#I saw a post similar to this and I now crave the art of the underacknowledged with these

[neotrix-09]

Favorite Fantasy Ship Concepts

Massive,powerful,feared female beast x Short,scrawny,eccentric male alchemist ⁽ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʷᵒ ᴼᶜˢ⁾

Malicious,calculating ruler x Their goofy guard

Bard x The enemy they were meant to slay ("HENDRICKSON,HOW DID YOU EVEN FIND THE LORD OF THE ABYSS?")

Royal Guard x That one goof who won't stop breaking into the castle

Trying to stay evil x The sweetest person imaginable

Goofy little goblin x The most elegant person you've met in your life

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person in the world who still remembers and loves CDs. Vinyl records have made a comeback and are now considered cool among certain varieties of hipster and audiophile, but CDs haven't had the same treatment.

And like, to some extent, I kinda understand that. CDs aren't cool. Records are cool. They're big and textured and elegant and they're objectively old enough to feel vintage rather than dated. They're not exactly durable but they make up for their fragility with their other positive qualities, and you could certainly argue that warping and scratches add exactly the kind of character to a record that we've lost with digital music and therefore crave from physical media. A slightly damaged CD pretty much always just becomes totally unplayable.

So I get it. And I'll readily admit that the biggest reason why I like CDs is simply that I grew up with them and have fond memories of them. But I do also think it's objectively true that there are certain positive features unique to CDs. I will never tire of the experience of giving and receiving mix CDs. You can't do that with a record. (I mean, I don't think you can? Not easily, at any rate.) And it's not the same as a playlist! It's not the same. When you make a mix CD, you not only curate the music for the recipient, you burn the disc, you decorate it, you make the sleeve or pick the jewel case and make the paper insert for it, figure out how to wrap/package it. I mean, obviously you don't have to do all of these things, but the opportunity is there for a lot of creativity and love. And in the end the person gets both the physical object as well as being able to make digital copies of the songs on their computer (which also allows them to use those songs in their future mix CDs, continuing the cycle!).

The mix CD is just so unpretentious, wholesome, and kind. It gave the average person unprecedented power over how music was curated and shared. (I mean, of course mix tapes did something similar, and maybe they deserve more credit than I give them, simply because they're from before my time; but I kind of have to assume that CD mixing is a much simpler and more efficient process.) The mix CD creates a loving context for experiencing music. Here, I made this! Special from me, for you! I think context is one of the things which we most desperately miss in this modern age, where we're fed our newest songs by the goddamn algorithm (whether that's Spotify, TikTok, YouTube, or whatever). The mix CD is personal, human, earnest and sweet.

(And yes, to some extent, playlists do this as well, and they have their own advantages. But I think the shareability of playlists, while making it possible for many more people to experience your creation, has ended up discouraging the intimate act of making something just for one other person and instead promotes the idea that what is most desirable is to have your work seen by the greatest possible number of people.)

I started thinking about this because I saw another post talking about the removal of CD/DVD drives from computers and it really does make me sad thinking that this may be the final nail in the coffin of the mix CD. I've had to depend on external disc drives to make my mixes, and I'm sure that for most people, CDs have passed totally out of their awareness.

I'm not saying the mix CD is the end all be all of sharing music. There are already lots of other ways to share music and I would quite like to think that we will continue to invent new ways. But I do find it very sad that the art of the mix CD is dying, and while the mix CD itself may be doomed, I really hope that we don't forget its virtues, and find a way to keep the spirit of the thing alive. Physical object as well as digital copies that can be shared with others, permanent ownership of the music (rather than just streaming/renting), the burning and reading of this object being cheap and accessible, personal touch/high customizability (not being limited simply to song order, a single cover image, and a short description), intimacy. These are what I don't want to lose.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hello again! I simply adored the headcanons you came up with for Matthew and Avery's story like omg it's all so good? Such delicious angst and lovely romance! Your backstory for Matthew is incredibly sad, but it also fits his character perfectly. I've always had a similar headcanon that he must've been very poor growing up and has a deep resentment of Neal because of it. His thick NJ accent (I have family from the "poor side" of Jersey and he sounds a lot like them) compared to Neal's upper class way of speaking is a big indicator of that for me. And I love that idea you came up with of the two of them often in each other's orbit by accident, but then Matt starts intentionally creating these "coincidences" for them. That's so cute and funny! I can easily picture it in my mind. I can see Avery snatching up some priceless pieces of art and just when she's about to leave Matt shows up like "I hate to interrupt your grocery shopping sweetheart but I'm afraid you've got too much stuff for the "10 Items or Less" checkout 😉" and then he takes some of the art she had and leaves lol.

And oh my goodness your little scenario of them casing a place as a couple and abruptly sitting down and asking each other how they felt about a particular painting from an emotional standpoint is super sweet I would definitely be the same as Avery and fall in love right then and there lmao.

Also, I saw that you're now writing for THE Daniel LaRusso yaaayyy I'm ridiculously excited! Ralph Macchio was one of my first childhood crushes, and to this day he is still a celebrity crush of mine. And Danny is a delightful character and I especially love how the actors and writers on Cobra Kai have made both him and Johnny evolve as people post the movie canon! So yeah, expect some requests for Danny from me in the future as well as my typical requests for Matt lmao

Anywho, hope you're having a good day/night!

- Kelnon

Hi Kelnon,

I honestly think Matt has real issues with getting in his own way. He hates the vulnerability that comes with being with Avery but craves it at the same time, it’s a constant war for him. He’s been taught it shows weakness, but with her it doesn’t feel like that, it’s almost natural. It fucks with him a little, esp when he starts revealing more about himself.

I think for me the indicator was the distain in which Neal said Blue Collar criminal, like it’s beneath him. Arguably Matt’s the one that has to work harder because he doesn’t have the same opportunities as Neal.

I think for both of them there’s always been an attraction but Avery is usually guarded when it comes to her work life and personal life intermingling so there wasn’t much opportunity to spend time together until he started orchestrating his own meet cutes. I also think he likes to see her a little riled up because it breaks that cold professional persona she’d created, he started to see the real her and he kinda likes it. I imagine that’s how their first time started. He turned up at another one of her heists, stole a bunch of art, they’re arguing/negotiating. She’s berating him, telling him what an asshole he is and he’s like but you kind of like it though don’t you, that I challenge you, I think you like it more than you let on and then he kisses her and it all goes to hell and their fucking amongst the artwork. He wakes up and all of it’s gone, he’s not even mad, he’s just standing there with half naked with the sheets wrapped around his waist smiling because she challenges him a little too.

I do think that Matt has a deeper appreciation for art, we see a little of it throughout the series. He has an appreciation for beautiful things. I feel like maybe as a kid when he needed to escape his home situation, museums were his refuge and that’s how his love started, I feel for him it’s more about the history and feeling the weight of it in each of the items.

I am writing for Danny, I write a small piece involving a hotel bar for him and his lady love. I really like the way they’ve expanded his character and built out him and Johnny. It’s a really well written series.

Feel free to request as much as you want!

[quibbs126]

So I was looking at Twitter posts (I forget I can look at Recommended things on here and I crave content) and I saw a post talking about the Last Unicorn, and now I want a Cookie that’s a unicorn that either can turn into a Cookie, or was turned into one and possibly is searching for a way back

I should probably note, I know very little about The Last Unicorn, as i have neither seen nor read it, all I know comes from a Lost in Adaptation episode on it and the previously mentioned Twitter post

You know what, might as well link it so you guys get a better understanding of what I’m going for. Also it’s good art. If I can get tumblr to let me post the link

I know we already have a shapeshifting unicorn Cookie in Cream Unicorn, but also, Cream Unicorn is essentially a sentient amusement park ride and not an actual unicorn from nature, while this hypothetical Cookie would be, so possibly it’s different enough to be usable. And plus, you could have the two interact and see how they’re similar but also different

And if you don’t mind, I’d like to share my own ideas for a concept

They’re a very pretty character, like they’re intentionally beautiful

Also probably because of the post, I’m leaning towards them being more male

I think it’d be cool if they have a marking on their head indicating where their horn used to be (I now remember Cream Unicorn has their horn, but I’m imagining this character to look more like a normal Cookie in their base form)

Maybe their horn manifests as a sword? Okay that one is taken straight from the post

They talk in a weird manner and tend to address other Cookies as “Cookies” like the dragons do, since they are not a Cookie themselves

Not sure what their opinion on Cookies is, though it’s probably not pure hatred, as it depends on the backstory. They could be perfectly fine with Cookies or even like them, it’s just that they simply aren’t a Cookie and that’s why they have this degree of separation with them

This is probably a combination of the post and me having seen some videos on Unicorn Wars, but I want them to be more combat focused, even in unicorn form. Like yes, they have magical powers, but they will also definitely use violence. Perhaps their Kingdom class could be Charge Front

I feel like drawing up concepts, but I’m not sure I will. Or if I do, they may end up looking too similar to the post. Also I’m not sure what flavor to make them, and “Unicorn Cookie” sounds far too boring, especially as we already have Cream Unicorn. Should probably be made of a natural flavor though

[widthofmytongue]

Ages ago I was tagged by @lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers​ (February) and @legasovas​ (September!) in posts that were very similar but had slight variations, and I’ve had replies to both saved in my drafts since. I don’t know why I didn’t post them at the time, but now I’m going to merge them.

Favourite colour: I don’t think I’ve got a ‘favourite’; I tend to prefer colour combinations to individual colours: Egyptian blue/olive green; Rebecca purple/cyan; tobacco/burnt orange, etc.

Currently reading: [Sep.] I never really read anything in full anymore. I've read some Gramsci and some Ho Chi Minh recently. I also tried to read The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton not long ago, but didn’t get very far. [Feb.] I guess I have to admit that I’ve been reading The Necronomicon by H.P. Lovecraft, which is even more racist than I remembered. [now (Apr.)] I recently started The Gods Of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and The Master And Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, but who knows if I’ll stick to either (I’ve started both several times before).

Last song: [Sep.] As I started writing this post, The Empty Foxhole was playing. But then I felt like Montreal, so after failing to find SS Cardiacs' 'Mersault Saw Sun', now 'In My Next Life, A Workhorse'. [Feb.] 'Future Interior' by Rockets Red Glare. Or was it 'Across Yer Ocean' by Mercury Rev? (it's so dark in here...) [now (Apr.)] In The Land Of Grey And Pink by Caravan.

Last series: [Sep.] Roadkill (which is a Beeb production starring Hugh Laurie and featuring the late, great Helen McCrory in I think her final role). [Feb.] Dead To Me (now on Star Trek: Picard) [now (Apr.)] Just finished The Good Place (which was actually really good, and I may write something about it for my pop culture for leftists thread). I also watched Hanyo No Yashahime or Princess Half-Demon or whatever it’s called not so long ago, which prompted me to dip into various animes from my youth, including The Vision Of Escaflowne (which is absolutely rad, but I worry has really grotesque transphobic elements?) and Mobile Suit Gundam Wing (which is babbling and incoherent, like just dumb af, but has redeeming qualities, namely anti-imperialist giant robots foregrounded corporatisation of geopolitics).

Last Movie: Billion Dollar Brain (starring My Cocaine as Harry Palmer) [this answer is from Sep.]. More recently I watched Escape Room: Tournament Of Champions (extended cut) and Godzilla: King Of The Monsters, both of which were uhhh pretty awful.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: I refuse the imperative to decide between just one of these. I want all of these in a single dish and I will riot and/or strike if this basic right is denied me.

Currently working on: I’m trying to get more fit again and walk more, with healthier workout habits (been doing measured breathing exercises with some half-assed yoga) as well as going on longer country walks again. Was also pitching ideas around with @boomonster-rawr for a hypothetical collaborative article, but I think she’s got her hands full with her PhD and stuff at the mo’. Also I wanna get back to drawing again, of course. I have lots of half-(or more like quarter-)finished art I wanna address. And honestly kinda wanna get back to posting on here more regularly again, do some writing, etc.

Currently Craving: Community; interconnectivity.

And on that note, I suppose I'm to tag others here to pass this on. @boomonster-rawr ; @brrrujaja ; @rotting-charm ; @glaxacitica ; @drunkwingtip ; @m0nicaish3re ; @uhq-tranimation ; @polykinkprincess ; @salamanderinspace ; @punkofsunshine ; @frustratedasatruar ; @otterorder

...And of course anyone else who fancies joining in!

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator   ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  “Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

    Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

 While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags:  @lovesakusa​

[carpisuns]

Here I am for Carpisuns Appreciation Week! Your art is amazing, your writing is amazing, you're so kind and inspiring and comforting, thank you for gracing our fandom with your self. It's amazing how much content you create and how consistently you make me smile.

