#i cannot be the only one who finds it rather ... strange

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

the twst pantheon au

I’ve been cooking with this one for a long ass time 🤩

A pantheon refers to “a collective of gods for a particular religion or group” or “a group that is respected, famous, or important”. In this case, the Pantheon AU is a modern day alternate universe in which all of the Twst characters are deities. They are not tied to a certain religion. Rather, they exist as forces of nature and each have dominion over + powers related to whatever concepts they govern.

The gods used to be well known and revered back in ancient times, but they’ve been whittled down to obscurity as the eons pass by. And the gods, well… let’s say that they got caught up in some trouble in their down time, leading to many of them being cast out of the Pantheon. These so-called “Fallen” gods are banished to the mortal realm and forced to walk among humans. However, because they’ve been stripped of most of their power, the Fallen are forced to take up smaller forms in order to conserve what little power they have left… which means we get cute animal forms :))

So the idea is that you/the reader/Yuu are a normal human being going about their day and they happen to run into a god in their animal form. Depending on the form, it could be a wild animal OR (the funnier option, in my opinion) the encounter could be in one of those animal cafés. Whatever the case may be, you end up adopting, fostering, or giving the animal shelter in your home.

The next day, you wake up to find a strange man in robes standing in your bedroom. He so arrogantly informs you that you are now one of his “followers” and demands that you assist him in reclaiming their lost godhood, thereby restoring him to his rightful place in the Pantheon.

As it turns out, gods gain power by gathering followers (not actual people who worship them but rather just people who selflessly love them or believe in and follow their philosophies or the importance of what they govern). Following is quantified by a mystical coin called Faith; the goal is for the Fallen to gather enough Faith to literally “buy” their way back into the Pantheon. Only problem is, it’s hard for gods to gain followers or even influence humans in their weakened state, hence why they’re teaming up with the first human to offer them Faith. (Since adopting/fostering is considered an act of selfless love, it granted the god enough strength to assume a more humanoid form.)

Gods don’t “die” but rather they can “fade”. Think of it like how a star burns for a long time, but they eventually burn through everything they have and cannot go on. Gods can fade one of two ways: 1) their time comes, or 2) there is so little Faith in what they rule over that they cannot sustain their existence anymore! The Faith currency and system is in part inspired by the Heaven Coins (from Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt) and the Tinkerbell and Pixie Hollow lore, the latter of which states that fairies die if children do not believe in them.

Depending on what the god rules over, this would shape the direction their follower (ie you/Yuu) would take to help them. For example, the god of love would benefit from having love spread. I also like to imagine that the non-Fallen gods sometimes come down to mock the Fallen or pose as obstacles since the non-Fallen could theoretically accumulate more power for themselves if there are fewer gods in the Pantheon.

And then!! Maybe at the very end, when the god has collected enough Faith, they’re faced with the daunting decision of getting the thing they started off wanting versus staying on the mortal plane with their human friend (or even lover, if you wanna go the god-human forbidden romance angle), who will entirely forget about them once they ascend. It’d sort of be like the end of Hercules but with an extra little sprinkle of angst 😇

The gods are grouped into Elder, Major, and Minor categories. Elder Gods are the oldest and are tasked with overseeing the younger gods and the governance of humanity itself. Major Gods are those who have accumulated a significant amount of influence for themselves over the years. Minor Gods are young gods and are still in training, humans that ascended to godhood, or lesser gods.

And now, the members of the Pantheon!! I’ve included some headcanons I have for them, but consider this more of a brief overview and not all the lore.

Elder Gods

Crowley — God of stories

Considered to be the ultimate authority and speaker for the Pantheon.

Decides which gods are worthy of walking in the Pantheon. Also determines what the price to return is for the Fallen.

(… Yes, Faith is literally in coins and you have to “buy” your way back in because Crowley, even as an actual GOD, is a greedy ass that accepts bribe money ✨)

Despite his high ranking, he has a whimsical and flippant manner about him, not really acting like an omnipotent being.

It is said he has a number of crow and raven companions that serve as messengers and his eyes/ears. They bring the stories they see and hear back to him.

Keys, mirrors, and coffins are common motifs for him and his shrines; they say that his mirrors are gates to new worlds and that the coffins he unlocks with his skeleton keys give birth to new life/characters to inhabit those worlds.

Be kind to ravens and crows; you never know when that visiting bird is actually Crowley in disguise, traveling the mortal world in search of something new to amuse himself with.

Obviously has a raven/crow form.

Crewel — God of medicine and healing

Looks after the gods and their standing; that kindness, like medicine, can be both a panacea and a poison. Punishes the gods, should they step out of line.

Favors dogs, particularly well-trained ones. His shrines depict Dalmatians guarding the entrances, but the dogs are not seen in the interiors, which are usually caked with incense smoke.

Healers and caretakers look to him for guidance. It used to be common for them to have a singular handkerchief in black and white animal print (a good luck charm) on their persons (or wearing something of those colors/patterns) when treating the sick or injured.

He is skilled at animal taming; it is said that he could get even a great beast to heel at his command.

His animal form is a Dalmatian.

Trein — God of history

Tasked with keeping records for the gods and humans alike. He knows every detail of their existence.

Favors felines. It’s said that, in his youth, he spirited away a cat, which now serves as his emissary.

His wife, the minor goddess of the ashes, faded due to a lack of Faith. Because of this, he perpetually worries for the younger gods meeting the same fate.

Glass is a material that recurs in his shrines and offerings; this is because Trein considers time fragile like glass.

His animal form is a long haired cat.

Vargas — God of champions and heroes

There are many stories of him training humans and demigods, who would later go on to perform impressive acts.

Also trains up-and-coming gods, preparing them to assume their duties.

He is said to have a number of feats under his belt as well, such as slaying a great beast and carrying the world on his back.

Animal pelts and deer antlers are favored offerings. Even better if you hunted and prepared them yourself.

His animal form is a buck.

Sam — God of roads/travel and prophecy

Magically produces anything that may be needed from his hat.

Able to vanish and reappear anywhere else. Never stays in one place for too long.

Seemingly all-knowing. He is said to commune with the shadows for this supernatural level of knowledge. Using his deck of enchanted cards, he can also see into the past, present, and future.

Sam allows for passage between the Pantheon and the mortal plane. He calls the route between them his “backdoor shortcut”.

Takes on a shadow form rather than an animal form.

Lilia — Ex-god of war and protection, god of family and sacrifice

Once a god wielding a frightening cleaver and dripping in blood; his presence on the battlefield marked the enemy’s doom—but if he was on your side, then he is your savior.

He ceded his title and mellowed out after he was tasked with mentoring various younger gods. Still retains a bit of his war god past, as he is willing to go to great lengths aid his charges—even at the cost of his own safety.

Spouses-to-be and expecting mothers pray to Lilia for happy marriages and safe childbirth.

Acorns are left at his shrines; by wishing Lilia a long, healthy life, he returns the favor and grants you the same.

Bats serve has his messengers. If you see one passing the moon, it’s good luck. Likewise, his animal form is a bat.

Major Gods

Riddle — God of law and order

Rules, laws, control—all of these things are under his dominion. He rewards those who obey and punishes those who disobey.

In the days of old, a statue of Riddle would adorn the courtrooms, indicating that trials would be conducted under his scrutiny.

Those seeking his favor or welcoming his spirit into their home would cultivate red and white roses, prepare dried strawberries, and/or drink black tea at designated dates and times.

Displeased with the disorder and unlawfulness of the human world; wishes to get it under control.

Fallen for going on a wrathful rampage; he injured many gods and tore apart the Pantheon in the process.

His animal form is a (smaller than average) hedgehog.

Leona — God of wisdom and destruction

The patron god of scholars. Ironically, intellectuals debate about Leona’s form, finding it difficult to believe that a divine scholar would have the physique of what is that of a pro-athlete.

He represents not only the acquisition of new information and its application, but also the ruin that can be brought about by this knowledge.

He has become bored with the world—he already has all knowledge at his fingertips, so what else is there to learn? Because of that, he is now lazy.

There was an incident in which he, a young god at the time, sanded a vast archive of human knowledge. This earned him ire from the Elder Gods and cast his reputation in a bad light.

Fallen for attempted deicide (of Malleus).

His animal form is a cat. Makes sense; there’s usually golden lion statues in his shrines. Cures meats are a common offering. Can muster a lion with sufficient energy.

Azul — God of commerce and contracts

Anything related to business, money, and deals are under him. Because of this, both swindlers and honest merchants revere Azul and usually have a small anemone plant or flower set up in shop to attract good business.

It was common for people to ask Azul to fulfill their wishes, at the cost of something valuable to themselves. His golden contracts are said to be impossible to break—though there are stories of heroes finding loopholes and triumphing over him.

Those who cross him are said to be dragged into the depths and choked by his tentacles.

Fallen for his impossible greed; he forewent consent to enter an agreement with him and stole humans’ skills and abilities en masse in a big to become the ultimate life form.

His animal form is an octopus, a form he is extremely insecure about. Tends to take on the appearance of a fish with fluttery fins instead.

Kalim — God of wealth, hospitality, and celebration

He is considered a charitable and friendly god, welcoming even humans to gatherings in his domain, serving them nectar and ambrosia. If you wish for wealth or to impress a guest, you are expected to be as kind of a host has he is.

His shrines were opulent, dripping with jewels, gold, and dried coconut flesh + coconut water offered up in his name. Kalim is said to protect people from poisonings, hence the coconut (which historically has healing properties).

He is usually depicted as the sun amid other stars or in parades/amid crowds of servants (which are primarily lesser gods). Never alone, always with people.

According to the stories, he is easy to trick and has been stolen from multiple times—yet he harbors no ill will towards thieves.

Various humans have attempted to end him and claim his vast wealth for themselves.

His animal form is a monkey—a nimble little moodmaker—but he’s capable of turning into others too. A tiger, an elephant, and a parrot, just to name a few. You can say he’s a real “party animal”.

Vil — God of beauty (aesthetics) and poison

Depicted as a mature and sexy beauty, but also sometimes as a robed hag. He is known for his beauty as much as he is known for his envy.

Worshipped in the days of old by women who did not wish for their youth to fade, although Vil was typically described as a being without the concept of the gender binary.

Fallen for an attempt to poison a fellow god (Neige) and steal their beauty to bolster his own.

His animal form is a (male) peacock. If you pluck off on of his feathers, he may curse you—but get away safely, and you can brew a beauty elixir.

Idia — God of innovation and technology

A god that tinkers away and produces new inventions in his lair. He is said to have inspired many famous human inventions or inventors, sparking industrial and technological revolutions the world over.

Has grown increasingly withdrawn, deeming that his inventions are out there doing a god’s work for him; is there a need for him to be involved?

He is said to enjoy games; it is common to find gameboards and game pieces in his shrines. In stories, Idia would use his own to illustrate locations and the heroes in those territories.

His shrines are often gloomy—dimly lit, and filled with bones (representative of the past) and candles (representative of the future, paved by new inventions).

Fallen for an attempt to destroy the current universe and to rewrite it in his own image.

His animal form is a dog, which he laments because be prefers cats.

Malleus — God of stasis and storms (ie nature)

Considered to be an unstoppable force of nature; his moods affect the weather, so people prayed to him for favorable conditions.

Known as one of the most powerful gods to have ever existed. He knows little of humans and their ways, having lived almost entirely in the Pantheon.

Fallen for forsaking the concept of time and attempting to keep the world, humans, and the gods themselves, from facing the future ever again. With his thorn cradles, he sought to force all asleep and kept content in their dreams.

His animal form is a lizard, though he is usually depicted as a fire breathing dragon in stories.

Rollo — God of obsession and judgment

Another important figure often depicted in courtrooms. While Riddle oversees rules and laws, Rollo is the one closely tied to fair judgment and rulings.

The stories depict him as a god so blindly consumed by pursuit of his purpose that he lost sight of all else.

Fallen for an attempt to rid the universe of gods altogether, freeing humans from them. Harbors a particularly strong resentment for the God of Stasis and Storms.

Should a fire occur, it is viewed as Rollo’s wrath or punishing an unjust world. There are stories of guilty criminals who successfully evade the eyes of the law but mysteriously die in house fires.

