perhaps: what was the last funeral that the twins attended before Charlie left, and with Charlie's death premonitions was it a surprise?

Ooh! Yes, yes, YES! The last funeral they attended before Charlie left was that of an apprentice jockey, their age, known to their family. Full Requiem Mass. Really, really close in time to the Big Disowning Scene. Charlie was Not Chill About It.

It was a surprise. In the sense that it was a solid piece of evidence in favour of the death premonitions mapping to reality.

With a lot of the rest of the hazy-shimmer-of-magical-realism, it's deniable. Killie's a very good horseman - but lots of good equestrians are just like that. Charlie's charismatic - but lots of good singers/performers are demonstrably like that. Everyone expects twins to be close. Anyone can hallucinate a horse ghost that nobody else sees. Weird shit happened constantly in childhood, but that's literally just childhood. There are distortions of truth, memory, realism, and the agreed-upon mentality for dealing with it - which is that it didn't happen, and people don't talk about it, and it isn't real anyway. (the twins remember Charlie falling, and they both passed out; why did Dad have the concussion?)

The death premonitions were unreliable and difficult to pin down. Children in particular have such changeable fates that, among the children they grew up with, the twins were only ever sure of their own deaths (which always seemed exceedingly clear and believable, but so impossibly far off that there was no chance of ever "proving" it.) Adults often seemed abstract and hard to interpret - makes sense, statistically; a vision of someone "dying of cancer" would frequently be a vision of a bed. A lot of weird visions, layered through a childhood foundation of learned evasiveness and obliqueness.

Charlie was more prone to it, probably because of his greater perceptiveness around people; but Killie could tune in, and in doing so, would strengthen the signal a bit. But some deaths would be dismaying - watching a fatal car accident is just unpleasant - so why bother? Pointlessly upsetting, really. Certainly not a gift - just a glitch.

So if their pooled powers agreed vividly that That Kid was about to break his neck, and he almost immediately afterwards broke his neck in the exact same way in the vision - wearing the exact same colours, for a really undeniable visual cue - that would make it seem very real and very viscerally upsetting and VERY hard to deal with. Killie secretly cross because he was asked to tune in. Charlie nauseous from seeing it. Not happy bunnies about it at all.

But then they had a big fight about something else, and Charlie left and walled it off, so - so not worth worrying about really.

[artsyunderstudy]

It's interesting how writing will unintentionally unearth your deepest traumas. Like, I'm not kidding when I say when I wrote Someone Wicked, I was truly not aware of how much religion and my conservative upbringing was still weighing on me. I didn't anticipate the rabbit hole that it would send me down, and all the deconstruction I still had yet to do.

Like yes, I think often I chose themes specifically because they resonate with me on a surface level. As in, I actively choose to talk about them. Things like grief and anxiety and depression because those are all very real things that I am very well aware that I want to work through. But then, I'm writing this story right now that's prevailing message is you can be loved as you are, despite the trauma and the shit coping mechanisms and all of the ugly scars. You can have love, and be loved, and give love even if you're imperfect. And it's a message I still need to hear because I felt for such a long time that my flaws made me, not only unlovable, as in insufferable to be around, but also unworthy of love. Like I didn't even deserve to have anyone TRY and love me past those flaws. I like realism in stories, I like ugly truths, I like catharsis. I often shrink away from romances that feel too idealized or too easy. But I think the thing I fantasize about and the fantasy that exists in every single thing that I write is that no matter how unworthy you feel, you can be loved, and be treated with tenderness, and feel safe. You can have those things. As you are now. When your hair is unwashed, and you haven't properly slept in weeks, and you're isolating because everything feels like too much and too loud. Even in those hardest moments, you can be loved.