But I also wanted to thank you for something more personal to me: mentioning that you're a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in your blog description. It probably seems small--it almost feels stupid to say it--but seeing that one line helped me so much. I was feeling very conflicted over my identity as both a Mormon and an ally (I now know I'm actually ace, but that happened later), because I saw so much homophobia in our church and it made me ashamed. I felt like I had to choose one side of me, and I hated that. Seeing a kind member who isn't just an ally, but openly LGBTQ+, made me so happy. It reassured me that I can be both at once, and I can be proud of both parts of myself.

So thank you. Thank you for being brave and living a contradiction that I long feared wasn't an option. Thank you for teaching me that we aren't contradictions. Even if it might have seemed small to you, even if it didn't take the courage it took for me, thank you. You're amazing.

It's so late here and I'm so emotional at night and I'll probably regret this in the morning but I just had to say thank you. So thank you.

Thank you for your kind words. They mean a lot 💜

I’m going to put the rest of this under a cut for people who would rather not read about religion haha. I was going to answer on priv but in case this would be helpful to anyone else in a similar boat I decided to post on main

I’m so happy to hear the effect my bio had on you. Tbh it did take courage, but it was important to me to have both of those parts of my identity side by side. When I was younger, I wasn’t very open about my faith because religion is something so deeply personal and also divisive, depending on who’s around you. And I hate conflict so I just wanted to avoid it at all costs, haha. But eventually decided that my faith was too important to hide like that. I thought, if I’m going to put a few words up there to introduce myself, it just doesn’t feel right to not mention it. My belief in Jesus Christ and my commitment to follow Him in many ways defines who I am as a person. So I decided years ago to put it in my bio and have always felt good about that. I’m not here to shove religion in anyone’s face or preach at them or judge them or anything like that—I’m just saying, “This is me and it’s important to me.”

As for the bi part, that is a lot more recent haha. It’s almost embarrassing that I didn’t identify as bi until I was 25, but the comphet is strong lol. I think it took me a lot longer to realize/accept my attraction to women because I am still attracted to men, so I can “pass” as straight and always assumed I was, and it was easy enough for a while to brush aside or repress or misinterpret my same-sex attraction. I questioned for years before I finally decided to try out the label “bisexual” in my head. And it felt right to me. It felt good to be honest about that part of myself. I am still not out to the public or the rest of my family, but I’ve told a few close friends and I wanted to at least be able to be open about it in my separate online spaces, to get more comfortable with the label as I figure out how to handle it with people I actually know IRL. But mostly I wanted to add those two extra letters to my bio because I feel like it’s important for other people to see them next to the name of the Church—and important to me most of all. To remind myself, yes, I can be openly bi and a faithful member of the Church. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. I am still committed to the teachings of the gospel, so I will not pursue relationships with women, but I can still be open about my experience and supportive of my LGBTQ siblings both inside and outside of my faith. I find it pretty freeing to be bi on the outside and not just inside my own head, you know? I’m not sure how it goes for other people but a lot of my early experience was wondering if I was faking it or tricking myself into thinking I was bi for attention or something. But literally why would I do that lol. This in-between space of being queer and a member of the Church has not been an easy place to live, but I’m trying to make a home here and I’d like to invite others too if I can.

And I guess that’s another reason it’s important to be open about both things. As I’ve been learning more about myself and my relationship with others and the Church and the world as a bi person, I’ve come to really crave a space where I can feel comfortable and open with both of those aspects of my identity—my queerness and my religious faith. I haven’t really found a space yet that supports both. Generally in queer-positive spaces, religion is (very understandably) a point of contention and pain, and I get why, as a Christian/Latter-day Saint, I may not be welcome to everyone in that space. But then within the Church and other Christian spaces, I have a hard time finding support or understanding at all. People don’t want to talk about it. They don’t know how. I think to some people in either space, my existence doesn’t really make sense lol. Like, how can you say you’re bi if you’re a member of the Church? Or how can you be queer and stay in that church? But I’m here and my experience is real and I know I’m not the only one. So part of my reason is to say to others like me, “Hey, me too. You’re not alone.” And I’m really really glad that it could speak to you that way.

For many years before I realized I was bi, I was drawn to the LGBTQ community and felt a desire to be an ally. I just didn’t know how. I felt like I had to walk some kind of line and support but not be too supportive, to love but not too much. But I’m not here to put limits on my love anymore. I don’t think that is what Jesus Christ taught. I am making the choice to stay committed to the teachings of the gospel, and I hope people respect that because it’s important to me. But other people will choose differently from me, and that’s okay and I will still love them and we will still be part of something together.

Sorry to say so much about this haha especially since as an ace person your experience is not quite the same as mine. But I have a few close friends who are ace and are also members of the Church and the space we’ve shared has been incredibly meaningful for me. I’m grateful you reached out and I hope my rambling helps you somewhat haha. If you ever want to chat, please feel free to message me! 💜

[akampana]

Would loooove to see the ozytoria art you made, and also your thoughts on them for the ask game !

Hello Anon, thank you for the ask! I made this a few months back for a draft I scrapped. It must have worked as a catalyst since Ozy came home during the white day event.

Hahahaha hope you like it anyway. :)

What made you ship it?

You know what, I really do hate to say this but it's GilArt's fault.

By now, I think you all know about my boundless love for Saber. Ozy, however, I was first interested in because of Prototype and then when I saw the art I was like. Oh. Oh no.

So, little old me researched literally every crumb there was to Ozy, found out he's quite similar to Gil, but tan different enough, especially concerning his boundless love for his wife Nefertari (and his other wives, good on you for being generous, Ozy!). And then I got interested.

I ended up drafting a really old like years old smut-ish angst fic involving Arturia and Ozy, in which they were both using each other as replacements. You know, for Gil and Nefertari. I'll put an excerpt right below the cut. (The excerpt is not NSFW it just made the ask long. )

And that's where it started. More below.

“You broke our agreement,” she hissed from under him, words cold and accusing.

“How dare you?” she whispered, “When I am not her...”

She turned to face him, wiping away his kiss with the back of her hand. “...And you are not him?”

In her mind, superimposed on Ozymandias, was a different face. One with fairer skin and hair. One with piercing blood eyes, and an arrogant curve of lip. One less gentle. One less kind. And she supposed right now, her lover saw her as his wife. With darker hair, with olive skin, with chocolate eyes and a soft smile. Arturia was everything but.

“You are not mine, King of Kings...and I am not yours.”

Ozymandias caressed her cheek with a heavy hand, exhaustion settling over him.

He found he no longer craved the tanned skin of his wife, nor the gentler gaze of her eyes. He still loved Nefertari. He always would. That was one thing that would never change. But every night he spent with this blonde woman, he was beginning to see her for her own beauty, not the qualities she shared with Nefertari.

He was falling for Arturia.

And he was tired of pretending.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

That they've both been married before. I've alluded to this briefly on the last ask, but I frequently hc them together acknowledging their marriage with other people. Nefertari is a huge part of Ozy's life and character after all, and though Guin isn't very much mentioned in Fate, she did play a significant role in Arturia's life. One of Saber's happiest days was their wedding day.

So if we put Ozyturia in conjunction with OzyxNefertari and Arturia/Guinevere or even Arturia/Gil, the dynamic we get is Widower x Widow/Divorcee, with the former missing love and the latter dismissing it.

Plus, it's not like they won't catch each other's interest in Chaldea, for example:

He's met Arthur and Lartoria both. Meeting Arturia, he supposes the gods must be trying to tell him something.

By his dialogue Ozymandias has a thing for people who have the disposition of a king, like, oh you know, the King of Knights. :D

On Arturia's part, his general aura would initially drive her to stay away, due to certain similarities with another king. Slowly, however, she'd learn he's different.

Ozymandias has...a certain wistful aura about him, and unlike the other Servants who usually hang around her post-Rayshift, Ozymandias just...disappears.

She thought herself to be rather reserved, but she then realizes she never sees the pharaoh with the other Servants, and only rarely with Nitocris. At least she has her Table and the company of her former Grail War enemies. In comparison, she and even Gilgamesh are more social.

Then, one day, he's finally coaxed out of his hole due to Master's efforts (interlude 1), and Arturia's curious enough to ask him about it.

Delighted to have a new audience, and a kingly one, no less, he retells the poems about his wife that he's only graced Master and Nitocris with.

"HM! That you have listened to my wondrous tale of my queen for these plentiful hours intrigues me, King of Knights. While I am cognizant of my own talent, that your attention hasn't lapsed once is commendable in itself."

Arturia doesn't even realize that so much time has passed, she just found herself so lost in how much love this Egyptian King had for his wife. She laments two things: that she doesn't know if she can say the same of Guinevere, and that she knows no one is ever going to say such wonderful things of herself.

I will again be bringing up that Arturia's a competitive, sore loser, and Ozy has an ego bigger than Jupiter, and I love that dynamic. While that sounds like another ship, there is a difference:

Despite his massive ego, Ozy is far more generous with his appreciation and hasn't too sharp a tongue. What that means is, Arturia is going to be persistently annoyed by his hubris, and yet also commended on her best qualities.

She can definitely learn from him to be prouder of her achievements, even if that lesson must be frequently beaten into her head by hearing "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" over and over.

Their tangle with equality. Ozy does see himself as above everyone else as the pharoah, the god king, but in his eyes, everyone else is equal in service to him. This is why Arturia's Round Table intrigues him so much, because it applies the same principle. A circular table, so none sits at a position inferior or superior to the other, not even the king. While he certainly wouldn't equate himself to his people, that she can do so and still be revered by her followers is astounding to him.

SUN AND MOON SUN AND MOON SUN AND MOON SUN AND MOON

Ozymandias has a thing for eyes. It's rather subtle but it's there, based on his dialogue and interlude. I wonder what he'd see, faced with her brilliant, haunting emeralds.

AHOGE BUDDIES!!!! :D

I hc that she likes his voice. Even the Dajaku Dajaku. Why? Idk it's cute. Has she mumbled it to herself in battle before? Yes. Gawain thought he was having a stroke.

The MODERN AU POTENTIAL OH MY GOD CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE?

We have Ozy, a brilliant loner architect who lost the love of his life and company heiress Arturia, a recent divorcee who needs to build a new house for herself after moving out of the place she used to share with her partner. She remembers the Egyptian from the construction of one of her most successful branches, and hires his talent to help her.

He has to talk to her to understand her concept for the new place, finding out things he didn't know about the rather serious president. She's a foodie, she cares not for extravagance, and she's easily riled up by teasing. Slowly, he begins to find comfort in her presence, even when he knows all their meetings are professional.

She is forced to remove herself from overwork to spend time with him, and at first, she can't understand how anyone could stand being around someone so boastful. But, he proves his skill time and time again, delivering exactly what she was envisioning. In listening to his stories during coffee breaks, she gets charmed by his life and wishes her marriage could have been as happy as his was. :">

When the constructions end, they...well I'll leave that to your imagination hehe

Is there an unpopular opinion you have about your ship?

I know that Ozy and Nefertari are the main ship for this guy or actually, it might be Gil lol and I love their relationship as well and ship them to the heavens, it's so wholesome, but I don't think that he was married in life should be a barrier for shipping. Even if Ozy's love is particularly highlighted compared to the others. A lot of Servants had past loves and a lot lived whole lives, that doesn't stop them from possibly finding new connections. all ships are valid wheeee

Again, thank you very much for the ask! Hope you enjoyed reading through this one. :)

[howlingmoonrise]

Thoughts on Petshop of Horrors: Wandering Ark volumes 1 & 2

(also on dreamwidth)

HOW did I manage to miss the translation of my long-awaited Papa D PSOH series?? I've been stalking it ever since I found the announcement and somehow the fact that @ruthlessnightsscans​ already put out the first two volumes completely went past my head.

Obviously I had to read it right away, sleep be damned.

this is the edited version of my brain thoughts after i managed to get two sleeps and calm down a bit or it would be a lot more incoherent

The art: the initial pages really remind me of the old art! Unfortunately it goes back to the roundness prevalent since the Shin series (which has only become even rounder with time) not long after. That art style is also a lot less dynamic than the original, I find. It's a bit of a problem on scenes that are supposed to have some tension caused by movement. This is nothing new since, like I said, Sensei has been using this art style since a good while ago. I really miss the original art though. It had a major nostalgia punch to it and a lot more feeling as well.

-- First chapter: "I am on a journey with no destination in mind" just say you're on vacation and go off I guess. 

Papa is... weirdly easy-going. I want to say it's because he's not yet mad with grief and his son being taken away and so on, but the glimpses we saw at his time in university definitely didn't paint him this soft. There's no edge to him, on this volume or the next. 