Often depicted in stained glass windows.

His favored offerings are bread, grapes, and red lilies. The correct way to give them is to toss the offerings into a fire and letting them burn to ashes.

He finds music produced by bells pleasing. Those who run shrines in his name may perform a ceremonial dance using a hand bell.

His animal form is a goat.

Skully — God of holidays and cheer

He arose from the darkness when humans celebrated their first holiday. Though he represents all holidays, his favorite is Halloween. This is why you will find jack ‘o lanterns and candy scattered at his shrines. His followers are especially active during the autumn season.

Fallen for a strange decree that he should dictate how every holiday is celebrated; this cut into other gods’ domains and caused in-fighting among humans.

A god that stole many hearts. He greets humans with a kiss on the back of the hand; these kisses would impart temporary charms.

Oddly does not have an animal form. Assumes a pumpkin form instead.

Fellow — God of vagrants and freedom

A smooth, fast talking god with little respect for restraint. Not very bright but makes up for it in showmanship. He travels wherever he wants whenever he wants and does whatever he wants, easily blending in with mortals.

If you’ve lost a few coins from your wallet, assume Fellow swiped it and considers it a charitable donation.

Fallen for dealing with an evil spirit; he intended to trade human lives to gain more divine power.

Gidel is a titleless Fledgling God that he has taken under his wing. While he does not speak, he is very expressive.

His animal form is a fox.

Minor Gods

Trey — God of temperance and the hearth

Trey encompasses everything that makes the home warm and comfortable: meals, cozy blankets, kind company, etc.

He’s also seen as a caretaker among the gods, especially to Riddle. It’s said he is able to temper his even the most extreme of emotions.

A god that finds himself in the middle of conflicts and having to resolve them; he’d rather be left untroubled by such things.

Baked goods and flowers (specifically violets) are common offerings.

His animal form is a mouse.

Cater — God of theatre and duality

A dramatic god, he lives for performances and attention. Represented by the two comedy masks; he has inspired many famous playwrights.

Typically happy, but when he “flips” to his sad alter ego/mask, his personality is completely different.

He is capable of making replicas of himself. In one story, he performed a one-man play where he was every single character.

… He’s been really into these new human inventions called the “cell phone” and “social media”, but the concepts have yet to take off in the Pantheon.

His animal form is a rabbit.

Deuce — God of passion and dedication

Once an evil spirit, he has since been reformed and become a (tentative) minor god. He dreams of rising to Major God status someday.

As an evil spirit, he was a chaotic being of wind notorious for challenging the other elements to races. (This would often result in hurricanes and other natural disasters.)

It’s said he was originally born from an alchemist’s cauldron when a spell went awry. Perhaps that is why he finds himself drawn to cauldrons.

Chickens are his favored animal; there is a story of how he cried over cracked eggs. This has led to a strange collection of items (including cauldrons and chicken statuettes) in his shrines.

He tries many things, but is seldom successful in any of them.

His animal form is a (blue) chicken. He attempted a pink flamingo form but failed.

Ace — God of fortune (luck) and mischief

A troublemaker in the Pantheon. Frequently being chastised or punished for bothering his fellow gods.

He sneaks off to the mortal realm to prank humans. To the Elder Gods’ dismay, Ace sometimes (what was the human phrase for it again??) “shoots his shot” with humans he finds cute. Might go on a date with them once, then disappear entirely from their lives, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

Preserved cherries and later playing cards are common offerings. Instead of praying, devotees would stay at a shrine and play a card game with something depicting Ace (usually a statue).

His animal form is a flamingo.

Ruggie — God of thieves and the downtrodden

The god for the working class, underserved and marginalized communities, and the common man. They pray to him when they are in need of social change—tearing down a tyrannical king, redistributing the wealth, etc.

While his followers usually don’t have much to give, Ruggie isn’t picky about the gifts he receives. Even hand-me-down items and foragables are accepted at his shrines. Leave a bouquet of dandelions, herbs, used clothes, or a few coins at his altar and he will happily snatch those up.

Closely associated with Leona, often acting as his lackey in various tales.

There’s a story about how he stole the keys to Azul’s enchanted safe and released desire into the world; they say Ruggie has the ability to steal anything from anyone.

His animal form is a raccoon but he can muster a hyena with enough energy.

Jack — God of strength (both physical strength and strength of character)

Often depicted as a massive wolf—strong yet gentle. He appears before those with noble hearts to warn them of coming danger.

Protects children who get lost in the woods. He will fend off the danger and then carry the children to safety in his massive maw.

Warriors donned wolf pelts or the image of a wolf on armor or accessories. This would supposedly grant them strength on the battlefield.

Bottles of pear preserves are commonly left at his shrines.

Jade — God of lies and curiosity

One of the rare gods that frequents the mortal realm, though these excursions are typically excused on account of his identity as the god of curiosity. He returns with strange stories that his fellow gods cannot quite tell are true or not.

In the stories, he is presented as an enabler and instigator. If a mortal finds themselves at a fork in the road, Jade leans into their ear and whispers, influencing them to take the path least treaded.

It’s said that if you catch him speaking a truth, he will grant you a wish. Many mortals have met their doom from believing his web of lies.

Strangely, mushrooms have a tendency to overtake his shrines. You'll find them in the corners and crevices.

Animal form is an eel but if he is very low on energy then he’s a little fish.

Floyd — God of change and chaos

If Jade influences humans by whispering in their ear, then Floyd influences humans by throwing any obstacle imaginable at them. He is the embodiment of anything that can happen at any time.

His following is mainly people who are bored with their lives and wish for something exciting or new to happen.

His followers do not have any particular traditions, as he could react negatively to anything. Rather, the expectation is that you go about your day and not invoke his name for fear of gaining his attention.

If you're one of the foolish few who dare to ask a favor of him, candies of assorted flavors or a new pair of shoes (a luxury, in the days of old) may be a good bet to gain his favor.

Animal form is an eel but if he is very low on energy then he’s a little fish.

Jamil — God of culture and ambition

Companion to Kalim. They often appear as a duo on stories, never straying too far apart from one another.

He represents the mingling of cultures and the sharing of idea and traditions, all the connections and places he can never have for himself. Jamil considers this a great burden, one he cannot be freed from. He also represents those seeking higher goals for themselves.

His shrines are known to be covered in fine tapestries and fabrics. Incense is burned, imparting the insides with a smokey, spicy smell.

Common offerings are bottles of hair oil and ornaments. These are to care for his hair, which is said to be able to transform into living snakes, each capable of speaking in a different ancient language.

Fallen for an attempt to overthrow Kalim and claim his position (via inciting a coup).

His animal form is a snake. Although he is a bright red, he’s not venomous.

Rook — God of the hunt, the arts, and love

If you’re out in the wild and feel like you’re being watched, it’s likely Rook with his eye on you. He enjoys observing humans and the odd ways they act.

Has heightened senses, able to notice visual details from an impressive distance away.

A lover of the arts; most creatives have made at least one work of art in his honor.

His followers tend to follow his philosophy that everything is beautiful in its own way.

Lovers will ask Rook to bless their relationship; it is said that those shot with his Arrows of Love will forever be bound to the first person they see.

Rook represents not just romantic love, but also platonic love. He does not discriminate; all love is beautiful!

His animal form is a rook (bird). He can also do other birds, though mainly predators like hawks.

Epel — God of agriculture and harvest

His favored fruit is the apple. There used to be a festival in which attendees would submit their own apples for judging in his honor; the biggest, reddest, and shiniest would win and the victor would be blessed with a bountiful harvest for that year.

There are many tales of mortals and divine beings alike being deceived by his dainty appearance.

Humans pray to Epel for a good yield from their fields. Apples (at least their peels) are often incorporated into fertilizer, which they return to the earth as an offering to him.

His animal form is a rabbit which is smaller than Cater’s form.

Ortho — God of death and rebirth

Legends say he was originally a mortal that died young while attempting to play the role of a hero. Taking pity on the boy, the gods took his soul and replaced it in the mechanical body (thanks to Idia’s help).

Ortho and his blue flames are said to be the last thing you see before death, for he comes to claim all souls and ferry them to the other side.

In the days of old, it is said that people would become stars after death and watch on from the sky. It is Ortho who brings newborn stars into the sky and places them.

He is said to be close with Idia, the god who granted him his new form.

Appears like a glowing blue flame instead of an animal form; the closest he can achieve is a ghostly apparition of a dog.

Sebek — God of action, lightning, and war

A demigod, much to his dismay. Overeager to prove himself as a result.

Dismisses his mortal father in favor of his divine heritage, but Sebek finds himself visiting anyway. Insists it is out of pity.

Inherited the title of god of war from Lilia. Brags about it (though Lilia warns him to be careful with such a dangerous title). His affinity for lightning is also something he brags about, since it brings him closer to Malleus, who controls storms.

His shrines tend to be built near bodies of water; followers prepare salted salmon from lakes and such for him.

He wields a shield that can guard against anything.

His animal form is a crocodile. He is unfortunately very noticeable wherever he goes.

Silver — God of sleep/dreams, peace, and protection

A human that was adopted by Lilia after his parents were felled in war. He went on to become a hero and achieved godhood by bringing a great war to a peaceful resolution.

Inherited Lilia’s old title as god of protection. Should you gain Silver’s favor, he will shield you from the evils of the world.

Animals of all kinds are drawn to Silver and his shrines. Nuts, berries, leaves, and flowers are left at his altar.

He is usually depicted sleeping under a tree. If you see Silver in your dreams, it is a good omen and something nice will happen to you when you wake up.

He wields a sword that can cut through anything.

His animal form is a horse. In works of art, he is sometimes depicted as a silver owl which glides through dreams.

Grim — (Fledgling) God of the lost

Not fully recognized as a god yet.

Has not accumulated enough strength to assume a human form.

Is considered guardian to the lost and directionless, be it those not knowing where they came from or those not knowing where they want to go in the future.

Leave an open tuna can at his altar or in ramshackle buildings, and the contents will have mysteriously vanished the next day. Presumably, Grim has passed by and eaten the offering. (Rocks are also an acceptable offering; these will also vanish, though there is debate on whether Grim favors rocks or if he also eats them.)

Eventually Falls because he came to become too attached to a human and wished to prevent them from passing on so that he might be with them forever.

Neige — God of innocence and purity/chastity

If Vil is sexy and mature, then Neige is the picture of sweetness and cuteness.

He is seen as a protector and caretaker to children, especially those without parents or guardians. They say if you diligently do your chores, your home will be safe and blessed by Neige.

Also considered the patron god of virgins.

The Seven Dwarves are forest nymphs that hang around him. Each represents an emotion or state of being (uhhh, assume Timmy -> embarrassment, Grum -> angry, Shelpie -> tired??, Hop -> happy, Snick -> surprised, Toby -> confused, Dominic -> confident).

His animal form is a songbird. He can also do a deer.

Cheka — (Fledgling) God of courage and cycles

An inexperienced god; the current God of Courage and Cycles is fading and Cheka is being trained to step up into that role.

Carefree; he has little interest in his duties and would rather play around with the other gods. Sometimes even slips away from his handlers and escapes to the mortal plane to play. Causes many headaches.

Asks many questions about mortals, but nothing which would be relevant to his tasks.

Animal form is a cat (well, more like a kitten), but he can’t really shift well yet.

Chenya — God of riddles and guidance

Chenya helps the lost find their way, be it to a location, loved one, item, or some goal. However, his aid often comes with a heap of cryptic language which you must first decipher.

Has the ability to vanish from sight. It is said that if you hear giggling or feel something brush against your arm or leg, it is Chenya’s blessing.

Loves finding cakes at his shrines, although he tends to steal them right off your plate at celebrations.

Animal form is a cat.

[malusokay]

5 Classics for girly girls 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Emily of New Moon

The bittersweet process of growing up and finding where you truly belong... The perfect read for the start of a new school year. After her father’s death, Emily Starr is sent to live with her snobbish relatives at New Moon farm. Thrust into an unfamiliar and often cold environment, Emily faces numerous challenges. However, as time passes, she begins to adapt and discovers the beauty in her surroundings. With the support of her new friends—Teddy, Perry, and Ilse—Emily not only finds solace but also discovers her own creative talents, helping her carve out a place for herself in this new chapter of her life.