Regarding the story itself, I can't say I loved it but it’s not the worst out of all of them (there are four in total between these two volumes, and a third volume is on the way). I liked Koushun's character, but Seiyou annoyed me, especially when he presumed to know what she wanted (or perhaps he didn't presume, but decided for her what was better anyway) - something like I Shall Revive This Species So Breed In My Name Okay Bye. Note also that while Koushun was willing enough to marry (thinking she was marrying someone else but that's another point entirely), the groom himself came in chains. And then Seiyou... locks them in together? Great. Just great. Very conducive to a loving mood indeed, locking a woman with a potentially dangerous stranger who might cause her harm and telling them both to fuck (note. the. chains. you don’t put chains on someone you think is harmless; they never put any on Koushun even when she attacked Seiyou). I was afraid for her when it cut to another scene here, with the last we saw of her being pushed against a wall and being told by the groom that it seemed that he would have to make a child with her. "Rather than hate each other, I want to break that curse"? Seiyou, sweetie, that is NOT the way to make them not hate you. ((The reveal that Koushou is some sort of creature - very PSOH-y - does not help, since putting two wild animals together without them being used to each other is perhaps even more likely to them killing/harming one another.))

MAJOR little mermaid vibes on Koushun standing over a sleeping Seiyou with a knife. 

There are quite some parallels with the D species on this tale of bloodshed and revenge. The Ds could stand to learn from this, though historically they don't. "Even if you kill the third prince, the Kagetsu people are already gone. They won't return." Papa himself says that 'winning on the last available tile' is a waste of time, which really resonates with his research into reviving lost species and the issues of his own kind. A reference to the health of descendants when no new blood is introduced is also made here, which might or might not point to our D depending on where in time this Papa is from.

--

Second chapter: it's... frankly, super choppy. The story is all over the place. On the author's note, Akino herself says that it's a challenge to put the whole life of that empress in 57 pages, and I have to agree. Either it should have been cut to the REALLY relevant parts and worked on them some more, or be discarded in its entirety. It's too rushed. The whole first part was unnecessary: it could have started with her already working at the palace or being chosen as a concubine, and then made references to her previous life in her thoughts instead of wasting several pages on it when that backstory won't be going anywhere (except for some references to Hakubun whom she sees on that other actor - who dies like, two or three pages later, so that's that on that). I do like Ranji herself as a character: she's clever and quick to pick up on things. Her life is just a series of tragedies one after the other, unfortunately. 

Papa D is some sort of benevolent helper in this chapter for some reason - this pattern repeats somewhat on the next chapters, but on this one there isn't really anything to gain for him at all, other than perhaps his dubious acquaintance with one of the concubines/future empress, which wouldn't really hold much weight since he met her ?once? apart from near her death.

And then, somehow, the initial Papa D in this chapter was actually Sofu?

Sofu???? I'm calling bullshit. As far as we know - going back to Sofu's own series and flashbacks on the original PSOH, even - Sofu never had a hairstyle of that length, and out of our three known Ds (new!D excluded) he's the one least likely to help a human just because. The ark is also said to travel through space and time, so I'm saying that's Papa D and that's it. Fun aside: on this chapter, Papa says he's the "third generation", meaning that on this series he's probably the youngest existing D (and by inference our D does not exist yet).

Also, some issues with in-story continuity here: when the last emperor dies Ranji still looks fairly young and the emperor-to-be is three years old, a couple pages later she looks a lot more aged but the new emperor is still three years old. To be honest, I think the story would have been tied off much better if A-chan had some connection with Hakubun or the eunuch instead of each having their very brief, individual emotional connections to her - which, in turn, doesn't really make them memorable. The "wishes" thing was interesting, really called back to the old PSOH tradition with the mystical pets and bittersweet be-careful-what-you-wish-for endings.

--

Third chapter: I think, overall, this was probably the one I liked the best. Can't really bring myself to call it my favourite though, since none of them even begin to compare to the original PSOH chapters. I cackled at the "jawline is too sharp" dialogues and thoughts: with this art style EVERYONE has the same round jaw as every other character, and it's the furthest thing from "sharp" possible.

With this series it really seems like Sensei is giving more focus to trying to tell historically-accurate stories rather than focusing on the stories themselves, as there is a huge amount of superfluous historical information to be found in these volumes. 

The empress Elizabeth reminds me of Sofu, in truth. She won't "mind" affairs and the like (read: she will hate it but ignore them) as long as it works towards her ends. Her taking away the newly-born child is a huge parallel to Sofu regarding both Papa and D, and D and new!D. Child-snatching FTW! That being said, I actually kind of liked her, ruthless as she was: the whole reason why Sophie made it as far as crown princess was because Elizabeth valued her hard work. You don't get to hold an empire together without having a steel spine and a cunning mind (or people to do the work for you I guess, but here it doesn’t seem to be the case).

I hate that Sophie had to change even her name and religion to fit her new reality, accurate as it is to history. That sort of thing always messes me up (throwback to the Nazi/teddy bear chapter of the original PSOH series, where there was also a name/religion change for the sake of survival). Not a reflection on the author in any way, I just hate that this is something people had to go through. As something I hated that kinda does reflect on the author, though, was the ugly = terrible association with Pyotr and the maid. Sophie/Catherine is initially said to not be beautiful but she's not depicted in the same way those two are at all. 

Papa's benevolence is thankfully offset this chapter by the fact that he does have something to gain here. For some reason Ds doing things merely for the goodness of their hearts kind of rubs me the wrong way unless it's D during or post-Leon. 

Most PSOH victims clients: oh a pretty person! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S AN ANIMAL Sophie/Catherine: a dog you say? sounds kinda hot ngl

Gotta respect how she just jumps straight into the dog affairs. The take-back of the empire was also nicely executed, and I'm always here for ladies in traditionally male clothing. 

--

Fourth chapter:

This is linked semi-directly to the third chapter by virtue of the amber room Papa D craved. Marks also the second time that Papa takes a human on board of the ark.

D, circa end of original PSOH, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he watches Leon plummet towards the earth: Humans have not earned the right to board this ark. Papa D: I'm gonna go for a joyride and take along this human and this human and this human and this human and--

Papa really gives Doctor Who vibes on the ark matter. Travelling through space and time, occasionally taking human companions? The one for this chapter - who I'm guessing might be a cameo from one of Sensei's other series, since I didn't recognize him and there was no backstory for him on the chapter - even has era-appropriate wardrobe changes (at least assuming it's the same person and not just someone who looks similar scratch that they have eyes of different colours so I guess Papa has been giving rides to delivery men now), the second of which leaving me very ??? as to WHEN he is from. 

That last Look(TM) reminds me a of Leon Orcot, between the long ponytail and the clothes resembling the ones Leon wore on the last chapter of Shin PSOH (in PSOH time, that would have happened approximately 15 years after the end of the original series, meaning that Papa was already long dead then. Unless Leon's style was just stuck in time, which is also very possible). 

It might or might not have endeared him to me for that exact reason. What can I say? I'm a sucker for Leon Orcot, and apparently also for characters that visually remind me of him. ANYWAY.

Why another Nazi-era chapter??? Sensei plz. One was already enough on the original PSOH - it wasn't anywhere near my favourites back then, either - and the fact that this one mostly followed a Nazi colonel didn't help either. Here we witness them tearing down the amber room, "reclaiming" art from all over the world, a father's heartbreaking sacrifice to “save” his daughter’s dog, and Papa D coming to meet the Nazi dude. One would expect the Ds to avoid genocidal racists given the fate of their own species, but apparently the Nazis were relevant enough for not one but TWO Ds to interact with them. Oh well. Either way, I really don't like how Papa appears to not care one way or another - when the D for the original series interacted with people he didn't like, his mask was really fairly obvious (at least for the reader). Perhaps Papa simply has a better mask. Perhaps those nuances were lost to time and round art styles. Perhaps Papa or Sensei just don't give two shits. Guess we'll never know.

EVERYONE seems to comment on the flavour of Papa's tea: it's 4 out of 4 so far for these two volumes, and in this chapter in particular it seems as if it's laced with some kind of truth serum - it seems to be Papa's version of D's (and possibly Sofu's?) incense from the original PSOH. A reference to the original PSOH's Nazi chapter is also made here, with Papa mentioning that Sofu was on friendly terms with Eva Braun: this implicates that in this time they were in closer contact (not surprising since Sofu probably hasn't stolen his still-non-existent kid yet).

The colonel seems to value art over human life - surprise surprise! - so he kills his own comrades to keep the art "safe". A stomach-turning moment comes where they find human golden teeth being kept as treasure, which Papa mentions remelting to turn into golden nuggets. Why, Papa/Sensei, why? It's in poor taste, even if you're testing the colonel the way D did with some of his clients on original PSOH.

At the very least an eerie moment comes next where Papa explains that dead creatures can be revived using DNA. "Even dead people?" Cue Papa's all-seeing stare directly into the reader's eyes (and presumably the colonel's as well) with a backdrop of an inverted black-and-white multitude of graves as he says that future is not very far. Colonel almost shits his pants, with reason when you consider the amount of people the Nazis killed off that would presumably come after them. This almost forgives the teeth comment, and it's probably the first moment in these two volumes when we see some genuine emotion on Papa's face (on this page and the next), creepy and maniac as it might be.

Colonel dude has spent the whole chapter justifying everything under "orders of the fuhrer" so far. Then comes the moment that Papa calls him out by saying that the orders were to burn his sweet dear art so that it wouldn't fall into enemy's hands, and it's here that we see how much of an hypocrite the colonel is when he doesn't want to follow those orders. Suddenly it's "treasures of mankind" (even though he's been stealing them left and right) and the fuhrer is "a fool" (even though he's been using his orders and his "greatness" as justification for everything). 

Suddenly, Papa's companion! Who the heck is that! Shoots him! This is someone whose family was killed by the colonel (directly or under his orders) or so he says; he's gripping a piece of art we don't get to see, which is presumably the reason for those deaths. Now in the future! A guy who looks a bit like that other man who shot the colonel, but who I'm not 100% sure if it is or is not the same person because the round art style makes everyone look alike Someone who is definitely not the same guy because his eye colour is different (and who's dressed in a sporty outfit with a long ponytail, which I've mentioned kinda reminds me of Leon) looks for the amber in the place the art was stored, alongside Papa. He flies on the ark (all these humans on the ark, Sofu would have a conniption!) and reminds me of Leon once more while being shouty and holding on to the main mast for dear life.

The sacrificial father mini-plot also gets resolved with the dog returning (but not the father himself) along with a picture with that family. Which is presumably the picture the other dude who shot the colonel was holding, which begs the question: how is he related to them? He doesn't look like any of them, but he did say the colonel killed his family while (presumably) holding that same picture, so hmmm. Maybe he's the dog, colour-scheme aside? But apart from the father, the rest of the family seems to have survived, so it's kind of a strange thing to say since that sort of wording usually means more than one person. Even if he is the dog (my money is on that option), it's not exactly obvious to a reader who's not looking very closely. Some loose ends there, or at least ends that don't really look like they're tied together at all.

"No matter how long winter is, spring will come." Fairly hopeful final words there, Papa D. These echo similar ones spoken by D at the end of Shin PSOH, after running from Leon once more ("someday, the season for returning will come"): perhaps both these Ds are not as pessimistic as to their future, at least at this point? Poor Papa definitely had a change of heart between his series and the ending of original PSOH, unfortunately.

--

General thoughts: Sensei hasn't quite managed to replicate the feeling of the original PSOH just yet. The storytelling feels a bit shallow and rushed, though the pacing improved from the first volume to the second. There's also very little focus on Papa himself for some reason: he's more of a background character on his own series except for the fourth chapter, which is a very strange narrative choice. In part this might also be because he doesn’t have a permanent companion to discuss/argue with like in previous iterations of the PSOH series. I wonder if the third volume will continue on this trend? I wish it’d delve a bit more into Papa, but either way it’s still nice to get some more PSOH content.

I've heard Vesca will make an appearance next volume, I'm so excited!! Out of Shin PSOH, my favourite chapters were Leon's (surprise surprise!) and the ones with Papa and Vesca on their university days. Papa definitely seemed a lot sharper there, which I miss here - I feel like Sensei has been smoothing out all their edges like with the art style lmao, and in turn it makes them feel a bit lacking since the Ds are not meant to be bland and forgiving and easy-going, at least as per their original portrayal. I've also seen sneak-peaks of Leon and D from author notes of the next volume so I can't wait at the chance to weep at the slightest panel of my son Leon.

A final shoutout to RNS for continuing the PSOH translations! I really can't thank them enough!!

[turtletimewriting]

Tickletober Day 14: Light Tickles

Summary: Patton is craving something in particular and tries to satiate that. 

Note: Tickle fic warning by the way. Lee Patton. Not really following the prompt but it kinda fit and I wanted to write it, so suck it haha! TW. DISCUSSION OF WEIGHT. I might do a sequel to this because I never really wanted this to be as depressing as it is haha!

_._._

Patton couldn’t help but feel completely and thoroughly embarrassed. A permanent red glow to his face and his hands were hesitating. It wasn’t embarrassing. If he found out that one of his kiddos was doing what he was doing right now, he’d find it adorable! But somehow, in his own mind to himself, it felt just so embarrassing. 

He stared back at his phone, proudly showing his secret tumblr’s homepage. The first post about ‘ticklish tummy appreciation’ stared back at him. The quiet of his room only exaggerated just how weird he felt about doing this and the fact that someone could overhear him at any point. He could’ve just closed the tab and tucked himself into bed... But he couldn’t. All day he had wanted to do this. 

All day he had been precisely aware of himself. Aware of his ticklish sides each time he passed by someone. Every time he reached up for a shelf he would explode into a blush. The instance earlier today when Virgil jokingly pushed his finger into Roman’s side so he would flinch away and he could sit, replayed over and over again. Burned into his memory. He could already feel his face turning into a shy smile. 

His feet were squirming under the covers and the butterflies in his tummy felt similar to what he was craving. Releasing a breath, he finally started scrolling through his homepage. 

There were many posts that he saw where he had to physically look away. Squeals leaving him without him even realising. Now his legs were drumming against his bed and the butterflies fluttered madly now. Some art that he spent too long staring at, writing that took him way longer than necessary to finish and some gifs that made his feet tingle just by looking. 

Usually when he got like this, just a decent session on his tumblr was enough to get it out of his system. But this time, he felt his mood only increasing further and further. Instead of tickle writing soothing the craving, it only made him more aware of just how much he needed to be tickled. 

Oh, how much he wanted Roman to teasingly grab his sides when they were going over his ideas. Or maybe Logan would tickle his tummy if he wasn’t paying attention to whatever fact he learned that day. Virgil could maybe walk in his room now and realise what he wanted and give him all the tickles he wanted right there and then! 

Closing his eyes, Patton focused on the now rather than losing himself to all these different scenarios. Right now... he wanted more gentle and light tickles than the hard tickling of the gifs and writing. Just that gentle just barely there touch to trace around his... sides or maybe his tummy. 

Feeling his face burn even brighter (if that was possible), he moved his hand to push his night top up near his ribs. That alone made giggles burst from him. His legs drummed again frantically before stilling completely. Wanting to focus entirely on what he was about to do, he raised his hand with a single finger pointing. 

Now, he couldn’t tickle himself. Not really. At most he made himself kinda flinch. But the act alone could satiate the craving. Plus, the tingly tickles felt better when he forced some giggles like it was actually tickling him. 

His finger touched down next to his belly button which he flinched wildly at despite knowing full well it was coming. He waited a single moment and then slowly used the pad of his finger and twirled and twisted around his tummy. 

He revelled in the gasps and the small flinches when he circled round to the same sensitive spots, knowing full well he couldn’t linger there as it would stop tickling. Leaning his head back, he tried to picture who he would want to tickle him. But that was where he stopped. 

Truthfully, he was very aware he could ask for tickles (or t-words) and most of his family would agree joyfully. But the biggest hurdle was how he looked. Normally, he never felt any shame for his bigger size. At the end of the day, it was better for hugs and Virgil made sure he knew how amazing it was to sleep on his tummy. Plus, he truly felt like he suited being a bigger size. It suited him to have a bigger face with chubby cheeks, and to be a more rounded figure. He loved his clothes and his clothes only fitted his bigger form! Lots of reasons to love his size. 

But his bare belly always raised red flags for him. Insecurities latched on to that weakness and he couldn’t help but feel that unhealthy shame at the mere sight of it. 

Patton felt like he would never have the confidence to have the tickle sessions that he dreamed of. 

Shaking his head, he moved his hands to his sides. It was better to just focus on something else. Like his ticklish sides! By doing these little self tickles, he had found what technique he loved the most. He pressed his fingers together so his hand looked like a point. Once it reached his side, he slowly spread his fingers open. The slower the better. It tickled so much more than he could ever expect from self tickles! 

In an ideal world, he’d do this until the craving slowly ebbed away fully. His attention would fade away from the movements of his finger and to how late it really was. But, he lived in an ordinary world. He froze when he heard someone’s slow measured footsteps up the stairs, he almost didn’t dare breath until he heard a door gently shut. There was no way he could fully indulge knowing someone would definitely hear. Smiling to himself, he snuggled further into the covers and settled in for the night. The craving wasn’t fully gone but it was satisfied for now. Maybe if he was lucky he would have a tickle dream? 

Maybe he’d always feel to embarrassed to tell anyone about his love for tickling but would always spend the time to indulge on this. His little secret. 

[socialyawkdude]

Top 10 animes for first time viewers

Hello, my socially awkward friends,

I’m back after a much-needed vacation to bring you the content, which you crave. In recent weeks, I’ve been approached by friends and colleagues, about what amines they should watch. To say that it was a loaded question is an understatement. With the world of anime and manga being so vast, it's hard to know where to start.

After thinking it over, I’ve decided to follow suit of my supernatural top 10 and do a top 10 for anime for beginners.

Today's post will cover amines for first-time viewers. Let me start by saying that, This Is my Opinion! Please do not jump my bones because of the line-up. Now with that being said, let get this party started.

 (10) Sailor Moon/Sailor Moon Crystal

Written by Nanoko Takeuchi

Genre/subgenre: Magical girl, action, romance, shoujo, superhero

Manga original run: (December 28, 1991, to February 3, 1997)

Anime Run: Sailor Moon (1992-1993) 46 episodes

   Sailor Moon R (1993- 1994) 43 episodes

   Sailor Moon S (1994- 1995) 38 episodes

   Sailor Moon Super S (1995- 1996) 39 episode

   Sailor Moon Sailor Star (1996- 1997) 34 episodes

The series follows the adventures of the protagonist Usagi Tsukino, a middle school student who is given the power to become the titular Sailor Soldier. Joined by other Sailor Soldiers, they defend Earth against an assortment of evil villains.

 Let us start with a classic, remade for the modern-day. For quite a few of my generation, Sailor Moon was our introduction to the world of anime. I can remember watching sailor moon, in the early morning before the school bus came. Sailor Moon was the beginning of my love affair with anime.

 Now here is what I got to say on sailor moon. It is a bit wonky, timeline-wise. Sailor Moon's overall timeline can be a bit hard to follow. That is if you are going in-depth with it. As long as you stay away from the headache inducing timeline, you’ll be ok.

 (9)Bleach

Written by Tite Kubo

Genre/subgenre: Action, Adventure, Shonen, Supernatural, Comedy

Original manga run: August 7, 2001 - August 22, 2016

Original anime run: October 5, 2004 - March 27, 2012

366 episodes 

 What can I say about Bleach? It is one of my favorite anime’s of all time. It's not perfect but what is? You have a diverse cast of characters, a good story and plenty of action. In my opinion, that makes a great anime for beginners. For me, Bleach was my return to anime, after years of not watching. I think that I've watched this anime from beginning to end, one too many times. 

 I'm talking watching the U.S. airing up to the point that I had the watch in Japanese. I finished the anime a full 2 years before the finale aired in the U.S. I would highly recommend this anime to any beginners.

 (8) Restaurant to another World

Written by Junpei Inuzuku

Genre/subgenre= Fantasy, Isekai

Manga Original Run: November 18, 2016, to June 25, 2019

Anime original Run: July 3, 2017, to September 18, 2017

12 episodes

 I was recommended this anime by a friend of a friend. I am going, to be honest; I didn't know what I was getting into. This would be my first experience with isekai anime. Looking back on this anime, it is quite an anime. Not much action, but at a great story. I would not recommend watching after a 420 session, you will get the munchies.

 (7) Sword Art Online

Written by Reki Kawahara

Genre/Subgenre= Isekai, Fantasy, Action, Adventure

Light Novel Original Run: April 10, 2009, to present

Anime original run:

Sword Art Online = July 8, 2012, to December 23, 2012

Sword Art Online II= July 5, 2014, to December 30, 2014

Sword Art Online Alicization = October 6, 2018, to present

  And here we go again with another isekai. The genre in itself is pretty much the same across animes. Someone dies and is sent to another world, but Sword Art Online is different. Instead of dying and going to another world; our main character is trapped in a virtual world and if he dies there, he dies in the real world.

In general, I've been pretty hard on SAO because of its a little too real world for me. It deals with some very real-world issues. To give some examples: Death, rape, incest, and other issues. To top it all off, with it being 2019; we are only months away from when the anime begins. (Where is my damn nervegear?)

If you can get past all of that it's a decent anime. The first arc is by far the best. The second arc is OK and the third I haven't finished yet. Sword Art Online is a good anime for beginners, in my opinion. Plus, Sword Art Online always puts out a beyond great soundtrack.

 (6) The Saga of Tanya the Evil

Written by Carlo Zen

Genre/subgenre: Isekai, fantasy

Manga Original run: April 26, 2016, to present

Anime original run: January 6, 2017, to March 31, 2017 

12 Episodes

 Here we are with the last isekai on our list. I understand that there have been quite a few listed, but besides the honorable mentions, there are no more. The Saga of Tanya the Evil is the perfect end of the isekai on this list.

Following the usual isekai tropes, Tanya the evil can best be described as a fantasy, historical alternative reality anime; taking place in a world similar to World War 1. As of this post, I'm only eight episodes in and quite enjoying it. I highly recommend checking it out.

 (5) Fairy Tail

Written By Hiro Mashima

Genre/Subgenre: Shonen, Action, Adventure, Fantasy

Manga Original run: August 2, 2006, to July 26, 2017

Anime original Run: October 12, 2009, to Present

328 + episodes

 It was around 7 years ago that a friend recommended fairy tail, to me. At the time, it wasn't my cup of tea. I was following Bleach, at the time, and hadn't leaped into the world of anime. Fast forward several years and it is still not my cup of tea. Now here is the thing, even though I may not be into fairy tail, ii know a good anime when I see it Given that fairy tail is entering its last full season; it a great choice for beginners and old alike. This is why I’m giving it the number 5 spot.

 (4) Attack on Titan

Written by Hajime isayama

Genre/Subgenre: Dark fantasy, post-apocalyptic

Original manga run: September 9, 2009, to present

Original anime run: April 7, 2015, to present

 Attack on Titan is one of those manga/animes that is a hit from day one. With a post-apocalyptic feel straight out of someone's worse nightmare. This isn't the zombie apocalypse folks; this is something far worse. The following that Attack on Titan has garnered is on par with American shows like The Walking Dead. 

Along with the manga and anime, Attack on titan has spawned a live-action movie in 2015. In my opinion, the movie was just as gory and the anime, but a little toned down. If your a fan of post-apocalyptic shows like The Walking Dead, this is one that you have to check out. 

A little piece of advice, do not watch the movie until you have seen the first season.

 (3) Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid

Written by Coolkyoushinja

Genre/Subgenre: fantasy

Manga original run: May 25, 2013 to present

Anime original run: January 11, 2017, to April 6, 2017

13 episodes plus OVA

 If there was ever an anime that should be the official anime of this blog, this is it. Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid has been one of my favorite animes that I've seen in recent years. This is not the usual action-pack thriller, that you'll usually see from animes that make there way west. It the cute and funny story of Miss Kobayashi and how she ended up with a dragon maid and the adventures that follow. I would recommend this to anyone, anime watcher or not.

 (2) Fullmetal Alchemist/ Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood.

Written by Hiroma Arakawa

Genre/Subgenre: Adventure, dark fantasy, science fiction, shonen

manga original run: July 12, 2001, to June 12, 2019

Anime original run: 

( Fullmetal Alchemist) October 4, 2003, to October 2, 2004

51 episodes plus the movie Conqueror of Shamballa (2005)

( Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood) April 5, 2009, to July 4, 2010

64 episodes

 Here we are at the number 2 spot. This was a toss-up for number one, but I decided against it. I would suggest watching Brotherhood because it follows the manga beginning to end. Fullmetal Alchemist ends at episode 51 and it is up the movie, Conqueror of Shamballa to bring an end to the story. I saw Conqueror of Shamballa and overall the movie was great. Well deserving of the praise it got from film festivals around the world. Do yourself a favor and check out this anime.

 (1) Dragon Ball /Z/GT/Super/Heroes

Written by Akira Toriyama

Genre/Subgenre: Action, Adventure, martial arts, shonen

Manga Original run: 

Dragonball= December 3, 1984, to June 5, 1995

Dragonball Super= June 20,2025 to present

 Anime original run: 

Dragonball(1986 to 1989)

Dragonball Z( 1989 to 1996)

Dragonball GT( 1996 to 1997)

Dragonball Super( 2015 to 2018)

Super Dragonball Heroes(2018 to present)

 And here we are at the number one spot. Come on, everyone should have seen this coming. Anime lovers and non-anime lovers have heard of the Dragonball series. While I was fighting for Fullmetal Alchemist to be in the number one spot; it wasn't going to happen. The Dragonball series is perfect for new anime viewers fro many reasons. One of the main reasons is if you get confused, there is plenty out there to help you understand what’s going on. The Dragonball series has been around in manga form since 1984 and anime form since 1986. There is plenty out there to help newbies and confused them, at the same time. Just don't watch the shitty American made live-action movie.