“If it's IN you to climb you must -- there are those who MUST lift their eyes to the hills -- they can't breathe properly in the valleys.”

Jane Eyre

A true classic for all my fellow gothic-lit enthusiasts, Jane Eyre, reminds us that everyone deserves a love that consumes, challenges, and transforms the very core of your being, offering both profound joy and deep heartache (we love a good situationsship). Following Jane Eyre, an orphaned and mistreated girl who endures a harsh upbringing but grows into a strong, independent woman. As she takes a position as a governess at Thornfield Hall, she encounters the enigmatic Mr. Rochester, sparking a profound and tumultuous romance. Their intense connection is marred by secrets and personal demons, revealing the complexities of their relationship.

“Jane, be still; don't struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation." "I am no bird, and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you.”

The Secret Garden

Mary Lennox, a spoiled and neglected girl, is sent to live with her uncle after the death of her parents. Initially ill-tempered and withdrawn, Mary’s curiosity is sparked by rumours of a hidden, abandoned garden on the estate. As she explores and begins to restore this secret garden, she experiences a beautiful shift (glow-up era). The once gloomy and sickly Mary starts to bloom alongside the garden, rediscovering happiness, vibrancy, and a sense of belonging, making the story a heartwarming tale of growth and recovery.

“At first, people refuse to believe that a strange new thing can be done, then they begin to hope it can be done, then they see it can be done--then it is done, and all the world wonders why it was not done centuries ago.”

Pride and Prejudice

Truly a classic that has shaped my romantic expectations hahah... Elizabeth Bennet battles societal expectations and her own misjudgments in 19th-century England. When the aloof Mr Darcy (he'd totally be a ghoster in the 21st century just saying...) first crosses her path, their initial encounters are fraught with tension and misunderstanding. However, as Elizabeth delves deeper, she uncovers the complexities of Darcy’s character and her own heart.

“I could no longer help saying that I loved him. I loved him not only for his sake but for his own sake. I loved him because he was the only person who had ever really loved me for myself. I loved him because he had made me feel that I was worthy of being loved.”

The Little Prince

A young, otherworldly prince from a tiny planet travels across the universe, meeting various inhabitants and learning profound life lessons. His journey brings him to Earth, where he encounters a stranded pilot and shares his reflections on love, loss, and the essence of human connections. Through whimsical adventures and encounters, The Little Prince explores the importance of seeing with the heart rather than the eyes and reminds us of the value of friendship and innocence.

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched; they are felt with the heart.”

you guys asked for more academia/book stuff so I thought this might be a nice start, especially since I know that many of you are just getting into classics; these are all very much suitable for beginners!! <3

love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

MASTERLIST ..⋆. 𐙚 ̊

જ⁀➴ welcome to Red's masterlist ୧⍤⃝💐 !!

PULL ME IN

summary: due to Bruce distancing himself from reading and seeing other women - batfam has to watch their mom willow away.

CH 1

CH 2

DIE YOUNG

summary : batfam enjoy each other's presence while Alfred and Bruce silently mourns your death.

CH 1

CH 2

alternative universe- reader is older and actually gets to meet her siblings yet still meets her own demise .

Lone Warrior

summary : reader is put into emergency foster care after a tragedy , despite living with the Wayne family for a bit , reader takes it upon herself to move away and start anew since she clearly wasn't welcomed , after many years have passed Damian finally joins the family and after a particular spat w his father he finds himself in reader's room and an interest in them has sparked.

CH 1

CH 2

CH 3

HELP YOURSELF

summary : in a family filled with intriguing members of their own right , duke has a particular interest in a certain vigilante in the family that everyone seems to overlook . this interest leads to the family to spiral into obsession .

CH 1 - 3

Neglected Reader x Yandere Platonic Batfam

CH 1

CH 2

CH 3

CH 4

Damian Wayne x Tokyo Ghoul Reader

summary :Damien Wayne is a complex character on his own , he has his own complex emotions and feelings that not many people can understand, que in a ghoul like sibling whom can comfort Damien in his hard times by reminiscing their own experience with them.

CH 1

CH 2

CH 3

❝DAY IN THE LIFE OF TODDLER DAMI.ᐟ ❞

summary ━ au in which older, sibling reader !! takes care of toddler damian .

CH.1

CH.2

DRABBLES

I 'hate' Cats - jason fic

New Beginings - jason fic

hc for reader being the favorite in batfam - hc 1 , hc 2

saiki reader x batfam shenigans

SALVATORE - tim drake blurb

I HATE SPIDER LILLES - a lonesome child dies while a neglectful father loses himself to guilt and grief. ( batfam x neglected reader )

Fallen Star - jason mourns his dead wife .

Am I Enough ? - Alfred unexplainably dislikes a certain Wayne member and is hellbent on making her life as miserable as it can get .

TO LOVE YOU IS KILLING ME - the only person bucky has ever felt seen , loved and cared by is slowing dying and he can only helplessly stand there and watch them go .

TIMELESS - spinoff on (neglected reader x batfam ) where us the reader loves neglected character while batfam seethes in jealousy

A VILE THING YOU ARE - au in which neglected reader understands why her family dislikes her ( tw. Dark themes such as body security is mentioned)

THE HELL YOU MEAN YOU GOT A GIRL - drabble abt the bat boys not believing Tim for having a girlfriend

PUT DOWN THAT FORK BABE - drabble in which tim drake with a partner who cannot for the life of themselves , cook .

BURNING DESIRE FOR YOU - concept for yandere jason

COLOR ME BLUE - imagine being so neglected that you would rather be welcomed by death than be saved by your neglectful father.

REQUESTS

strangers - reader comes from a post - apolyptic world where mankind was wiped out due to nuclear warfare and deadly disease . suddenly she is awaken in a world where humanity is thriving yet this weird family behaves so strangely toward her??

Bimbo reader x yan jason - yan Jason is obsessed with bimbo reader

Girl dad Joker and mom Harley- despite being mentally ill and fucked up they'd make good parents .

OH FATHER DEAREST SAVE ME - au in which Joker & Harleys daughter became Robin for unforseen reasons, and due to a mishap, they end up killing her.

Neglected reader - au in which reader owns an orphanage and is highly neglected by batfam. a scandal insues in which a news caught her with a child and reader is berated by her family under the peception of "having a child out of wedlock" aka sleeping around , ruining 'their squeaky clean image' .

ty to everyone who supports my work , i really appreciate everyone and i can't thank you all enough !!

if a link is not working pls comment which one and i'll fix it and i apologize for the future trouble !!

[trappolia]

SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918

"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.

"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."

"haha," you say dryly.

in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.

as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."

"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.

sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.

"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."

"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.

how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.

and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."

"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"

a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.

"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.

"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."

© trappolia 2024

[mysteryshoptls]

Malleus Draconia Shared Lines

Tutorial: Were you... the one who called for me?

Level Up 1 / Buddy Level Up: Mm, this does not feel terrible whatsoever.

Level Up 2: How is it? Do you notice a difference?

Level Up 3: Your dedication should be rewarded. Heh.

Level Max: So, this is what diligent studying reaps me... Heh, this is the first time I've ever felt a change within me. I may need to reevaluate my estimation of you.

Vignette Level Up: You do not fear me. I am beginning to fear losing this fearless version of you.

Spell Level Up: Hmph. Do you truly think... that this is enough to change me?

Friendship Level Up: I cannot believe that there would be someone out there who would invite me like this… Wait. I wasn’t barging in uninvited, was I?

Friendship Level Max: I suppose it’s not a bad feeling at all to have such gentle hospitality like this. Right now, I am in a fantastic mood. Fufufu, if you have any favor you wish to ask of me, now may be the time to do so.

Uncapped: Heh, heh. You should ask more of me. For you, I'll gladly oblige.

Groovification: This is a rather good feeling. ...What is with that look? Of course I have moments of good cheer.

Lesson Select 1: Let me know when it is time to change classrooms. ...I-It's not as if I've been left behind...

Lesson Select 2: You should select whichever class you wish. I truly don't mind any of them.

Lesson Select 3: For me, they are all the same.

Lesson Start: I shall fulfill my duties as a student.

Lesson Finish: Time passed in the blink of an eye.

Battle Start: You called for me?

Battle Won: Humph, not bad. Make sure you invite me next time as well.

Trouble 1: You wish for us to reconcile? I believe they should know their place, instead.

Trouble 2: Hm? Did something happen?

GIFT CALENDAR 2023: “How will you be spending the day?” It’s chilly today. The best thing to possibly do on days like this is to warm my room and enjoy some frozen treats. Perhaps I’ll invite Lilia and the others later. Fufu… I suppose it’s not a bad thing to be the one making preparations for them once in a while.

Birthday Login Message 1: You remembered my birthday? I’m surprised to receive well wishes from someone other than those from my country. I thought I had tired of birthday celebrations a long time ago but… I am starting to get the feeling that this will be a delightful year.

Birthday Login Message 2: Ah, it’s you. What is it you need of me? …You wish to eat lunch together? You wouldn’t happen to be asking me because it is my birthday today, are you? …I surmised as much. What a splendid idea. You certainly know how to fill me with joy. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.

Birthday Login Message 3: Each time we’ve run into each other since the day began, you’ve wished me happy birthday… What exactly is the purpose of that? Oh, you are simply wanting me to feel the depth of your well wishes? It seems birthdays are quite the special event for you. Then, I suppose I shall have to bestow many blessings upon you when it is your birthday, as well.

Birthday Login Message 4: So, you’ve come to wish me a happy birthday. You certainly know no fear, it seems. Most people are too frightened to even say one word to me… If the people of Briar Valley were to see this, they would be quite taken aback. Heh, I don’t mean it as a rebuke in anyway. I only am reminded once again about what a strange human you are.

Birthday Login Message 5: A birthday card for me? Well then, I’ll have to read it thoroughly when I return. At the moment, I was planning on heading out on an outing as part of the Gargoyle Studies Club activities. I am hoping to find some gargoyles in a ruin that I have never set foot in before. It would be a shame to lose the card there, wouldn’t it? Sebek and Silver will be joining me on this excursion, and they were also carefully preparing what items and food they should bring along. I’m sure this trip will be much livelier than usual.

Requested by Anonymous.

[bambisnc]

(   ➴ ) 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗈 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝟣𝟧 𝗆𝒾𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 ✩

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ headcanons + 0.8k // no warnings <3 ˖ ✧

[ 陰 💫 ] ─── for my mickie ! ilysm chu >3< ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‹ FILE.ZIP 𝟹

ㅤㅤ౨ৎㅤㅤacademic rival ni-ki who you were participating in an intra school MUN debate with and who just so "happened" to involve you in an argument about how the 3rd objective of your action plan presentation was completely illogical. it was laughable that you even included it, really.

you've sworn on multiple occasions that it would be more likely for pigs to fly rather than for you to willingly admit defeat from him; and hence you go all out in defending your point.

academic rival ni-ki who you end up firing comebacks at while simultaneously dodging insults from for so long that suddenly the two of you find yourselves to be the only people left in the school ...

you drop one last scathing remark, "this is all your fault, just so we're clear. tell me, do you really make it your daily agenda to get on my nerves?" he says it's just something you bring out in him. smartass.

academic rival ni-ki with whom you race down the stairs of the unfamiliar surroundings, corridors and hallways made even more daunting by the rapidly darkening skies outside. it isn't about to rain .. is it?

as soon as you step outside, you find yourself immediately greeted by heavy showers. the outpour only seems to increase in intensity, ringing in your ears so loud that you almost found yourself unable to hear your own thoughts.

a quick glance at academic rival ni-ki reminds you that neither you nor him are dressed too appropriately for the weather. there don't seem to be any umbrellas around that you could borrow, either.

you consider your options for a moment before you feel a strand of hair being brushed behind your ear and then there's low voice so close to you that you can almost feel the words on your skin.

"the rain doesn't seem like it'll let up anytime soon... but my place isn't too far from here. i can take you, if you're not planning on spending all night here."

academic rival ni-ki who is now so close to you, that the proximity almost sends you reeling.