  Honorable mentions: Konosuba, Ghost in A Shell, Food Wars and Naruto

   Like always my friends, don't forget to like/share/reblog and follow. To get more of an idea of what's coming, you can follow me over on twitter at @socialyawkdude. 

[golden-deer-dear]

The Cost of Time, Claude x Byleth Angst

Summary:  When an immortal loves a mortal, what happens when time exacts its price?

Notes:  Sometimes when I post I feel terrible afterwards, like I sink into this really bad depression. And I apparently deal with it by writing more. But uh yeah, this is the result of that.

Read on AO3.

The Cost of Time

Their heavy breaths echo through the room, the sound of flesh on flesh breaking through what should only be silence. He fills her, holds her close as he takes his pleasure. Byleth holds on, ignoring that terrible feeling of hollowness that settles in her gut alongside the physical pressure, simply along for the ride. 

Her partner doesn’t seem to notice, or he doesn’t care. He would, that traitorous part of her mind whispers. He would know immediately if you weren't enjoying yourself. 

Byleth tangles her fingers in brown strands of too short hair, the noise of anger that escapes her lips blessedly mistaken for eagerness. Her partner's movements grow faster, sloppier really. Byleth shifts her hips, angling him so he hits just the right spot inside her. He comes with a cry, Byleth gritting her teeth as she reaches between them, well practiced fingers working herself and within a few moments pleasure washes over her as well. 

Her partner is so distracted by the aftershocks of his own orgasm to notice whatever Byleth is doing. She is being unfair to him, she knows she is. He is a perfectly pleasant man, a touch naive but all too sweet. In the afterglow, with stars fading from her vision, and his arms wrapping around her waist, Byleth feels only guilt. 

He kisses her shoulder, lips lingering in a way that stirs once treasured memories, memories that now only bring pain. She sinks into his embrace, focusing on the strong chest against her back and those lips that turn in the smallest of smiles. They are so familiar that for a moment Byleth can imagine warm desert winds and silk sheets, glasses of cooled juice and the scent of jasmine in the air.

And then he speaks, and her illusion shatters. "That was amazing," he says, lips still pressing against her skin. 

Byleth gives a noncommittal hum. She allows herself the warmth of his embrace a moment more, before slipping from the bed. Her lips press firm together, denying the heavy sigh that wishes to come into the world. “I have to go.”

His eyes widen for a moment, his face falling. He tries to smile, but it is so forced it would fool no one, especially not someone like her who has spent centuries decoding the secret meanings of the world’s most powerful beings. “Ah, all right. Do you want me-”

Byleth cuts him off with a shake of her head. “No. We paid for the room, so you might as well enjoy it.” And then, because he looks at her with those pleading eyes, and because she knows she has used him in more ways than she admitted to him earlier in the evening, she leans down and places a kiss against those frowning lips. They feel like his. Byleth tears herself away before her mind pulls her back into something dangerous. She knows she needs to stop. She knows this is not healthy, that it is not worth what she feels after. But like an addict, she chases an elusive high, a drug she once called love.

Byleth flees from the room, flees from the brown eyes staring at her back; brown eyes she so desperately wishes were green.

/

Byleth hunches her shoulders as she walks through cold streets. Very few people are out at this hour, so she is alone under the lamplights. She hates the artificial lights. Always has. There is something about them that hurts her eyes and makes her head ache. But she continues on, not paying attention to where her feet are taking her. 

She gives in every so often, craves the touch of another being close to her. So she seeks out someone that reminds her of him, a man whose smile shines with secrets, a woman whose eyes laugh with mischief. Or the brown eyed man she just left, who has his kindness. She desperately runs toward the companionship and pleasure they offer, only for guilt to ravage her mind as soon as the act is over. Betrayal, her unbeating heart screams at her, despite that he has spent long centuries in his grave. He went to the one place she cannot follow, and she hates him for it. 

But, only for a moment. Guilt is quick to come crashing down around her, washing away any justification she could fabricate for her desecration of his memory. And it is worse now, so much worse, because they dug up his grave. Her morning sun has had his eternal slumber interrupted, and she simply stood by while they pillaged the treasures of their home, shifting aside stones that once formed the walls of their palace until they came upon the ultimate prize. 

Numbness shot through her when she saw the news. The legendary King of Unification found! Proven to be history instead of myth! They praised him for all he had done, warping their history with false beliefs they believe to be facts. They are going to put him on display, like some common roadside attraction all can come to gawke upon. 

And she did nothing to stop them.

Byleth pulls up short, a sharp hiss escaping her lips when she realizes just where her feet have taken her. Spread out in front of her, marked off in offending yellow little squares, are the foundations of one of the proudest forts in Fódlan’s history, the jewel they had turned into the symbol of their dreams. 

She can see the halls starting to form, the tiles and marble long since tarnished by time. In her mind she walks those halls again, fingers caressing works of art she long ago took for granted. She can hear the laughter of her friend, the squabbling of politicians and warriors alike. And most clearly, she sees him, his smile so bright it blinds her. He marches forward with a confidence that is all his own, and sweeps her up in his arms. And for a fleeting moment, she is home again.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

The voice breaks her dream, and a darkness grips her heart. She fights the urge to lash out, to scream and cry at the woman who has stayed by her side for so long despite Byleth best efforts to push her away. Instead she simply says, her voice as cold as the winter air around them, “What do you want, Flayn?”

“We’ve been worried about you.” Flayn steps up beside her, survey the remnants of the Locket with a different type of sorrow in her eyes. She is older now, taller and more mature. She looks like a young woman. No one would mistake her for a teenager now. “I’ve been looking for you since the announcement.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Byleth answers simply. She found out long ago why Macuil and Indech decided to isolate themselves from their brethren. Some things were just too hard to deal with when someone who understood was by your side, especially when you were trying to run from that thing. 

Flayn says nothing, simply stands beside her. As the minutes drag on, Byleth feels her resolve crumble slowly brick by brick. She has been so lonely, so desperate for anything to make her feel some kind of optimism again, but the more time that passes, the more her own bitterness lingers on her tongue. 

He would hate you if he saw you now. He would be disgusted.

A single choked sob leaves Byleth’s throat, and Flayn immediately takes her hand. She does no more, but that simple gesture is so much more than Byleth knows she deserves. Flayn holds on as Byleth takes deep gasping breaths. Even after centuries of having emotions, she still finds them difficult to process. There are times when she wishes she had never learned to feel, but those thoughts are quickly quashed. It would mean tearing out the place in her heart that is his, and she can never do that.

Flayn’s question is so unexpected, something Byleth never thought to hear, that it takes her a moment to work out the meaning of the words.

“Would you like to see him?”

Byleth shivers from something deeper than the cold. Her fingers squeeze Flayn’s, mint green eyes wide with hope and desperation. “You can do that?”

Flayn nods and squeezes her hand in return. A kind smile is on her lips as she begins to pull Byleth away from the excavation site. “Come with me. I shall show you.”

/

It is the dead of night by the time they reach the museum. Seteth waits on the top of a staircase that has no right to contain so many steps in the first place. As Byleth places a foot on the first step, she feels his eyes on her, judging her. By the time they are scaling the last ten steps, Byleth feels ashamed when she realizes that what she took for judgement is actually worry. 

“I’m glad you came,” Seteth says in a voice both calm and low. Byleth has not heard that voice in years, and it sets her off kilter. Seteth is dressed in a fashionable suit, his hair shorter and slicked back. He looks like a proper businessman. No one would look at him and assume he was once part of an ancient race, venerated by thousands for centuries. No, the goddess had left Fódlan long ago, and her mark had faded. She is now more myth than the legendary king who shaped borders still in place to today.

Seteth takes her hand and helps her up the last few steps, guiding Byleth into the museum. She wants to tear down the posters and hanging advertising the treasures of Fódlan’s forgotten age, the center of which is the king himself. She does not realize how hard she is gripping Seteth’s hand until he gently squeezes hers, the gesture so remarkably similar to the one Flayn had used on her earlier that night. 

They glide past other exhibits, rooms and rooms filled with valuable artifacts. They are as nothing to her. Byleth focuses only on the destination, but when they arrive, it is all too soon. 

Seteth lets go of her hand and bows, arm sweeping out to invite her inside. “He is just through there,” Seteth tells her.

If her heart could beat, it would drown out all noise. But it does not, so there is only a dull echo roaring in Byleth’s ears, growing louder as she takes the first tentative step away from Seteth. The low lights reveal artifacts already taken from their resting spots. There are weapons after weapons. She vaguely recognizes Nader’s battle axe and Judith’s rapier. There is a collection of accessories, many of which Hilda made for Byleth with her own hands. There are documents and diaries, their pages yellowed and crumbling, only in the early stages of translation. 

But at the center of it all, surrounded by so many of the objects they had loved, is the man she has not stopped loving for more than a millennia, body preserved and perfect as the day he was buried. It was the one gift she could give him, if she could not follow him into the grave herself.

Byleth fights to pull air into her lungs as she takes step after step. By the time she reaches the casket, Byleth is shaking so hard she feels she will fall apart. She raises her hand, sobbing when it meets glass, preventing her from touching his sleeping face. 

His name is ripped from her, her very heart pulled from her chest. The part of her mind that is still coherent notes that she has not said it since he drew his last breath and she was left begging him to come back. 

“Claude!”

Byleth sinks to her knees, leaning her forehead against the glass. He is so close, just inches away. She could easily break the glass and reach him, but she cannot bare to taint him like that. She has destroyed the woman he treasured so dearly, stabbed the memory of his love until it became nothing more than a bloodied mess left floating in the endless expanse of time. 

She cries, grieving for all the things she has lost. Her hate, her bitterness, her shame, kneeling there she realizes how much they have haunted her over the years. She cries them out, releasing them into the ether. It would be much too late to start over now, expect she is immortal, and time means nothing to one who is not swept aside in its flow.

When her tears have stopped and breathing once more comes not in heavy sobs, Byleth gets back to her feet. She kisses the glass, right above Claude’s lips, caressing the cold material and wishing it were his warm cheek beneath her fingers. 

The soft click of Seteth’s shoes echo in the chamber, alerting her to his approach. “I’ve done what I can to keep him safe,” Seteth says.

Byleth’s heart swells with gratitude for the man she has so mistreated. “What will happen to him?”

Seteth sighs heavily, those shoes clicking again as he taps his foot. Byleth knows then that she will not like the answer. “He will remain here while the exhibit is up, but after that I will be forced to give him over. There are those who wish to run tests on him to determine how he could have remained so pristine after so long.”

Byleth growls, the sound completely animalistic. Seteth’s eyes widen in surprise and he takes a step back. His moment of fear breaks her yet again, Byleth huddling against the glass as she experiences another whiplash of emotions.

“I will not allow it,” Byleth whispers, pulling back the powers that had flared up at her call. They feel strange, leaving an iron aftertaste in her mouth. When had she last used those cursed powers?

Seteth shakes his head, recovering from his shock. “Byleth, there is not much I can do to stop it. I will continue to try, of course, but…” He sighs again, looking over his shoulder as Flayn joins them.

“They will not be dissuaded,” Flayn adds. “There is only one thing we can think of to keep the nature of his entombment secret.”

“What?” Byleth asks. She turns back to Claude. Her heart knows the answer, even before Flayn explains it.

To her credit, Flayn’s voice breaks as she speaks, the words leaving her slowly as she fights through them. It only reminds Byleth of how loved her husband was, how loved he still is. “You have to remove the enchantment.”

Her enchantment that stops time from effecting him. If she removes it now, all those years will catch up to him, and then he truly will be lost to her. But how else can she protect him now? Claude would hate to have his secrets revealed in such a manner, to have them laid bared to the world. She owes him this, after all her betrayals, she cannot let that become his legacy. 

She stands there for an eternity, one too short for her liking, staring down at the man who had loved her so well. She replays the memories of all her favorite times with him, all those little private moments that lived on in the thoughts she tried banishing in her hurt. No more. She could not be this woman he would not recognize anymore.

Byleth kisses the glass one last time, pulling apart the threads of her power that surrounds him. A terrible sigh breaks the silence of the room, imprinting itself upon her heart. It sounds just like him. Slowly, starting at his feet and working its way up, her powers let go of Claude’s body, and he crumbles to dust. 

“Goodbye, my love,” Byleth whispers, holding the pieces of her heart together as that beautiful face of his flakes away. “I’ll do better, Claude. I promise.”

And then he is gone. Byleth loses him for a second time, and somehow she will have to live through it again. 

Two arms, one slender, the other strong, wrap around her shoulders. The two people she has tried so hard to push away allow her to lean on them, guiding her from the past and into the future she has fought against for so long. 

I love you, Claude.

He smiles at her, the sunlight shining through their bedroom window. He is beautiful, hair messy and floating around his face as he brings himself to consciousness. And his eyes, the emerald eyes that look at her with such naked love, shine brightly as he smiles. 

I love you too, By. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I asked what if...? And I could only imagine the pain and suffering Byleth would have to go through in this situation, and how it could change her. I know Byleth is probably kind of ooc, but this is how I thought she would change in this situation.