"so? wanna make a run for it or not?"

you just nod in response.

academic rival ni-ki who seems rather pleased at that. he takes off his blazer with a casual ease, leaning closer still and draping it over both of you. it isn't the most ideal for protection against the rain, but for now, it'll do.

temporary cover secured, the two of you power walk (because if you ran, "you could slip, dumbass" as put ever so gracefully by ni-ki) the entire way to his apartment. you choose not to think at all about how warm his presence feels next to you.

...

when you and academic rival ni-ki finally reach your destination, you can't help but sigh in relief.

"we made it here in record time. 15 minutes exactly." he says, leading you towards the elevator, and pressing the button for the 3rd floor.

but before you can attempt to civilly reply to that, thank him even (albeit slightly begrudgingly), the previously welcoming lights inside start flickering ominously.

the lights fizzle out completely just as soon, leaving you once again in complete darkness. you find yourself not worrying about it though, because at least you're not alone. the fact that your only companion is one who you considered your sworn enemy is irrelevant.

"... what's happening?" your voice echoes slightly.

academic rival ni-ki who sounds flabbergasted as he processes the events. "i have no idea," his admittance feels strangely soothing to you, "this— this never happens, usually."

your answer is light, amused without any real bite to it, "are you calling me bad luck?"

but the look academic rival ni-ki directs towards you is not one bit short of offended. as if he cannot even begin to comprehend your statement.

a beat of silence passes, before he mumbles something about calling the building superintendent in charge of maintenance and asking for help.

"15 minutes." he announces, "that's how long it'll take for them to get the lift working again."

"so,.. we're stuck here till then."

academic rival ni-ki hums lowly. "it's not that long of a wait if you think about it."

there's another pause. not awkward, per se, but heavy. like the silence is stirring something unspoken.

possibly owing to the reduced visibility, your senses seem to be working overtime. the way his shoulder brushes yours makes your breath hitch just a little too obviously. moving away is the last thing on your mind, though.

you look up, only to find academic rival ni-ki already facing you, expression unreadable but gaze steady. for a second, his lips part as if he's about to say something.

but then, as if deciding against it, he looks away, clearing his throat. maybe the words got lost somewhere on the way out.

... it's not that long, the waiting period. but you wouldn't discredit it completely.

a lot can happen in 15 minutes, after all.

this is saur overdue sighs. and tell me why i kinda went awf #needthis pls i beg (accidentally set this up for a second part oops ><)

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[ceoandslutler]

sebastian's memories, his form and the perceived "lie of omission" in chapter 215

many people have been picking up on how he purposely avoided giving a straight answer and how he may be hiding information from o!ciel but i would like to propose an alternative reading...

i (personally) don't think he would hide information from ciel anymore; not even because i think he 'cares' but because i think he's scared of UT and is taking everything more seriously now. more importantly, the first time he 'lies' (hides info) in the manga, we find out he can't 'lie' when he's directly asked a question and that's what ciel does:

in the new chapter (215), we found that sebastian only created this form for ciel which leaves us with four to five possibilities on what's going on and how modri must've recognised him:

1) modri recognised him from something other than his physical form (which people have mentioned) and sebs genuinely just forgot him because it was a long time ago/only a night long.

2) this is a crack theory but sebastian has facial blindness and doesn't realise how all his forms have the same face (likely considering all the costumes he put on for ciel during the negotiation looked the same) but at the same time, is sebastian really that stupid? (i mean kinda)

3) sebastian and modri met during this contract's time (which is possible since we do not see the better half of 1888, nor do we see much of 1887 or 1886, the year the contract was made).

4) genuinely mistook him for someone else (again possible) or UT made modri think sebastian is the demon/person who wronged him.

5) sebastian does not remember what all of his past forms looked like so cannot accurately tell whether he's ever made a form like this before or not. this will also explain why he did not answer about his previous contractors being devoured or not—he can't answer accurately if he does not know. this would also tie in with possibility 1. modri remembers sebastian but sebastian does not remember him. this would also explain strange things like sebastian remembering how to waltz but not being able to brew tea (as we see in his memories in the luxury liner arc), he can speak languages but did not remember ever having a single friend (which a lot of people found odd... personally i don't find it that strange but again, it's a good point, nobody ever wanted to befriend him?) all this to say one thing...

i think each of sebastian's bodies houses different memories and/or skills.

to visually represent this, i made an example chart:

say he wanted to contract a noblewoman living in a sultanate in the middle east then surely he'd go for spare body 2, or if he wanted to contract a travelling merchant in eastern europe then surely he'd go for spare body 1.

these are just possible body memories, obviously we don't know what sebastian's other bodies are like. but we do know one thing:

sebastian has to use a mask to become jeremy in the murder arc and he never changes his face when he's disguised. like these are all the same body in different costumes:

and they probably all remember schönbrunn palace and how to waltz.

to put it simply, he only has fragments of disjointed memory in each of these bodies because he readily swaps them out. he said he only took this form for ciel and it might technically be true, he might've taken on this body with this hairstyle and this clothing for o!ciel but he might've had this same body in a contract many many years ago... he might just not remember the contract in detail or he doesn't consider the body a unique 'form' but rather the body, hairstyle, clothing and role altogether make his 'form' (remember he spawns in with clothes/hair). is it truly impossible for one to escape from a demon's contract in kuro? for example, say your contractor kills themself, would sebastian be allowed to eat them or would they become a reaper? perhaps he genuinely doesn't remember. look at sebastian's cinematic record in the luxury liner arc (which UT reallyyy wanted to see):

there's no way UT decided to see the record from the moment they met, this body might just house memories from this point, and nothing before that. again let's visualise it into how each one of sebastian's humanoid 'bodies' could work, cinematic record-wise:

each time a contract ends, the memories of it end too, obviously there can be fragments/'episodes' remaining (which is why he can remember places he's been like a palace or a sabbath or concepts like witches, reapers, etc...) but it's also important to remember that things like language, dance, musical skills (like playing violin or piano) aren't stored in the same place our normal memories are stored (which is why amnesiacs will often forget everything but will still be able to speak, have muscle memory in dancing or playing piano or other instruments, even video games!) and this is because of how memory works, in branches.

what we see in black butler's 'cinematic records' are people's episodic memories. they contain one's first hand experiences.

sebastian's memories such as language fall under his semantic ability for example 'cat in french is chat' while his procedural memory is viennese waltz steps. this is also why the simple bizarre dolls that took over the liner had the memory to walk, jump and swim (sebastian even pointed out how they use each other to climb). this isn't to say sebastian is a bizarre doll, but he has a cinematic record just like humans and bizarre dolls do. as we know, the more complex doll of derrick arden had the ability to say a phrase about tea, he was drawing on his semantic memory 'this object is a cup of tea' and 'this smell is pleasant' in order to speak. on the other hand, vice principal agares had many 'episodes' meaning his episodic memory had started working and he remembered who he was (a teacher at weston college), that's why he could form opinions, teach, etc... though it limited his procedural memory (likely due to the brain damage of how he was killed) which is why he kept falling over. while the most complex of the dolls, r!ciel and doll, have full retention of past memories and are able to form new ones adding onto their records.

so let's run over what my theory is:

1. sebastian has multiple bodies he uses for contracts, unclear how many or how they look (can he produce infinite bodies or does he just rotate/reuse a few? if so, does he remember when he does reuse them?) but they are used for different contractors and he believes this form* is exclusive for o!ciel.

*though we don't know if he considers this body the form or the body AND his clothes/hair/role.

2. each of these bodies have separate memory systems e.g. one body's procedural memory could contain 'how to brew tea' while another could contain 'how to do the polka', another body can speak 'xyz dialect of french' while one can speak 'xyz slavic language'.

3. every one of sebastian's 'bodies' has its own cinematic record and they fade every time he 'ends' a contract/his record (explains why his record starts w/ meeting o!ciel). the memories remain if they are procedural/semantic and he has vague episodic memory (like the bizarre dolls' "episodes") which is why can remember places he's gone to but can't remember who he's met there (evidenced by the fact he doesn't know how many people could bear a grudge against him; the people he was counting were probably from the last 3 years he'd spent with o!ciel, not even previous contracts LMAO)

with all this said, there are 3 possibilities remaining for how modri knows him:

1. sebastian is telling the truth, this is the first time he's using this body (and my theory about the bodies is either completely wrong or sebastian uses the same organic matter to make each body which is how the procedural/semantic memories remain while his episodic record gets mostly wiped out everytime he starts a new contract) and modri is seeing something we don't see and that's how he's recognising sebastian.

2. sebastian does not remember using this body before but he has (which is why the body has semantic and procedural memory of how to speak and dance but no episodic memory of friendships despite certain semantic/episodic/declarative memories like 'i have been to schönbrunn palace' remain) and he's met modri before however his episodic record has faded away so he can't remember him, this possibility means that modri is recognising sebastian based on his appearance.

3. (most likely) sebastian does not consider each body a different form but rather each body with independent styling is a different form to him (most likely) and he doesn't remember his past contracts/people he met in this body because of his cinematic record being restarted with every new contract.

anyway, thoughts?

[shinysobi]

sleepless in busan

he's been running his whole life, and hadn't realized how tired he was.

well, this was supposed to be a collaboration that unfortunately fell through, but the image of diner owner jihoon was so stuck in my mind it refused to leave, so here we have chapter one of this monstrosity (don't even ask) I've yapped in everyone's dm's about this at this point. genre: angst, fluff, mentions of drinking and smoking a/n: to all the people whose inboxes I have invaded: kae @ylangelegy, tiya @gyubakeries, jay @ppyopulii and many, many more, I do hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Special thanks to jay who beta read this in record time, i love u my fellow woozidan listen to the playlist here w.c: 9.1k chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | masterlist

Verse one—haemul-tang.

Now, of course, there are methods to running a restaurant. Jihoon is perfectly aware of this, and yet, he has made it a personal mission to flout each and every rule of that (bar the safety precautions, because well, he isn’t an asshole, never mind what Jeonghan says. Jeonghan has to say an awful lot, apparently, because, and this is true, he’s been telling Jihoon about the apparent health and safety violations of his diner. Jihoon knows this is a false and untrue accusation, because the health department has been to visit once in the six months that Jihoon has been running his diner, and it has all been up to code. Likely, Jeonghan was trying to get underneath his skin by feeding him lies, and Jihoon cannot put it past Jeonghan simply lying to get ahead in the game. And unfortunately for him, Jihoon really cannot get angry with the man, because he simply has his best interests at heart, but he will use his God-given, natural right, to get pissed off and complain. A tiny little thing like friendship is not going to stand in the way of him complaining about Jeonghan, no matter what other people might say about him. He’s a grown adult now. And grown adults can complain about their best friends. And Jeonghan is the kind of person who would lie to get under Jihoon’s skin. Seeing him squirm is like a shot of dopamine for him.

“It doesn’t matter how good the food is, or if you’re being considered for an Orange Ribbon, Jihoon,” the offensive man in question is sitting at the bar at the moment, staring at Jihoon, infuriatingly attractive, “the state of this place is disgusting. This is probably the fourth time I’ve come to see you this week, and already it's filthy. Do yourself a favour and shut this down before you get inspected for a health code violation.”

Jihoon says nothing. Saying nothing in response is the easiest way to rile Jeonghan up, because after half a moment’s silence, he pipes up again, “you clearly hate running this place. Take my advice, and go back to your old job. You know, the one that you used to have, since you left everything and began a diner, of all things.”

Jihoon scoffs, rolls his eyes, and says, “what do you want me to go back to? Being a pianist? Being a performer? Or being a producer for the company? Because as far as I can recall, I am still doing that, just not in person. I still make songs. I’ve just stopped going into the spotlight.”

“Exactly. Do you know how much we spent trying to find you? You just dropped off of the face of the earth, without a single explanation as to where you were going or what you were going to do afterwards. People thought you had died, you know.”

“My parents knew where I was.” It is strange, how easily he slips back into being a petulant teenager in front of Jeonghan, who, when Jihoon had first met him, was a rather petulant teenager himself, but manages to not sulk too much, lest Jeonghan make fun of him, “and I was doing fine. I just didn’t want to deal with everything.”

“Your parents can keep a secret; I’ll give them that.” Jeonghan grouses, “I thought they were professional spies at some point, because nothing  I said could make them open their mouths about why their only son dropped off the face of the earth after his contract—a very alluring contract that I fought with the company executives to secure for him—expired, and why he had not been picking up the calls of his friends.”

Jihoon has the self-awareness to look bashful. He was an asshole to all of them, he knows. Jeonghan was the one who was the most affected, but all the others—Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Minghao—he’s been a jerk to all of them, dropping off of the radar because he just couldn’t deal with the fame and what came with it. “I’m sorry about that.”

“What were you even doing for all those years?”

“I was doing things. Other things, not producing or playing the piano in front of a crowd.” Jihoon shrugs, “ran away to Paris. I Learned how to cook. Came back to Busan, opened this diner.”

“Man,” Jeonghan runs a hand over his face, “you used to love performing. And then you leave without a word, for years, and then I find you running a diner in the middle of Busan. What really is going on here, Jihoon?”

Jihoon sighs, “not today. Nothing I can tell you today, I’m afraid.”

Jeonghan nods, “fair enough, but you have got to come back to the industry.”

“I’m still writing songs!” he protests, “is that not enough? I said I’d still be producing, and I am making songs for the company. Is writing consecutive hits not good enough for you?”

“It sounds like it’s not good enough for you, man,” Jeonghan says, finishing his food and placing a ten-thousand-won bill on the bar, “keep the change. And for god’s sake, fire Soonyoung. Or at least, make him stop coming here. He’s going to ruin his public image if he starts serving people in your diner. Look at him, he’s putting food in front of people wearing a tiger-print apron.”

“He works without pay,” Jihoon replies, “there’s really nothing I can do about a person who comes in and volunteers their time. Also, the only way he said he was going to serve people was if he was allowed to wear the tiger print apron.”

Jeonghan lets out a long-suffering sigh, “at least make him go home at a normal time. It’s good that he’s spending his break away from people, but serving drinks and food in a diner owned by Lee Jihoon is not really the answer.”

And with that, Jeonghan is gone, and Jihoon is left alone, with three other people in the restaurant, two of them being served by an overenthusiastic Soonyoung wearing a striped apron. He really had meant to let everyone know about his whereabouts, really. Even after all those years of being at the company, being a pianist, then writing and producing songs, even after all of that took a toll on him, he had meant to let the people closest to him know.

But he hadn’t, and his relationships had suffered as a result.

“Jihoon,” Soonyoung drifts into his field of vision, an orange-striped monstrosity, “shouldn’t you be closing up shop? Last call should have been half an hour ago.”

“Hm,” he nods, “I’ll close up shop. You can go ahead, if you want to.”

“You don’t look good,” Soonyoung says, worry laced in his voice, “should I call someone? Jeonghan-hyung? Your mom?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jihoon can feel the telltale signs of a migraine coming along, but he ignores it in favour of being nice to Soonyoung, because Soonyoung will definitely go and tell Jeonghan if Jihoon is not well, and he doesn’t think he can handle the emotional turmoil of dealing with Jeonghan on two consecutive days, “just go, I’ll clean and close up.”

“You already cleaned,” the other man points out, “you were cleaning before Jeonghan-hyung came by, and I finished the rest of it for you. You just need to wash the dishes from the last two customers and take out the trash, and you’ll be done.”

Jihoon stares at him, a newfound appreciation for Soonyoung colouring his vision. Yeah, screw what Jeonghan has to say about him working here, he’s going to let him work. If he likes it, let him do it. as long as it doesn’t interfere with his work and rest.

When he takes out the trash, Soonyoung having gone home earlier, sits in front of the diner, still wearing his work clothes, and takes out a cigarette. He really shouldn’t be smoking, but here he is, trying to get rid of a habit he had thought he’d left behind. So many people in his life—his parents, the record label execs, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Minghao, Soonyoung, now, and he’s managed to let down at least eighty percent of them, soundly. What was he thinking, opening up a homestyle diner in the middle of Busan? He knows why Soonyoung comes out here to work with him, even if his own house is in Namyangju. He’s aware of why Jeonghan has been running around to get him to come back to Seoul. But unfortunately for Jihoon, he enjoys the smell of the sea a bit too much. Likes Busan because he can wake up and go for a walk and have breakfast with his parents, come back to open the restaurant, and live a life that is enviable, perhaps. Hard, but enviable.

He presses the code to lock the doors, then pulls the shutters down. Time to clock out.

—

“No, Seungkwan, I refuse to go to your home for the holidays,” I tell the man sitting in front of me at the café, “I barely know your parents! Why would they want to host me for the holidays!”

“They love you already, noona,” the man wheedles, fully aware of the power of a handsome face, “please, they haven’t ever met a writer in real life.”

“I’m not a zoo animal to be paraded, Kwan. Besides, I have my own, very loving family, to get back to for the holidays.”

“But you won the Daesan literary award!” Seungkwan groans, “please, noona, it would mean so much to my parents if you came to visit them.”

Unfortunately, I’ve never really been able to say no to him, which is a weakness of mine that he exploits on the daily. Besides, who really contributed to the award? Was it me, who wrote the story, or was it Seungkwan, who found my manuscript languishing in a pile of rejected scripts and fought for it until it was published? I thanked him in my speech after I won, but it doesn’t seem enough.

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll go on the day after New Year. I can get a ferry or something.” Ugh. Never mind the fact that Seungkwan has something else brewing (he always has) in that mind of his, travelling the day after New Year, when all the roads are bound to be filled to the brim with people arguing, yelling, and trying to make their way to their own families, is not exactly my idea of heaven.

But, on the other hand, Seungkwan was my best (haters would say my only) friend, and I would actually enjoy his company, so I make a face, but make a purchase for a ticket to Jeju either way. I can always bully him into giving me a ride to his house after I land. I will have to make my excuses to slip away from my home, but I think my parents would be happier if I spent at least part of the holiday at a friend’s place rather than at theirs. It would stop the questions of ‘when are you getting married’, that’s for one.

I make a face at the amount of money I was being charged for single two-way ticket to Jeju, and I show the screen to Seungkwan, who pulls a frown of his own, “I’m taking that out of your pay check, Boo Seungkwan.”

“You don’t even pay me,” he counters, “and don’t pull that face. We all know why you’re even saying yes to this. You just don’t want to deal with your parents asking you when you’re going to get married.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve known you for three years, so it’s kind of obvious to me,” he preens, “are they still on your case about that?”

“They mean well,” I take a sip of the too-sweet boba tea, “but after a point, they get overbearing. Even they are aware of it, which makes me think that they’re just doing it on purpose.”

“And they still don’t know that you’re a writer?” Seungkwan has this look on his face, the one that I’ve dubbed ‘Incredulous Seungkwan Face’ where he has heard a piece of information so outrageous it cannot possibly be true, but here it is, in his face, as he tries to process it, “come on, at least tell them that you won an award! At least then they’ll stop asking you about when you are going to get a proper position at your job, and I don’t have to lie every time they ask me about it.”

“They ask you about it?” I groan, “I thought I told them not to bother you about anything, but they ask you about it.”

“They worry about you, that’s why,” Seungkwan sips on his coffee, “of all the writers I’ve met, you are the one who’s the most secretive, despite being one of the most famous.”

“You’ve been talking to more writers?” I gasp for dramatic effect, “cannot believe you are betraying me.”

Seungkwan gives me an unimpressed look, “As opposed to who is betraying you?”

I twiddle my thumbs. “You know, who else.”

“Never mind that,” Seungkwan sighs, “at least tell me that you’re coming to Jeju for New Year’s. I’ve already told my parents about you, so you know, no pressure.’

“Yeah, no pressure, you dumb shit,” I grumble, “I’m going to be terrified the whole time.”

Seungkwan laughs, before standing up to leave, and finally, I am all alone in the shop, with only my brain for company. Daesan Literary Prize. Until the previous month, I had no idea it was even a real thing, and when Seungkwan had called me up to deliver the news of my winning, I thought it was a prank call delivered to the publishing house. But it wasn’t, and now I am—well, what am I? a writer? An accomplished one? Someone who makes a fair bit of living from her craft?

Doubtful.

“Why are you based in Busan?” Seungkwan had asked me, when we met for the first time, an open question, that I had failed to answer, just stammered my way through a bunch of excuses that didn’t make sense to either of us, but at least he had accepted it, had not pressed further, had not asked the question, why do you avoid Seoul?

The boba shop is on the edge of the wharf, and I make my way to the sea, salty air whipping onto my face, realising, after a long time, ah, I miss my mom. It’s in times like these that I miss the days of my youth, when all I had were dreams clogging my senses, when I thought about nothing but becoming famous, being known for my writing. And when I’ve finally managed to achieve even a little bit of that goal, I hid away in the middle of a city where no one knew my name, or at least, even if they did, had the sense to look the other way. Seungkwan doesn’t press, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t go beyond his limits. Even if he could, he never once asked me about the reason behind leaving.

My phone rings, “Hello?”

The familiar voice of my sister floats in through the speaker, “are you okay?”

Are you okay? There is an answer to this, but I’m not sure if I should be telling anyone about it, really, are you okay? Who am I to say I’m not, beg for love and attention and all the other things that come with the experience of being loved and cared for, to be an important person in anyone’s life?

“I’m fine,” I reply, kicking away a stray pebble, “just walking on the beach. It’s a Sunday.”

“You love that damn beach too much,” my sister grumbles, “even ran away from the city you were born and raised in, just to see the beach. Have you had your fill of it now? Aren’t you sick of seeing the same thing over and over again?”

“The sea changes every day, you know,” I laugh, “I come here every day to find a different person waiting for me, the same way that you have your family, I have the beach for myself.”

“I wish you would at least think about it, you know,” my sister sighs on the other end, “I just feel as though you’ve been running for years.”

“One has to stop at some point, right?” I laugh, “I’m fine, eonnie. I like it here, actually. The sea is—it’s comforting.”

“Do you want me to tell you about New Years?” she asks, still cautious, “or do you want to skip it this year?”

“I’ll come, don’t worry. Mom and dad will miss me if I didn’t show up at least once,” I laugh, “hey, at least we get mandatory leave those four days.”

“I thought you would have other plans.”

“Seungkwan invited me to go to Jeju for the New Years, so I’ll probably do that the day after New Years,” I say, “I don’t know, might cancel that. Would like to stay with my parents for the holiday, you know?”

“Mom and dad would be overjoyed if you went to a friend’s house for New Years,” she replies, “ah fuck, the kids are acting up again. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye.” She hangs up, and I stand there, in the middle of the beach, the sea a comfortable distance away from me, and wait a while.

I hate Seoul. Hate the bustle of it, hate how people move quicker than they need to, but who knows? Maybe they do need to move that quick, maybe they all have places to be, things to do, more important than the life of a twenty-something who does not know exactly where her dreams began and where her reality ended.

Most importantly, I hate how I miss it.

In the dying light of the sun, I kick away pebbles, hoping to find a different outcome for all this want inside of me, and come up with nothing.

—

Jihoon is scared. He’d been staring at the work computer in his room for an hour the past night, and all he ended up realising was wow, I’m fucked. He’s staring at the amount of drafts he has in his computer, titled neatly, with the day and time of composition (as if that really mattered, but Jihoon was a stickler) and really, he can’t sustain himself with recycled beats and old compositions he’d made in the earlier days of his contract with the company. He’s been unable to really make anything anymore, has essentially kept staring at the screen, unable to even make a single tune. It’s a far cry from the Woozi of his previous years, who had a new song to be presented for scrutiny at the company meetings every single week. Jeonghan might take offence, but he is not the one who has to craft songs, only has to present them, and he can wait a few more days.

Jihoon knows he’s good at making songs, he’s been called a genius far too many times for the term to not go to his head. Three years ago, just before his contract ended, he was awarded Producer of the Year and Songwriter of the Year, a distinction reserved for three people before him. He'd written around thirty songs that year, more than anyone else, and had his hands in the production process for at least twenty more. Writing songs came easy to him then, as easy as breathing. He could sit with a draft in the morning and be done by lunchtime.