[sockparade]

tips for surviving the pandemic: things i learned from my immigrant parents

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a little over a week since the WHO announced that the coronavirus (COVID-19) was officially a pandemic. This has been a long, challenging week for a lot of people and it is nothing short of terrifying to read reports of what is happening in Asia and Europe as many predict that we’ll likely endure a similar fate here in the United States. In the midst of all of this chaos and uncertainty, I’ve been reminded of so many lessons that my Taiwanese immigrant parents taught me. I’m sharing them here so that others might also benefit. Thanks Ma. Thanks Daddy.

你昨天已經出去了.

“You already went out yesterday.“

1. Learn how to stay home. Our family is eight days into self-isolating at home and Tony asked me this morning if I had cabin fever. And strangely, the answer is no. I’m not. Not to downplay the difficulty of this moment but my experience with this “shelter-in-place” ordinance reminds of pretty much all my summers between kindergarten and 8th grade. Both of my parents worked full-time so summer was just three blissful months of nothing. No structure, no plans, no camps, no playdates, and no responsibilities. My parents never made me feel like I was missing a thing by staying home and I don’t remember ever feeling bored. There were always library books to read, stories to write, and thoughts to journal. Hours were spent playing school with my big sister (now a first grade teacher!), making up random games like who can avoid touching the carpet longest, learning Kim Zmeskal’s latest gymnastics floor routine, writing lyrics to Kenny G saxophone solos, and rehearsing for our variety show that we would perform to our tired parents at the end of the day. And that’s not even including the hours we spent watching The Price is Right, CHIPS, Knight Rider, and Airwolf (yep, no cable).   

As a teenager I carefully plotted all my hangouts with friends so that I didn’t have too many consecutive days when I was out of the house. Whenever I asked my parents if I could hang out with friends, they would always say, “But you already went out yesterday. What’s wrong with staying home? Why do you always have to go out?” It was as if having too much fun two days in a row was off limits. If there was a big party on Friday, I would purposely make sure I stayed home Wednesday and Thursday just to increase the chances of being able to go out on Friday. I know a lot of people talk about how awful their high school years were but I was one of those lucky kids who had a really great group of friends that made me feel seen, loved, and cared for. The downside was that I couldn’t get enough of it. I was always thinking about the next hangout, the next event, the next thing. It took me all the way until my late twenties to fully appreciate the fine art of staying home and to finish my unexpected transformation into the expert homebody that I am today. 

I’m reminded of that old quote by Blaise Pascal, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone." 

It’s great to be out and about, but it’s also really important to learn how to stay home.  

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晚上要吃什麼？清冰箱.

“What are we eating for dinner?” “Cleaning the fridge.”

2. Be creative with what you have. I love food. Not in a foodie sense, but I get a lot of pleasure out of eating. I’m not a food snob by any stretch of the imagination. I thoroughly enjoy a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as much as I enjoy a fancy, inventive, Michelin-starred meal at Commis. What’s hard for me is when food is eaten as sustenance rather than with delight. But my parents taught me that you can always take pride in preparing a meal. No matter your ingredients.

My mom is an excellent cook. I know a lot of people think their mom is a good cook but my mom is legitimately skilled in the kitchen. There were some nights when I’d ask what was for dinner and my mom would just reply, “Cleaning the fridge.” 

Now for some, this might sound terrifying. But my mom could honestly make something out of nothing. I still crave my dad’s simple egg and garlic fried rice. My parents raised me to be able to make an tasty meal just from rummaging in the pantry and fridge for random leftover things. There were plenty of summers where lunches and snacks were an individual culinary adventure for each of us kids. I still remember the day I witnessed my baby sister add a Kraft single on top of her onion ramen noodles. She saw my confusion, shrugged and said, “You should try it, it’s good.” 

With all the hoarding folks have been doing during this pandemic, I’ve found myself feeling quite anxious. Trying to calculate if we have enough food. Estimating how many more meals we can eat at home before we need to make another grocery run. As someone who struggles with a scarcity mentality it has been hard not to panic. But then I keep reminding myself that I know how to make good food using just whatever’s available. 

You know, I was pretty disappointed with Mary H.K. Choi’s second novel, Permanent Record, given how much I enjoyed her debut novel, Emergency Contact. But I was absolutely thrilled with the shine she gave to what her protagonist calls “Hot Snacks”.

Here’s an excerpt from Permanent Record that is a beautiful ode to creative food mashups and immigrant kids everywhere: 

“I edit and post a Shin Ramyun Black video set to music. My favorite instant noodles with three flavor packets and so much garlic. It’s a classic Korean HotSnack, especially when you throw in cut-up hot dogs, frozen dumplings, extra kimchi - and this is where the artistry comes in- eggs, cheese, corn from a can, and a drizzle of sesame oil on top. And furikake if you’re feeling wealthy. The next night I put up a bacon, egg, and cheese not in a bagel but in a glazed honey bun. Laced with sriracha and pan fried on the outside. Then it’s chilaquiles with Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos and chorizo. Jamaican beef patty casserole disrespected with a smothering of Japanese curry and broiled. With Crystal Hot Sauce over the top and pickled banana peppers. I’m trolling with that one but the controversy is berserk. When I run out of old videos, I make saag paneer naanchos with Trader Joe’s frozen Indian food, and it’s a hit. Especially when I add yogurt and a thick layer of crushed-up Takis on top.”

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看連續劇.

“Watch soap operas.” 

3. Find a way to escape. I’m generally pro technology but I’ll admit I’m a little bummed at the way iPhones and iPads have made TV viewing such an individual activity. I like how Disney+ has gotten some families back to watching TV together again. Although I will say, we really coddle our kids these days. I grew up in a time when movie ratings only applied in the theaters and we watched movies with our families like Alien, The Fly, and Gremlins. We were scared out of our minds and sometimes could only watch through the cracks between our fingers covering our eyes because it was so scary. Okay, this also might be why I can’t watch horror movies as an adult. 

From a young age, my parents taught me that watching other people’s drama unfold on screen is one of the best way to escape your own drama. Some people say binge watching became a thing when the TV networks started releasing shows on DVD. Others give credit to Netflix releasing their original content a whole season at a time. But truth be told, I first learned how to binge watch from my parents. 

We would rent 30-40 VHS cassette tapes from that random spot in Bellaire Chinatown. Can you picture it? You needed multiple plastic bags to transport that many VHS tapes. 

Do you remember the one about the dying mother who needed to find homes for each of her 7 children? I don’t think it’s normal for a 10 year old to cry so much but you better believe it’s made me learn the true value of a soap opera escape hatch. 

Are you in a pandemic? Now’s the perfect time to pick up that YA novel, binge that reality show, start that kdrama, or rewatch all six seasons of The Sopranos again.

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下個禮拜會下雨.

“It’s going to rain next week.”

4. Be informed about what’s ahead. If you ask either of my parents about the weather at any given time they can reliably tell you the daily percent chance of precipitation and humidity for at least seven days out. They’ve always been this way. They would inform me of the weather at various points throughout the week. They planned their yard work and car washes around the weather forecast. There’s something about the way the weather forecast is available to everyone. And it feels like it’s just a matter of making the small extra effort to access it and gain a slight advantage. I feel like so much of the immigrant mentality is to be diligent in making the right choices to not screw yourself over and seizing opportunities whenever you can. And it wasn’t just weather but this is such an obvious example of it. 

I remember my dad saying to me once, "Can you imagine if someone decided to read every book in their local library? If they just went shelf by shelf and systematically read all the books? You could do it, you know. It’s free, it doesn’t cost any money to check out a book from the library. But no one really does it.” 

I think immigrant parents get a bad reputation for forwarding chain letters and health/science hoaxes they get on email, WeChat and Line. And in a pandemic, yes, they are definitely susceptible to misinformation, rumors and flat out untruths. But the thought behind it seems right. 

The mistrust of government leadership is actually quite relevant right now in this pandemic. Many immigrants left countries with governments that were overtly corrupt, oppressive, and used propaganda to influence its citizens. And while many Americans still take pride in living in a country that verbally champions freedom and democracy, the truth is that our government has already failed us and lied to us in many ways. During this pandemic, we cannot wait on leaders to tell us what to do. We must be diligent in reading for ourselves, seeking experts, using our critical thinking skills, and making preparations accordingly.

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會不會冷?

“Are you cold?” 

5. Check in with yourself. Check in with others. I have so many memories of my parents walking through the living room and asking me and my sisters if we were cold. It felt like they couldn’t walk past the thermostat without asking us if they needed to raise it or lower it. As if they couldn’t hear us sneeze and wonder if they needed to turn off the ceiling fan. They couldn’t see us sitting in a dim room without turning on a light for us. There are so many times I fell asleep reading on the couch and woke up with a blanket over me. Or sometimes I was fully awake doing something random, like playing Egyptian Rat Screw with my sisters (a cardgame for the uninitiated), and my mom would walk by and wordlessly drop a warm, heavy blanket over my shoulders. That’s care, y’all. Consistent, immediate action, and often without words.  

The tip here is to pay attention to your discomfort during a pandemic. There’s this immigrant stereotype of stoicism and that’s true to some degree but maybe the resilience is made possible not because of unnatural toughness but largely because immigrant parents can also be so incredibly perceptive and tender in some very tangible ways. 

When everything is chaotic around you and you’re busy multitasking these next few months, don’t ignore your needs. Notice how you’re feeling. Physically and emotionally. Where are you carrying your stress and tension in your body? You don’t have to tough it out. Oh and remember to check in with your people on how they’re feeling. Is there a light switch you can turn on for someone? 

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笑死人.

“Laugh to death.” 

6. Laugh to survive. Look, we didn’t have the perfect family or anything like that. We’ve definitely had our share of difficult times, financial stress, health issues, arguments, and pain. But my parents also really knew how to laugh and taught us to laugh with abandon. Like, bent over, tears running out of your eyes, can’t breathe kind of laughing. Our dinner table was kind of like a writer’s room. It was difficult to tell a mediocre story. You had better come prepared with a punchline or a point. It was a tough crowd, every night. On many occasions I stopped myself halfway through a story upon the self-realization that there was no real way to land the plane. Polite laughs were nowhere to be found, except perhaps a charitable smile from my baby sister. But it didn’t stop us from trying. I think my sisters and I are all probably better storytellers for it and we definitely have learned to try to bring humor into difficult times.  

I know that this pandemic is so incredibly dark and depressing that it can sometimes feel disrespectful, inappropriate, or childish to laugh at anything. But my parents taught me that you laugh to survive. Nothing is ever so dark that you can’t find a reason to laugh. And sometimes you really need to find something to laugh about.

I’ve been taking long breaks each day from major media news outlets but I have been finding such joy and laughter from the meme creators on IG and the comedic geniuses on Twitter. In Taiwanese when something’s really funny, people will say a phrase that is imperfectly translated as laugh to death. Like you killed a person it was so funny. Now’s the time to find that content or those people who will get you to laugh to death. 

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我要去挪車.

“I’m going to go re-park the cars.” 

7. Go to bed with a plan for the next morning. I grew up in a suburb of Houston, Texas where one property developer built the entire neighborhood and used the same eight or nine floor plans for all the houses but changed up the brick and trim color to keep things interesting. Most homes have a long driveway that connects a garage set near the backdoor of a home to the street. By the time I was driving, we had four cars in total -- two in the garage and two on the driveway. At the end of the day when everyone was home for the night and my dad was getting ready to go to bed, he’d announce, “I’m going to go re-park the cars.” Then we’d all kind of stop what we were doing and rearrange the order of the cars to match our morning departure schedules. This meant figuring out who was leaving when in the morning and sometimes also prompted brief check-in conversations about any changes in our usual routine. 

In a pandemic it can sometimes feel like there are a million different things to attend to and large conceptual concerns that demand your attention. But there’s something calming and centering about spending a few minutes each night thinking through specifically what needs to happen just tomorrow. Not the day after or next week. Get super tactical and specific about what tomorrow morning looks like. Check-in with your partner about any aberrations to your schedule (e.g. I have a super important conference call at 7am tomorrow) to minimize any unnecessary surprises. There’s something magical about setting up your morning that helps you rest just a little easier at night. 

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星期三我們有禱告會.

“On Wednesdays we have prayer meeting.”

8. Make time for your spirituality. Growing up my parents both had physically demanding jobs. My mom was a seamstress for many years, providing alterations at my aunt and uncle’s dry cleaners. She later worked in an elementary school cafeteria and then eventually became a classroom aide for special needs students. My dad worked at that same dry cleaners for years until he got a job at the post office. He then became a letter carrier, delivering mail on foot. The summer months were especially grueling, carrying a heavy sack of mail in 100 degree, humid weather, and walking until sweat soaked his shirts and blisters formed on his feet. They had every excuse to skip weeknight events. But unless they were sick in bed, I can’t remember a time when they missed their weekly prayer meeting with their friends from church.  