And then breathing became difficult, so all he could do was clutch his chest and run.

Jihoon shakes his head, standing at the doorway to his apartment building, he has to get groceries for the restaurant today; the produce will be coming in a bit later than usual. Which means delays in the prep, which means delays in getting orders out. It’s funny, how he’s become accustomed to thinking like a restaurant owner, even though he had no idea about this stuff when he first started out, washing dishes in the back of a Parisian bistro, telling the whole world to fuck off just because he could. All of that was the bravado of a twenty-year old, someone who had enormous power thrust into their hands before they even realised the gravitas of it, and most of the time, people watch on in a sick sense of pleasure, hoping to see the other person drown.

And well, he was a good swimmer, but swimmers drowned too.

By the time he ends up finishing his prep for the day, there is only about ten minutes left for the lunch regulars to begin walking in, and he makes a face, realising, not for the first time, that running a restaurant, even if it’s a homey little diner on the edge of the Busan wharf, is a lot of work.

Soonyoung walks in halfway through the afternoon, rubbing his eyes as if he’s just woken up. He picks out his designated apron from the rack, and Jihoon averts his eyes because he cannot bring himself to be the one to tell him that the tiger-print is an atrocious one. In many ways, he’s grateful to Soonyoung, who works at the diner without asking for payment, just grateful to be able to hide away from the reporters in Seoul that seem to constantly be on his ass for something or the other. Soonyoung had entered the company when they were at the last stages of The Seventeen Project, something that was being touted as the 'next big thing' in k-pop since BTS. Jihoon was also dabbling in producing, sick and tired of the failure and the scrutiny. He had initially felt sad for Soonyoung, given how he was walking into a company that was on its dying breaths, desperate to try anything to get by. They all knew, the HR knew, the producers knew, hell, even the trainees knew. Production had seemed like a safer alternative at that time, and he was eager to do anything for a paycheck. Turns out, Soonyoung, or Hoshi, as he called himself, was the goose that laid golden eggs. Or was it Jihoon who was the goose? Either way, Hoshi’s popularity meant more work for Jihoon, more money for the company to be poured into the other struggling groups. When one succeeds, everyone gets a piece of the pie. Years later, and he was begging for his contract to end.

The shift is a slow one, meaning he has more time to think about his impending doom, where he is hunted down the sands of the beach by a group of company executives, headed by Jeonghan, who, inexplicably, has a contract termination notice for his diner in his hands. Jihoon knows it’s an unrealistic dream, but it does not keep it from shuddering in fear whenever his mind conjures up that image.

“One seafood stew,” Soonyoung sets down a ticket in front of him, jerking out of his thoughts, “should I say last call?”

Jihoon checks his wristwatch, already past midnight. He wants to keep the diner open a while more, but he still has to go home and decide on what to send Jeonghan for the upcoming deadline, something that he has been avoiding to the point that Jeonghan had to make the damn trip to tell him to fix his mistakes. He has to do something, or the tentative bit of goodwill that he has, will all go down the drain. At least he can talk to the others over the phone every once in a while, he won’t be able to do that either anymore.

“Last call,” he shouts over the counter, and the customers begin to stand up and leave, “Soonyoung, clean as much as you can, then leave the rest to me.”

“Ah, well, you see,” Soonyoung says, half-apologetic, because Jihoon knows how much he loves performing, “I’m going back to Namyangju tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Your vacation finished early?” he asks, keeping it light, “you stayed back longer this time.”

“Ah, you know, vacation is never really a vacation with these people,” Soonyoung laughs, “but, I’ll still be in touch, if you want me to.”

“Of course I want to remain in touch,” Jihoon laughs, “drive safe on the road back home, huh?”

“Sure, sure,” Soonyoung walks out of the door, “keep the apron for me, would you?”

“Fuck no.”

Soonyoung leaves, and Jihoon is alone, back in a void of his own making. He could just clean up before leaving, but Soonyoung is apparently a much more diligent worker than he had ever thought he would be, because he’s left a spotless kitchen and nothing for Jihoon to take care of, nothing that he can do in order to make himself feel useful. So, he sits at a corner table, looking out onto the beach. He’s been raised in this city for all his life, and yet he’s never really seen the city. He’s never even been on a Blue Line tour, for god’s sake.

With a sigh, he stands up, dusting off a table top. I’ve still got to go back home and work on a draft, useless as it might be. All these responsibilities are probably not good for him; his mother (and his doctor, but he fears his mother more) has warned multiple times against him overdoing it, but Jihoon is part of a group of people who just don’t know when to give up.

The bell rings, and even before he can stand up to look at the person walking into the store after hours, a voice rings out, “are you still open?”

Jihoon turns around, and he truly, really, fully intends to say “no, I’m afraid we are closed for the day,” but instead says, “why do you ask?” because the person in front of him, with the faint scent of cigarette smoke on her, looks straight out of a novel—hair windswept, eyes shining with unshed tears, the heroine of all his dreams brought to life.

If she was a song, she would be—

—

Social media is a disease. I keep repeating that to myself, walking along the wharf. I’m happy now, social media is a disease. I should have never really gone on Facebook after work ended, instead I should have done some overtime work to at least assure myself of remaining in the same company for another year. Unfortunately, I had the bright idea to go online, where by some cruel twist of fate, there they were, happy, married couples who wanted to show themselves off to the world because they can, and they don’t have anyone else to think of when they post happy pictures or whatever.

As I stared at the photos of the gorgeous destination wedding, because of course, who can stop themselves from doing horrible things, all I can think of is university, years ago, perhaps the last time I felt any real sort of happiness.

Don’t contact me ever again.

Hope you heal from whatever you are going through.

The subtext was clear, and try as I might, I could not get anyone to tell me outright, you’re a bitch. You’re a bitter, insecure bitch, and I hope you never find happiness again. Then again, that would not have come off very nice over text.

I lean against a shop, lighting up a cigarette, but the words don’t leave my mind. Hope you heal. How many times does one have to be on the opposing ends of people leaving them to realise that maybe, just maybe, they are the problem themselves? Your ex-partner was a piece of shit and you tolerated all his actions. That makes you even more of a terrible person in my opinion, even if you left him, because at the end of the day, you are a bitter person.

The worst part is I agree with it, all the accusations that are basically condemnations, I agree with them all. I smoke too much, I’m insecure, I don’t have the courage to even talk to anyone properly.

“Ah, fuck,” I mutter, because of course the tears are coming right now, hard and fast when there is no one around to even see it because if no one sees my tears, are they even real? I’m tired, hungry, and overstimulated from the workday, and all I want is a place where I can settle down and think nothing until I get something to eat. Except it’s after midnight, and every shop in a fifty-metre distance from me is wrapping up their workday, closing down shutters and leaving to go back home.

There’s only one shop open on the beach, and I walk towards it, harsh ocean winds ruffling my hair. The bell makes a noise when I step in, announcing my presence to the only other person inside the space, the owner of the store.

“Are you still open?” I ask, and he turns back to look at me, and in the warm yellow glow of the shop light, the man seems like he’s been waiting for me all along, with his kind face, and the soft way he tells me, why do you ask? Instead of just declining outright. Am I overthinking again? Probably.

I take a deep breath. “I just—I saw you were open, and I didn’t feel like having a meal from a convenience store again.”

He laughs at that, “no, no we really don’t, because convenience store meals are the scourge of every working person’s stomach lining, aren’t they?”

I say nothing in response, and he turns back to the kitchen, “We only have the seafood stew left, if that’s okay?”

“Seafood stew is fine, actually,” I take a seat at the bar, staring at the man who’s preparing my meal. A philosophy professor in university had once told me, that one of the ways to get to know anyone, is to look at them from behind once. People have their defences up when you look them in the eye, and they tend to hide themselves away from you. Every time you look them in the eye, they have their ways to deflect, no matter how truthful they are. Everyone has some sort of secret they want to keep, even from themselves. When you look at someone from behind, everything becomes visible—the way their shoulders drop when they walk away from you, the telltale signs that give away their hurt and their anger.

Looking at this man, with his starched white shirt, probably ironed carefully in the morning, preparing a meal for me, I can think of only one thing.

Ah, this man. He looks so lonely.

I’m not unfamiliar with loneliness, given the general trajectory of my life, but this man, he seems to have made the loneliness his own. It’s almost as if he does not want to move away from the dark cloud that hangs around him, as if he’s made himself comfortable in the blanket of his own self, to the point that I don’t think he even registers that he has people around him.

Or maybe, it isn’t your fucking problem, a voice tells me, one that sounds uncannily like my tormentors, because what else could top off this truly delightful moment? If it's not your problem, then don’t go around poking your nose in other people’s business. You’ve done enough; let it go.

The problem is, I’m not good at letting go, and haven't ever been good at it, even as a child. Screaming and crying over old books being given away or sold; keeping record of every moment in my life until it became too much for my diary. Letting go of people was easy; letting go of myself was difficult.

And yet, you’ve managed to run away from your old life, to a place you barely know. Haven’t you been practicing the art of letting go?

“Seafood stew,” the man says, placing a steaming stone bowl in front of me, “here you go.”

“Wait, aren’t you about to close?” I ask, a wave of guilt coming over me suddenly, “ah, shit, I’ll make sure to eat it fast.”

“Unless you want to end up in the ER tonight, take your time,” he replies, “Although, since you asked so nicely, I’ll let you know one thing: you’re also eating my dinner, in case you wanted to, maybe, tip me some more.”

I stare at him, half in disbelief, half in wonder, until he begins to laugh, “don’t worry, the house dinner is secure, so you don’t really have to give up half your food.”

“Half my food? How aren’t you sure I didn’t want to give the whole thing up?”

He laughs again, pointing to the bag sitting beside me, forgotten altogether in the process of sitting down, ordering, and whatever else that entailed, “you’re an office worker, on their way back from working, roughly six hours overtime, and you look like you haven’t had a single bite of food since the morning. Of course you were not going to give up the whole meal, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Hence, half.”

“Hence, half of the meal,” he smiles, “and here I’m being generous.”

I narrow my eyes, but take a spoon and dig in anyway. It’s a seaside diner, I tell myself, there’s no way you’re going to find a Heston Blumenthal hiding in the sands. It’s humble fare, the kind you like.

The first bite, and I want to kick myself for being this wrong. It’s a homely dish, no doubt, but the workmanship behind the dish is exquisite. It's simple, clean, the aftertaste of it not too overpowering. It’s a reminder of Busan, the sea present within the three spices he had used—chilli powder, soy sauce, and soybean paste. It's subtle, briny, and delicious. I used to consider myself a gourmet, because at one point in time, I used to be rich enough to eat at good restaurants (and I enjoyed it), but after this dish has announced its presence on my tongue, I don’t think I can really say that I’ve had anything as good as this.

“You look like you’re enjoying it,” the man says, smiling, “is the stew that good, or are you just starved?”

“Both,” I muse, “it has been a long day.”

“That makes two of us,” he grins, “care to unburden yourself?”

I narrow my eyes. As good as this dish is, I doubt I want to tell my life story to this man, who I have known for all of half an hour. For all I know, he could be a serial killer, using this diner as a front to get intel on his next victim. Also, why the hell would anyone listen to the story of a person who has been abandoned by her entire social circle? How much loss can be contextualised? At what point do I have to come to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, I am the problem?

“Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer,” he laughs, and adds on, to my horrified expression, “I realised that maybe asking for your life story without knowing you properly, might be a bad idea.”

“A self-aware man, I see.”

“A rarity these days, no doubt.”

I sigh, choosing not to reply, and busy myself with eating, keenly aware of him observing my every move. It’s awkward, but not entirely unwelcome. Despite watching my fair share of true crime documentaries, I don’t stand up and storm out of the diner, instead I stare right at him, realizing, however belatedly, he has beautiful eyes.

“Unburdening can be hard, I’ve come to realise.” He says, after a pause.

“Why? Is running a diner that hard?” I laugh, “you have the sea right in front of you.”

“The sea is not always benevolent,” he replies, “sometimes, the diner is tiring.”