Pandemics have an unsettling way of forcing us to confront our mortality and can trigger a bunch of unresolved shit that has been bubbling underneath the surface. We’ve lost some of our usual coping mechanisms and it can be super hard to quiet the anxieties, fears, and other demons that we usually try to keep under control. This isn’t a lecture about a particular faith or belief system. It’s just a reminder to prioritize your existential questions, your interior life, and your connection to things much bigger than yourself -- whether that’s a community, a yoga practice, a faith group, a tradition, or something else. 

I have a fledgling meditation practice that I’ve been trying to strengthen since last year. When I say fledgling I mean that sometimes I bail before the ten minutes is up and check my phone. Even though I’m not very good at it yet, I can really tell the difference on the days that I make time for it. Our church started hosting its weekly Sunday service online and that’s challenging for me because a church service feels like it’s designed to be so much about the physical rhythm of going to a place, seeing faces of people I love, hearing their voices co-mingling with mine in song and in prayer, and tasting the bread and wine in my mouth. The online service was short, and just for viewing through a zoom conference call, but there was still something meaningful about setting aside that time Sunday morning, asking our wiggly kids to be present, and saying the liturgy out loud knowing that in homes all across the country, other people are doing the same. 

If things are really going to get as bad as some are predicting, we’ll need the spiritual strength to make it to the other side. Those habits are hard to form overnight. My parents taught me that you really have to make the time for your spirituality non-negotiable, so that you won’t abandon it when it’s inconvenient or when you are too tired.    

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沒辦法.

“What choice do we have?” 

9. Rise to the occasion. Whenever my parents are telling old war stories about things they had to do to get to where they are today, inevitably one of us will say, “Man that’s crazy, how did you manage to do it?” And instead of pointing to some super personality trait of theirs or some complex self-help principle, they always say, “We had no choice.” It’s not said in a defeated way, but in a posture of accepting that life can be cruel, unfair, and capricious. And that it’s not helpful to dwell too long on the why’s and how’s. My parents taught me that you can’t stay in despair mode. You eventually have to push yourself into problem solving mode and you do whatever it takes to move forward.  

This coronavirus is so unlike anything we’ve ever experienced in our lifetime. It is so unprecedented for me that my brain is having a hard time processing the reality of what’s happening right now and the rest of my lived experience. I spent the first few days of this week just being overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and irritable. At this point though, I’m in go mode. I’m doing what needs to be done for our family and taking care of business. What choice do we have? I can hear my parents saying it. One day, if we’re lucky, we’ll say it to our kids too. 

[mindwideopen]

I am, a born again giver. I’ve taken for waaaayyy too long. Hoarding, keeping, covetous behavior. Believe me, I’ve done it. But I’ve decided, I have been needy, and a taker. I have kept things, in my house, that I don’t use, that is energy that others could be using, for a long time. I’ve also withheld my love, to people in my relationships. I’m being honest, because it feels better to do it, and because, I’ve decided that it’s time for a change, for the whole of me.

The fact is, I’ve hidden, and withheld, my love from people I love, that I feel I’ve been hurt by. The hurt, is what caused, and causes my behavior in those cases. Ask anyone who knows me. I’m, a jerk. Well, that’s how I feel they feel. And I see that a lot, in my daily life. Jerk... asshole... fuckers... all of them. Well, the fact is, none of them, are that. I saw, what I felt. And that’s how it works. Fear vs. love, is a real thing. All emotions break down to either fear or love, and love, ain’t that.

Deciding to love, is not a job for the weak. Love gets a bad rap sometimes. “I love you”. Pussy... love is for chicks with dicks. You can’t possibly love. You’re a man. You have to be strong, and powerful, and show dominance over all others. Well, I have, and quite frankly, I hate having that kind of a penis.

Love is not a pussy action. It takes balls upon balls, to love. Or, as Betty white says, balls are weak, why not love like a pussy, cause it takes a good pounding. I’m paraphrasing, but that was the gist. Love, isn’t the dick move, it’s the best move you can make, and here’s why; love envelopes you, in power. The power of love, moves people to be, who they are. It allows the contrast to fade, and the love out shines all hate, and fear. Fear, is what holds us back from achieving the life we all desire. The lives all look different, cause what floats one of us may not do it for another, but ultimately the very same effect occurs. Happiness.

Happiness is relative, but the result of your feeling good, affects the whole of us all. The people who are happy, are more likely to love others, and treat people with respect and kindness. Seems pretty obvious, but we don’t tend to concentrate on creating that in our lives deliberately sometimes. The deliberate attention to loving ourselves, starts the chain of how the collective consciousness feels and acts, and how we feel and behave towards others, is the result. The fact is, only love, can save us all.

But love, is a lofty goal. It is. Love! Pft! So general. So stupid. Ok, I’ll love. Yeah, right. That will “save the world”. Whatever. Yep. That’s where it starts. With our perception toward love. So let’s try to define it. What is love to you? Maybe love is fast cars and hot women. Maybe love is a badass motorcycle on an empty highway going 88 mph. Or maybe love is a kitten, who cares? The point is, love, is a personal thing. But whatever does it for you, do that more often. Cause it will aid, in how we all treat one another, and feel about ourselves in the process. The 2 go hand in hand, really. The love, we feel, we give, and the love we see, we acknowledge to ourselves, as our own self worth.

Well, now I’m in the soup. Cause my son was trying to talk to me, and I got mad cause I was trying to type this post, and he wanted to talk. A lot. So, the loving thing to do? Whatever you feel, is good. So, are you feeling guilty like I am? If you are, go back and acknowledge your misstep. If not, continue your anger, the rest of the day pointed at him. Or, decide to let it all go, and act normally next time. All of these options, vaiid, but what feels the best? Well, I’m peeing right now as I type, but eventually, I’ll go back and apologize, and be cool with my boy, cause he’s pretty neat, and I dig having an open, and good relationship with him. Please hold, as I wipe, and do that. I’ll let you know how it turns out. Ok, the wiping went as expected, and my son and I, are cool. I apologized. Cause he comes first to me. That’s the way I choose to love, not for anyone else, but myself. Because loving my son, is my top priority, sometimes. And sometimes, all the time, I’m human. And I get aggravated that I’m not where I want to be in my life, and I’m not the best mom, but we try to stay vigilant as humans that are trying their best to be good parents and people to everyone in our lives. It’s a process, and we have our lives, to practice.

Life isn’t always the easiest to navigate. But, that’s a belief I have to overcome. It can be easy, if I think it is. My beliefs, dictate how I feel about things like that, myself, and others. The actions I decide to take are ruled by me. My moods, my emotions, who cut me off on the road, who screwed me over years ago, who talked shit about me and I found out about it. A lot of things in life affect the moods of us all. And when we interact, all is accounted for. “Oh yeah? Well I’m not taking your shit ever again! Fuck off!” “Fine! Oh, and I’ll take back my Pink Floyd album with David gilmour on there, and he’s hot, even though he’s in his mid 70s... whatever!” “Yeah, and give me back my copy of Aerosmith’s pump, cause you and I both know that steven Tyler had sex in an elevator, a lot, the whole band probably has!” “Oh yeah? Well I want my copy of peter Gabriel’s “I love to be loved” back, cause I do, and I don’t love you!” “Great, and ll take back my Nazareth’s love hurts, cause it fuckin does!” “Well, the indigo girls write about that love shit all the time, so it’s all mine now!” “Whatever, rem says “I am the everything” so I am, and “everybody hurts” so you can suck it, cause you hurt me! Asshole...” “Uh huh, right! I’m over this shit! So I’m gonna take back all of “the cure” on out of here, by deleting your ass, that is big, like sir mix a lots big butt song! I’m out!” (Other person sticks tongue out) scene.

Why am I an asshole, to myself? Why do I choose my “right tight assness” over loving someone and getting over my own shit? Cause of hurt. Cause of pain, cause of not being heard or appreciated for being myself. Well, all that is also valid, but who is in charge of how I feel? No one, but me. So how do I stop myself from being insulted by everyone’s ass behavior? By changing my perception of it. Well, I can’t. Cause it hurt, and really pissed me off. So wait a minute... I’m in charge of that shit! Right, so now what? Well, I decide to focus on something else for a bit, until I feel a little better. Yeah, but I still am thinking about that ass move! What a douche! Right, I’m right back to where I started. Thinking about the ass. So, now what? Well, be accepting in the moment. “Fuck them! Yeah! Jerks...” how is that energy working for you? Not at all. Right. Focus, is everything.

Is it easy at first? Fuck no! It’s terrible! It hurts and I’m mad and I hate and it’s everyone’s fault and they are all against me, and they’re happy and I’m not and the world isn’t fair and the gas prices are high and the taxes are too and I’m gonna get high or drink to numb and make myself balance out a bit. THAT’S how it starts. And that’s not where it ends. It ends, with everyone, losing their g. d. minds with misery and upset.

We are all interconnected. There is not one person, that isn’t in some way connected to another. Even the hermit in the forest by themselves, is connected to nature, which is connected to themselves, and everyone else. Our shared humanity, is what brings us together, whether we like it, or not. So why not become one? Because fear, rocks that boat, and HARD!

I’m not like them! They have NO F’N CLUE what I’ve been through, or the experiences I’ve had, or the love I’ve been denied! They’re this, or that, or not into what I’m into, or a different race, or gender, or socioeconomic class, or whatever, just NOT like me, so they can’t say SHIT! Yes, well, do you like pumpkin spice lattes? Wtf?! Pumpkin spice lattes? I’m talking to you about your uneducated ass talking to me about me, ok? And now you’re talking about pumpkin spice lattes. You’re stupid! Yes, I am, but do you like them? I don’t know... the hell with this conversation... ok. Well, if you do, here’s a Starbucks gift card for one. Maybe we can discuss how you feel over one. Um, no, cause you’ll never get me. I’m too different from you. Got it. Then which latte do you like, cause there’s a lot to choose from..

There’s a commonality between people that were missing in society today. Similarities run rampant around the world, but we seem to blow right past it sometimes, without a bat of an eyelash. The similarity, is love. We all need it. We all crave it; understanding, care, compassion, empathy. But do we give it freely? And do we give it, to ourselves?

Here’s how I give love to myself the best I can, and mind you, I’m no expert. Just sharing some observations here. I mean, I’m not educated. I’m still technically in my junior year of college. I only have an associates degree in liberal arts, not psychology. I’m not a very good example of what you would call, “a success” or even employed. So what do I know? THAT, is what I used to say to myself, in my head, a lot. Now, my internal monologue, all be it not perfect, is different. It’s, “hey Kari. Let’s do our best to love today. Oh shit, all I see that I’m getting from people is more hate. Ok, recognized and reconsidered. I don’t have to stay in this place in my mind, seeing all that hate. What can I do to jar myself out of it, and perceive more positively? Think the next best thought I can believe, fully. Ok, what’s that? How about, I’m a good person who does her best? I mean, it’s true. I try. Yes, cool. What can you do to take care of you today? Deodorant! Yes! How about a shower? Better! Ok.” and so on and so forth.

Love, is not always a grand gesture. And it’s a word we throw away often. Love is the small things we do, to get to the bigger things. That’s how energy works. Incrementally. We can’t go and sustain a surge of energy. I’m better! I’m healed! From feeling like shit? Really? Yes! All better! I’ll never feel that way again, Thank fuck, cause that way was ass! I mean, I was feeling like ass, but now, I’m better, cause those people are douches, and I’m not, so I feel better cause they’re out, and I’m alone without they’re energy... um, yeah. Well, I was feeling good until I triggered myself back with the thoughts of how they were douches, and mad... yes, im back in ass gulch again in my head. And I’ve been stuck in this line with the mask on at the Trader Joe’s now, (a store I usually love with a shit ton of friendly good people both working and shopping there but I can’t see that perception today, cause I’m mad, and I feel like shit) for way too long! We see, what we want to see. We experience, what we expect and believe. That’s the truth. Whether it’s true or not is irrelevant. The choices we make on how to feel about things, are. The choice to think the thoughts we think, about everything, every day is life.

Life is not all easy n shit. My belief. It’s hard to get money. Another belief. My cat pissed on my face this morning, so my life is over, not a belief I hold, as I don’t have a cat, cause allergic. But I do know, that I can piss on myself with my thoughts, and have the same effect. Affect, effect? The same in this case. What affects us, is the effects of us all.

Being human, just is. What we make of our collective human experience and how we treat others? Our choice completely. Decisions are based on our beliefs, and our beliefs are based on either love or fear. I have to go now, as my son is hungry. But I’ll leave you with this; I love you. I stand with you in love. Choose hate, which is fear, and I won’t. My son is listening to the song, “stand by me”. My promise to you is that I will stand by you, in love, if I decide to. Love is an emotion that I’m still working on too. I fall in and out of it. But the choice, is always to hop back on the love train, cause it’s taking me places I want to go. To happyville. ❤️

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic - oc

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x oc. There is a reader version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Original Character. Swearing. Female Pronouns.