I hum, “I understand. Adulthood seems to be a series of exhausting events, one after the other, with pockets of small happinesses scattered in the middle.”

“Happiness seems to be hard to come by,” he nods, “I keep forgetting why it was that I opened up a shop here, of all places. It’s on days like these, that I need a violent reminder.”

“Do you want me to shake you by the collar?” He laughs at that, and I feel a sense of pride, because I made him laugh. When was the last time I did that? “Happiness might be difficult to come by on most days, but it's not impossible to find, as you can see.”

“What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, “I live my days on small, certain happinesses. Moments throughout the day, when I can think to myself, "ah, this existence is not too bad.”

“Moments like?”

I hold out my hand, “when I get my favourite chocolate milk from the store in the morning, I’m happy. When my mother calls me just because she missed me, I’m happy then too. Right now, I’m eating delicious stew. All this makes me happy, in small moments. One day, I think that these small moments of happiness will build up enough for me to live the rest of my life in relative comfort.”

“And this will be enough for you?”

“Well, it all depends on the kind of person you are,” I reply, shrugging, “and the kind of situation one is in; most people try to find as much happiness as they can, even in situations that would have broken their spirits otherwise. It’s just important to, you know, have hope.”

“You sound suspiciously like one of those late 2010’s Keep Calm and Go On posters,” he narrows his eyes, and I snort, “cannot believe I’m on the receiving end of hope-core propaganda.”

“Funny you should mention hope-core,” I wipe my nose with a tissue, “I learnt the meaning of the word from the intern at the office, just this morning, actually.”

“Ah, so you’re fully qualified to give me advice,” he grins, “Soonyoung was the one to explain that to me.”

“He sounds like he’s got his finger on the pulse of today’s youth,” I nod, “or at least, that is what my boss would have said, if he had heard those words. Seeing as he is not here, I will take this opportunity to act as a stand-in.”

He laughs, “Your boss seems great.”

“He’s—surprisingly nice, given how he has to put up with all my tantrums and issues.” I shrug, and he places a glass of tea in front of me, “as an employee, I think I am also obligated to tell you that I have the best boss in the world.”

“You don’t really have to say that,” he says, now wiping down the counter, “Soonyoung probably does not have a single good thing to say about me, but I still keep him employed here. Most bosses don’t really care what kind of people you are, as long as you get the work done.”

I sigh, yeah, there’s the actual problem. I’m behind on work, and everyone else has to pay the price because of me.

It must show on my face, my feelings, because as much as I would like to brag about my poker skills, it’s evident, my discomfort. This man does not prod, instead, offers me another tissue with a smile. He doesn’t push, and I don’t reveal anything. It’s bad manners, really, to be spilling all your secrets to someone you’ve barely met, and within the first half-hour too.

The seafood stew is finished by this point, and I stand up, pushing a ten-thousand won bill towards him, and he fixes me with a look. I shrug, holding it out, “For the haemul-tang,” I say, smiling, “and for listening to my woes.”

“If I took money from the girl who gave me bad millennial advice, I’d be ruining the sanctity of this kitchen,” he says, so seriously I cannot even bring myself to laugh, “come by another time when I have more to offer than the leftovers of the day, and then I’ll take your money. Not before that.”

I make a face, “nothing in life is free, is it? Because now, I have to come back to your diner once more, in order to get my money’s worth.”

“I’ll make sure to serve you my best dish, that day.” he says, and I laugh, because apparently this man doesn’t only make good seafood stew, he also makes other dishes that are, presumably, just as good, “what is it?”

He smiles, conspiratorial, “well, you’ll have to come by again to find out.”

“And if I simply abscond? What if I never come back again?” I stare at him, lit warmly under the lights, soft, yellow, almost ethereal. This was the kind of encounter people fantasised about, wrote about, thought about incessantly. This was what dreams were made of. He’s smiling at me now, because for all the bad things in the world, sometimes, you do get to meet a stranger and even strangely, you both connect on some level that neither of you really understand. If I could, I can stride forward to the bar, and ask him for his number, something I do not really think he will be averse to. I could just do it, establish a connection with someone. And it would not even take a lot of effort, just a conversation. A few lines of words, spoken easily, lightly, as though it did not matter. I could do this. There was no reason I had to remain lonely in this city, when I could have a singular friend to talk to, on nights like these.

Do you even deserve this?

I take a step back, and the back of my knee collides painfully with a chair. I wince, and before he can come to my aid, grab my jacket and bag. “I’ll come by again—” are the only words I manage to say, before opening the door and stumbling out onto the street. God, its fucking cold. If I could just reverse the flow of time, I would never go into that damn restaurant, never would have struck up a conversation with anyone, least of all that man. Someone whose name I don’t even know, someone who (hopefully) will no longer be here when I take a walk on the beach tomorrow.

Before coming to this city, I had not really thought of myself as someone who was cut out to make large decisions. In fact, I thought of myself as perfectly average, right in the middle of the pecking order, someone whose existence brought neither great joy, nor great suffering. The middle ground between two warring sides, and apparently fooling no one. Busan had not even been on the radar before, had not even been in any of the plans I liked to draw up when I was a child, ranging from “World -famous chef” to “President of the United States of America” (yes, I know, that one was a mistake. I wasn’t aware we needed to be old men to be considered for that role). Nowhere in those crudely written crayon drawings had I put the words “Small-time editor for a company in Busan”. I suspect if I put it in one of those sheets, my elementary school teacher would have called my parents, because there was no way that the girl with the best grades in the school would imagine becoming a lowly office worker in a mid-tier city.

Unfortunately, I woke up one morning, four years ago, and decided that Seoul was simply too oppressive for me, and I needed to leave. It was nothing as dramatic as running away in the middle of the night, which was a pivotal point in one of the stories shared by my batchmates on a class outing. Imagine being subjected to a half-drunk woman rambling about the time she was almost robbed at knifepoint, and framing it as a heartwarming story of youthful problems, as something everyone did, at least once in their lives. “How else did you cope with the stress of the exam?” Because apparently, getting into one of the most prestigious universities in the country implies you had to have been in the throes of extreme irrationality as a teenager, or else it does not count. No, my act of leaving was as boring and adultlike as possible, practical and dry, to the point where people did not really understand why I left. That ruse lasted a while, of course, until the rumours began to grow so insistent that no one, not even my mother, that most oblivious of women, made the trip to Busan and insisted on staying with me for a whole week. She didn’t believe them, of course, and asked me only once, on the final day, I’m hearing things about you, you know. Are they correct? I don’t believe them, but I’m asking you again.

They’re not correct, mom, I had said, feeling only slightly sad at lying this blatantly, I do not know what you are talking about, and I know that is not correct.

And my mother had believed me, but a false rumour is only marginally worse than a half-true rumour. And even if they were not true, why did you run? Why did I run, when it meant that everyone could point their fingers at me and say you ran, therefore you are guilty. On what count, we do not know. But you are guilty. And you will remain guilty, for the rest of your life.

I light up another cigarette, walking rapidly away from the diner. The chill in the air has become worse, with the winds sharp enough for me to huddle into my coat as I make the short distance home, five minutes away, but I smoke two cigarettes before I even step foot into the building, and a third is halfway to my mouth as I punch the code in the lock.

You’re gonna die of that one day, man. At least put the cancer sticks away.

I flick the lighter even before I reach for the lights.

—

She smelled strongly of cigarettes, Jihoon noticed, out of everything she did, it was the cigarette smoke that stood out to him, heavy and surprisingly, slightly comforting. She was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, but—the spicy smell of Dunhill cigarettes, a cross between clove and mint ones, that, that was a scent he was familiar with, years of suffocating boardrooms and producing studios that seemed to be made for the express purpose of forcing him to bend to the will of the executive members. The faint tobacco smell was a reminder of the years he spent in that company, giving up on his youth to chase his dreams. They’d all stopped smoking after a while—him, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Minghao. Or at least, he thought they had. He can’t be sure anymore.

He'd been at his work table for hours in the morning, with little to no work done, but his hands reach for the headphones of their own accord, now, and he starts humming a tune under his breath. It’s a wistful tune, one that would have Jeonghan breathing down his neck, but for once in a while, Jihoon finds himself incapable of caring. Sure, he has to make an upbeat boy group song, and what he’s doing is an indie ballad. But also, he’s been steadily running out of his saved drafts, and Jeonghan would have become aware of it, one day or the other.

He's got only a rudimentary beat done, but it's more work than what he has had in months. It’s a soft progression, reminiscent of the indie songs of the late 80’s, and Jihoon wonders if he should compose a city-pop song for the new female soloist from the company. He could get away with it too, sending over unauthorised songs. Anything will work, as long as the company gets their check.

Jihoon, did you hear? You’ve been nominated for Producer of the Year.

Jihoon, make sure you’re present at the meeting tomorrow.

Jihoon, I’m sorry but you’re not a good fit for the debut team.

Jihoon, make sure you get that track finished by next week.

He leans back into the chair, heaving a sigh. It was destined to crash and burn from the start, wasn’t it? Late nights, strict deadlines, short breaks. Jihoon was on top of the world, but it took mighty little to get him to come crashing down. All of a sudden, he was in a strange city, with no one to talk to him, but more importantly, no one to answer to. How pathetic was my life, if I only managed to taste freedom at the age of twenty-six?

But today, she was there, standing in front of him, and Jihoon had felt, for the first time in a long while, a strange sense of déjà vu—or was the feeling merely camaraderie? That they knew each other, or some level, even if they had never met each other before. She reminded him of a time when he knew nothing but work, cigarette smoke enveloping her like a crowd of despair. And she’d seemed sad, too. Sad enough to not look at him when she spoke.

He'd never managed to get her name; she had come into the diner, into his life, and disappeared with nothing but the faint trace of her habits behind her. He’s never really wanted to know someone this desperately. He could ask someone for help, but his parents would probably ask him to sit back and do nothing at all.

She’d said one thing that had stuck out to him. One day, I think that these small moments of happiness will build up enough for me to live the rest of my life in relative comfort. Even in his moments of despair and depression, he had had support. His parents were there, rallying behind him, keeping their mouths shut about his whereabouts because they knew that Jihoon was not well. He’s one of the lucky ones, the people who had both money and a good family to fall back on, a fact that he says his prayers daily for. All he had to do was tell them I’m not doing well, dad, and they had opened their arms to shield him from the rest of the world while he recuperated. Small amounts of happiness, she’d said. What were his small doses of happiness? To be able to get dinner with his parents every two days? His father, a stoic man who didn’t take off the watch Jihoon had given him—his first present—for a whole month, and his mother, the woman who had been the one to put him in his first piano class, the person who kick started his career, essentially, to be able to be a good son to them, to be a filial person, is that happiness? He thought he was happy, at one point, when he was cranking out a song in two hours and being lauded for it, when he had the high life, going from country to country every year, aspirational discretionary income stored in a platinum account.

Are you doing well? You look—

I’m fine.

He’d repeated the words so many times that he had started believing them. I’m fine. I can do it. This doesn’t bother me; words that made no sense to him, yet happened to come out of his mouth on a daily basis, and what was funnier was that everyone seemed to believe his obvious lies.

He has things to do for the next day; keep track of purchases and go to the market to get things wholesale, banal duties that keep him sane, except Jihoon cannot focus on anything but her right now. You’re going insane, Jeonghan would say, except Jeonghan isn’t here to save his ass right now, is he? It’s just Jihoon at the moment, going slightly insane, apparently.

He’s going to find her tomorrow; more accurately, he has to. She owes him the price of her seafood stew.

—

I wake up before my alarm rings, apparently trained better than a soldier. The morning is crisp, calm, and bright, and as I make myself a coffee before stepping out of the house, I’m hit with a pleasant breeze through one of my many windows. Seungkwan has left me a message in my inbox, sent at three in the morning.

“Remember, you’re supposed to send in your first article by next week. We’ve worked really hard for this serialisation, so don’t miss the deadline, although I’m sure you won’t, because you understand my problems, anyway, remember the deadlines, please.”

I’d almost forgotten about this. The serialisation was a big deal for Seungkwan, since my mainstream success meant the same for him, as my editor. He was the one who worked for the pitch; sending in letters to the chief of the department, begging them to give me a chance. The fact that it was only approved after I’d received an award, doesn’t take anything away from his hard work.