Creator   ║ I swear this will go somewhere, I just enjoy the set up too much. So this is the version with the oc that I have. Her first name is Koyori. I have tagged this so that if you dislike ocs, you can read the other version. But! If you like ocs, hopefully you’ll like her ;v;. I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!!

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  Koyori whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  “Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

  Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. Koyori held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  Koyori sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “I’m Yama Koyori, and to join me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, Koyori hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  Koyori leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but Koyori found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and Koyori would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Koyori’s head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as Koyori’s pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. Koyori scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

  While the editor and videographer chatted together, Koyori leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘Yami Koyori would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, If his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

tags: @lovesakusa​

[prettywordsyouleft]

Through His Eyes - Part 12 [M]

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Warning: Today, we have a little bit of a smut scene in this, but it’s not full on (sorry lol).

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 - FINAL

You sensed someone was there before the door even opened to the art studio. It was a skill you had adopted since losing your eyesight, the indescribable nature of being aware before you truly heard or smelt the change in your space.

So when the door opened, you angled your head, trying to decipher who would be here this late at night. You had promised your mother you would take a taxi home by ten and when you check your watch not long ago; you still had just under an hour left. Madam Cho had left early to head to a scheduled event she was hosting and none of the other regular students had booked timeslots tonight.

It didn’t take you long to recognise the all too familiar sounds of his footsteps, your breathing hitched in your throat. Were you imagining Jaebum turning up right now? It wasn’t uncommon for you to fantasise scenarios where he would re-enter your world. But as time passed by, each daydream seemed less vibrant, shrouded with the reality that he hadn’t actually appeared in front of you. So why would he now?

You were hesitant to believe the signals your brain was giving you when the smell of his cologne joined the sounds of footsteps but you couldn’t deny it when his arms wrapped around you from behind, the shaky breaths you had vaguely registered now heaving into your ear, the coolness of his drenched body burning against your warm.

You were stunned, why was he so frozen?

He began to cry then, you were certain of it, and it took every ounce of you to remain still. To not react, keeping your emotions within. You had cried too much over this man and experienced much anger toward him. And even more towards yourself for how you reacted back then.

Jaebum took a deep breath before he spoke and you felt the hairs on your neck prick up in anticipation. “I’m sorry I’m late to receive your confession, Y/N. Will you accept mine?”

You had thought this over so many times now. When you would finally meet with Jaebum again, you had wanted to thank him for always being at your side. You had craved to scold him for things that bothered you in your connection, and you wanted to cry over your denied feelings. Yet, not once had you expected him to say something as bold as that. You hadn’t allowed yourself to believe that Jaebum actually would feel as you did. Perhaps he still didn’t, and it made you perplexed the longer you processed all this, his arms around you overwhelming your senses, your body greedily lapping up his touch even if he was wet. Yet, your mind was still two steps behind and you didn’t know what to do for the first time in weeks.

Jaebum sensed your turmoil, his grip around you tightening, pleading for you to answer him with something. Shoot him down or accept him, he needed something from you.

Your hand raised towards where his chin was resting on your shoulder and you felt him shift towards it to meet your touch halfway, nuzzling into your hand affectionately. Your heart thumped noisily in your chest and a smile formed on your lips.

God, you had missed him.

“You are very late.”

“I know,” he murmured and you inwardly rejoiced when his lips pursed against your palm that he was still rubbing into as if he was part feline and craved your reassurance. Your smile grew into a grin as you gently ran your hand up the side of his jawline, threading into the ends of his hair lightly.

It was new.

All of this, you had craved. Sure, you had teased him during your friendship of how close he would get, his skinship towards you was natural. This wasn’t your first time ever touching him.

And yet it was as if you were learning more of him than you had over the past several months. You were allowed to touch him like this now.

You didn’t want to stop.

Spinning around on the stool you were seated on, you ran your other hand up his chest to his shoulder, anchoring yourself there. Jaebum chuckled. “You’re bolder than the last time I saw you.”

“I had to learn how to survive without you,” you told him, drumming your fingers against his shoulder, your other hand still content up in his soaked hair. “If I didn’t learn to advocate for myself, I knew I didn’t have you to fall back onto.”

He shifted closer, if that was even possible. You were growing dizzy within this vivid dreamlike state. “Will you fall upon me now that I’m here?”

You shook your head. You wouldn’t return to your feeble role in this budding connection. You had evolved from relying on him for your basic level of happiness. And yet, you knew you could blossom further with Jaebum being back in your life. You wouldn’t fall on him, but you would hold him, perch on him when you felt ready to take flight.

“What if I lean into you instead, can I do that?” he continued and you giggled.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

He nodded, burying himself into you. “I don’t want to let go.”

“You don’t have to.”

For an immeasurable time, you just remained like that. Holding one another. Reconnecting. Flourishing. You could tell without seeing him that Jaebum had suffered. You weren’t sure why, though his negative energy slowly dispelled within your embrace, opening doors he had hastily closed on himself.

He felt vulnerable under your touch and it was mind-blowing to be the person who held him up right now.

Eventually, he started to shiver. Your own body was damp from soaking up the rainwater from his clothing and Jaebum reluctantly stepped back with a sigh. “I better get you home so you can warm up.”

“Me? You’re the frozen one.”

You heard the little breath he let out as he smiled. “I’m thawing out well, thanks to you.”

The sentence was deeper than the reference to his current temperature and you smiled back at him, sliding off the stool and reaching for your bag. And then you took his hand in yours. “Jaebum, you need to be warmer than this.”

“I’ll go and shower as soon as I know you’re home safe.”

You didn’t know why this didn’t sit well with you. Was it because in the past, he always put himself second to you? Some of that was due to your physical limitations, yet he had selflessly always prioritised your needs first. You had been grateful every time, however now with clarity, you realised how little you had done for him.

You craved to meet his needs before your own first.

Shaking your head, your adamant answer confused him. “Y/N, you-”

“You need to shower first.”

“But, how… I mean, I don’t think your mother would-”

You squeezed his hand and you received a tremble back. Was he nervous at your insistence? His mind perhaps travelling down a path he hadn’t considered before? It made you fall in love with him further. How naïve was he, when it was once you who would blush at the slightest of change between you both. Now you coveted confidence around him that surprised him, and you hoped it would be reciprocated by him sooner rather than later.

“We can go to my apartment,” he offered slowly, swallowing loudly. His grip on your hand changed, taking the lead as he once used to, directing you out into the heavy din of the storm and dashing through the weather together until you reached his car.

The drive to his apartment was electric. Jaebum hadn’t let go of your hand once, not that you would have allowed him to. His thumb ran circles over your skin, surges travelling throughout your body. You knew that you were moving through a realm of the unknown. Dating hadn’t been something you had ever put much thought into after losing your eyesight, not wishing to burden anyone with caring for you in a normal relationship.

Yet you couldn’t deny what your heart desired and now that Jaebum was back in front of you again, well, you weren’t going to remain juvenile about it. For one night, you were simply a woman who loved the man beside you. And you had spent too long apart to be separated because of finer details.

Jaebum led you up into his home and you were silent yet active. Your brain was rushing to record the steps it took, the feeling of the walls, the counting of the floors. You slipped into his home behind him, and he turned to you, his hands shifting to your waist as he kicked off his shoes. He laughed happily and you breathed in new air. “I thought you were eager to get me home?”

“Let me adjust first, I’m in a new space.”

Jaebum let you wander. Much like the time where he had taken you out to the park near your home, he hovered and pointed out things when you bumped into them. And then he left you to it, disappearing into his home as you navigated the small kitchen space.

He returned to wrap you up in a towel. “Please shower first.”

“You’re soaked more than I am,” you reminded, shunting him away. “I can wait.”

“You’re my guest tonight so you should wash up first. I’ve pulled out some clothes for you to put on when you’re done.”

“Will I remain just a guest when I’m at your home?” you wondered, taking the towel he offered and the question remained unanswered as Jaebum led you to his bathroom. You could tell he was affected as he explained the best way to navigate his shower and after turning it on for you, he left you to it.

Admittedly, you were grateful for the escape from your heady experience. As you warmed your soul, you contemplated if you were being too much for him. After all, Jaebum had been gone for so long and had only accepted he had feelings for you recently, from what you could tell. You didn’t know what his expectations were, hell, you weren’t even sure of your own. For a moment, you doubted your approach, overwhelmed in this new environment of his home and your inner thoughts.

You didn’t take long, knowing Jaebum was out there waiting to shower too. Reaching for the towel, you secured it around your chest, fumbling around for the clothing Jaebum had left for you. They seemed to have vanished and you yelped when your foot connected with the vanity.

“Are you alright?” he called from the other side of the door and you giggled. Had he waited out there the entire time in case you needed him?

You decided you would allow Jaebum to rescue you right now. “I need help.”

The door swung open and you turned towards the sound, trying to get your bearings back. Jaebum was quick to realise what you had been doing, thrusting clothing at you suddenly. “Here.”

His fingers brushed against your bare shoulder with the force he had thrown the clothes at you in his flustered state and it elicited another round of courage you had swept down the drain with the shower water. You failed to grab onto the clothing.

“Sorry.” You stepped closer. “Can you help me?”

Even without sight, you knew he was torn. If he felt even a fraction of what you did for him, Jaebum would be suffering. You decided to torment him further, raising your arms up lightly. “You put it on, please?”

You felt the fabric of the hoodie, Jaebum slowly slipping it over your arms and head, his breathing shallow as he did so. His hands travelled with the garment and inadvertently the cinch over your chest unravelled, the towel falling faster than the hoodie was. He let go, his gasp evidence that he had seen you.

It didn’t scare you.

The heat of your body soared and you realised his hands had grabbed onto the hoodie again, grounding him, supporting him through his desires. Without warning, his mouth found yours. The passion was immediate, arms encircling your body and pulling you towards his. You realised he had changed whilst you showered, but he was still cool to the touch. His mouth was avid, kissing you as if his life depended on it, tasting you, imprinting you, loving you.

And then just as swift as he had placed his mouth on yours, he yanked back, panting heavily. “What are you doing to me?”

“You kissed me; shouldn’t I be asking you that instead?”

He groaned loudly, his grip on you dangerously close to where the hoodie ended on the back of your thighs. He intentionally stretched out his hand, grazing against your skin again and you felt him shake his head. You slid your hands up his chest to link behind Jaebum’s neck, tilting your head up towards his. “Do you still need that shower?”

“Later,” he murmured and that was all you needed to hear to push your forearms against his broad shoulders, leaping up into his readying embrace. He carried you towards his bedroom, kisses melding one into the other until he gently angled you down to the bed, your grip unrelenting, pulling him down with you.

You expected commentary, you had believed he would voice how you were driving him insane. He had no words to give you though, his actions instead speaking volumes. His hands yearned for more, his breath unsteady, his lips now tasting more of you.

And you were thankful for the lack of talking. Whilst you were confident in getting yourself to this point, now you were entirely lost. In the darkness, you were left anticipating his actions, not able to tell what he would do next. Your own exploration of him grew stunted as you tried to handle how he roamed you. His hoodie was off though, which you had achieved with some effort. You wanted to feel every muscle that laid beneath his skin, to run your hands slowly over every inch. The lust enveloping you both didn’t allow for such a languid response, and you admitted defeat in doing so once you felt the exposed chill of the air when Jaebum rid you of the hoodie he had only just put you in.

Fisting the sheets beneath you to steady your anticipation, you reacted to his touch again. Each caress of his hands made your senses overload, your body seeking out more and still trying to keep up with what was happening. You relied on the feeling, your breathing staggered when he moved down your body to where you needed him the most.

You were certain you saw colours behind your eyelids when his mouth met your womanhood for the first time.

The night was spent searching for ecstasy repeatedly. You had painted the entire galaxy within your mind, your greyscale world now vibrant and rich. As the first rays of the sun brightened up Jaebum’s bedroom, you opened your eyes, accepting the harsh change of brightness as it felt dull in comparison to how heightened you had been mere hours ago.

Turning slowly in the loose way the man sleeping soundly beside you held you to his warm chest, you let your fingers delve into his skin, softly navigating their way over him. Without Jaebum’s constant unravelling of your mind and body, you could finally explore him as you pleased. He remained asleep initially, too deep within his dreams to notice your slow, methodical touch. You knew he had stirred when you were imprinting his shoulder blades into your mind, yet Jaebum allowed you to continue, laying there as you moved over every inch of his upper body. When you finally were gently taking in his facial details, his arm that was wrapped over your side tightened, drawing you into his body so you were flush against him.

You were giddy again.

“Are you certain you know every part to me now?”

You shook your head. “I have so much more to learn.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Didn’t you get enough of me last night?” you wondered and Jaebum guided your face towards his, mere centimetres away from placing his lips on yours.

“I don’t think I ever could have enough of you.”

_________________

[Final Part]

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