The call to Seungkwan goes through immediately, and his sleep-deprived voice floats through the phone line, “What’s up?”

“What’s the deadline for the serialisation?”

“No mincing words, I see,” he mutters, “next week.”

I sigh. Next week. I’ll have to come up with an idea and a way to execute it, all within a week. “At least tell me if there’s a brief.”

“Brief?” he’s immediately wide awake, “don’t tell me—you haven’t even written anything yet?”

“Besides the point. Just tell me if there’s a brief.”

“That’s the whole point! If you have no idea what to write, man, I don’t know how to say this, but I might lose my job.”

Now it’s my turn to be speechless, because what the fuck does he mean, “What?”

Seungkwan sighs, “look, I really didn’t want to tell you this, but I did bet my job on your column. Sure, the award was a good push, but the Editor still didn’t want to give it to you. Our best writer used to write this column, and now—”

“Now he’s dead,” I reply, “yes, I’m aware, Seungkwan, that my opportunities depend on the timely passing of literary greats.”

“Good god, and now I’m late for work. Just remember you have until next week for the deadline. And write something  fun, new age, one that the readers will relate to. We’re already losing subscribers to the magazine as is.”

“Ugh,” I open my mouth to tell him some more, but unfortunately, he’s cut the call, desperate to get to his job on time, and I’m left, standing in the middle of the street, because fuck it’s no longer my writing that’s on the line, it’s Seungkwan’s job as well. 

taglist: @facethesunflower @hisnowbie2

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

Hey! I’m not sure if you take requests or not. But just in case you do, can you tell us how Harley Sawyer would react/ act when he finds out that one of the scientists at Playtime Co. who he thought was just like him; methodical, rational, analytical and doesn’t express emotions like others do, only to be hit with the reality that said scientist is just a regular person who is well capable of feeling emotions like everyone else, but what makes them particular is how they are somehow able to be in 100% full control of their emotions, mannerisms, actions, reactions and expressions to the point it makes them seem almost robotic and purely logical?

Like that scientist can in fact feel and build emotional connections like normal people, they just somehow choose to be, act and feel in ways they only allow deliberately and purely according to their own will?

Kind of like: if they choose to allow themselves to feel in a certain way, they would feel it. And if they simply choose not to, they wouldn’t feel that way? As if everything about them is absolutely measured and wholely controlled and deliberate with no exception? They just choose to be that way.

(I understand if this seems confusing and too long, I just didn’t find a better way to explain it. 😭)

Harley Sawyer would be deeply unsettled, though in a way that fascinates him rather than frightens him.

At first, he likely saw this scientist as a kindred spirit—someone who, like him, operates on cold logic, detached reasoning, and methodical precision. Perhaps he even found a strange comfort in their presence, assuming they were the same: two minds working above emotion, untethered by irrationality.

But the moment he realizes the truth—that they are not like him, that they do feel, and worse, they have the absolute ability to choose whether they experience emotion or not—he would feel a shift. A crack in his perception of them.

Because Harley cannot do that.

He may suppress, he may compartmentalize, but he does not control his emotions with absolute will. His obsessions, his frustration, his bursts of intensity—these things creep in whether he wants them to or not.

So the idea of someone being able to just decide whether or not they feel something, with no subconscious interference, no impulsive reaction, nothing outside of their own deliberate willpower? That is something unnatural to him.

And yet... it intrigues him.

He would test them. Push them in small ways. A cutting remark to see if their expression shifts. A sudden unexpected move to see if their body reacts instinctively. Something carefully calculated to provoke an emotional response, just to watch what they do with it.

Because if this person truly is completely in control, then what does that make them? More human than him, or less?

A part of him might resent them for it. Might see it as unfair. They can just choose. They have the option. Meanwhile, he is bound to his nature, to the twisted labyrinth of his own mind, where control is never truly absolute.

And yet, at the same time… he might envy them.

[mydear-corinthian]

love potion no. 9

sypnosis - attempting to make doctor jonathan crane be in love with you using your love potion

pairing - jonathan crane x reader (pharmacist!)

warnings - SMUT +18, p in v, fingering, creampie, jealousy, reader attempting to poison crane

notes - rushed & based of my fav song, divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

You've been working as the hospital's pharmacist for a while now. The experience was a fifty-fifty. How strange to work under the walls where high-profile criminals are admitted in the city of Gotham.

One day, while you were working on your regular evening shift, a tall man wearing rectangular glasses and a black suit let out a small cough as he approached the window of the pharmacy's counter. Setting your pen down, you looked at this man. Your gaze met his blue eyes. You noticed how his hair was neatly styled.

There was a moment of silence before you brushed up your thoughts. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

"I'm here to get the prescription I need."

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

Your eyes widened, and the pen in your fingers dropped as you heard the name.

That's Jonathan fucking Crane?

He looked younger than you expected to be. You thought that the head psychologist was old so he's the only psychologist in the asylum allowed to prescribe medication.

"I— Please give me a few seconds to find it, Doctor Crane," you stuttered, immediately standing up and wengoing the back of the cashier to where all the anti-depressants and anti-psychotic medicines were stored.

"Hurry up. I don't have enough time to wait," he replied, rolling his eyes out of irritation.

After a few minutes, you finally saw a brown paper bag with his name on it. You immediately grabbed it and then stapled it to ensure that the medicines were safely secured. You walked up to the desk, placing the paper box on top of it in front of Jonathan.

"Thank you," he said, looking at the metallic nameplate on your uniform. "Miss (L/n)."

After that first interaction, he has been meeting you up again in the pharmacy. Taking his usual prescription medicines. After a few more visits, he started to make a few more chats rather than greetings. Asking you how you were, when's your schedule, etc.,

During those visits, you cannot help but feel something. The way you blush every time he compliments you. The way his delicate fingers meet yours when you give him the medicines. Or the way how he just looks fucking good.

One day, you waited for Jonathan to grab his prescription, so you waited. It's been a few hours and no Doctor Crane appeared. Taking a deep sigh, you continued to do your inventory as you waited for him to come.

After a few hours of waiting, a woman knocks on the glass of the pharmacy's counter. You greeted, letting out a soft smile despite being sad for not seeing the psychologist yet.

"May I help you, ma'am?" you asked.

"I'm here to get Doctor Crane's prescription."

Your ears perked up as you heard his name. Your back stiffens as your eyes widen. Why is she here? Why isn't Jonathan here?

"I'm sorry, ma'am; who are you?" you asked in confusion. "I'm sure Doctor Crane doesn't want his prescription medicines to be taken."

The women laughed at your question and your eyebrows met together.

"Oh, I'm his assistant, silly. Maybe his soon-to-be girlfriend? Not sure yet."

What?

Your stomach churned. A mix of sadness and anger rolled up your mind. You didn't know that Jonathan was interested in anyone. You thought that you would have a chance with him. You felt ill.

You stormed out right away, grabbing the papaer box with his name on it. Putting it in front of her harshly.

Forcing on a smile, you said, "Here's the prescription, ma'am."

"Thank you." the woman replied, grabbing the paper box before walking away.

Jealousy is buried all over your body. Bur you cannot help but feel insecure. She was indeed pretty. For sure Jonathan likes her too.

But you also felt mostly anger and jealousy.

As soon as your shift ended, you hurriedly grabbed your bag and went straight to your small apartment. Turning the doorknob, you entered your apartment and removed your shoe. Grabbing a pen and paper from your cabinet, you wrote different formulas for making something for him.

A love potion.

It does sound silly but you were so obsessed with him and you want him that badly. You felt like he was yours and you were his.

The remaining days stayed the same. The same woman grabbed Jonathan's medicines. The same anger and jealousy never left you. You continued in your potion, grabbing all the hallucinogens that you needed from the rmaprimacyou will spend your night making it.

After a week, you finally finished creating the spray. You choose to make the smell the same as your perfume; to let him know that he is yours.

Arriving at the Asylum, you set your bag behind your chair as you start to do your work. There were a lot of customers that day so you kept yourself occupied.

Finally, his assistant arrived.

She approached the glass with the same cheeky smile. "Jonathan's prescription, please."

Fuck, are they in the first-name business now?

Straightening your back, you said, "I think I'll give it to Doctor Crane myself."

The assistant's head turned to your direction with a face in disbelief. She placed her phone down.

"Why?" she asked.

"Doctor Crane requested a new medicine and it contains rare chemicals and it needs to be taken care of properly. This is the last medicine in our inventory so I suggest I'll be the one to give it to him." you lied.

"Fine. I don't care with whatever medicine he wants anyway. Your pharmacists can take catfish that. I'll just go take a quick dinner break, anyways." she replied, rolling her eyes before she walked away while busy typing on her phone.

As she walked away, you let out a sigh of relief. You grabbed the paper box at the back and then the spray you placed on a small glass sprayer in your bag, hiding it in your pocket.

"Hey, Adeline, I'll just give this medicine to Doctor Crane; he requested it," you said, showing him the paper box with his name.

"Yeah sure, no problem. I'll cover the cashier for you." your friend replied.

Letting out a 'thank you', you exited the pharmacy. You didn't know where his clinic was so you tried finding his name on the big board on the entrance of the hospital that was filled with all the doctors and their clinic rooms in the Asylum. You got up the elevator and pressed the buttons. You're confident with this. You checked the formula all over again and gave you the same result but you cannot help but feel how your heartbeat thumped aggressively.

It will work.

You went out as soon as the elevator doors opened. The whole floor was quiet and there were only a few people there, mainly janitors cleaning up. You walked while looking at the small paper in your hand where you wrote his room number.

You stopped your tracks as soon as you saw his name on a sign on a black door.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, M.D, Psy.D, J. Crim. Psychol.

Letting out a deep breath, your fingers opened the door. The entrance was small. A long cushion was on the right while the assistant/secretary's table was on the left— which was empty. There was another door in front of you, which you think is his office.

You knocked three times on the door, fixing your uniform and your hair. You gripped your pocket tightly, securing it.

Your eyes met him as he opened the door. His outfit looked the same. His hairstyles led properly. His rectangular glasses shined. Jonathan's eyes then met yours.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here?" he asked, not closing the door.

Fuck, he looks hot.

"I— I'm here for the prescription you needed, Doctor Crane," you replied, handing out the paper box with his name on your hand. "Your.. secretary said that she was busy so I decided to just give it to you instead of myself."

Jonathan's eyes still locking yours. "Oh. Well, thank you, (Y/n). Do you want to come inside?" he offered, taking the prescription in your hands gently, his fingers touching yours.

You felt a strike on your spine at the sudden short touch. Jonathan's touch was gentle and his hands felt soft.

"O-Okay.." you replied.

Jonathan opened his door widely, letting you come inside first and then him. His office was twice as big as the outside. His certificates hanging on the wall. A small scarecrow figure is displayed on the black shelves.

"Please, sit." Jonathan offered.

Nodding, you sat down. Your hand still clutching tightly to your pockets.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning against his wooden table while you sat in front of him.

"I'm fine, Doctor Cra—"

"Jonathan. Jonathan is alright." he interrupted.

"Oh, right.." you nodded. "I'm fine, Jonathan. Lots of customers but still doing great. And you?"

"Same way either," he replied, removing his glasses as he looked at you and fuck, you find it so hot.

"So, your secretary.." you brought up the topic. "Is she your.. girlfriend?"

Your question made him laugh. Putting his glasses on he replied, "What makes you think that?"

"Well, she told me that she's your soon-to-be girlfriend so you know.." your hands never leaving your pocket.

Jonathan notices how your hands never leave your pocket. His eyes trying to know what you're hiding inside it.

"What's in your pocket?" he asked, changing the topic.

Fuck.

You sighed, giving up. You stood up and grabbed the spray in your pocket, spraying on his face a couple of puffs. You let out a relief.

His eyes squinted, attempting to rub the liquid off his face.

"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" you asked, walking towards him closely; your face getting closer to his as you trickled your fingers onto his soft face before letting your lips meet his. His hands gripped your waist softly as he kissed back, savoring each other's taste.

He finally opened his eyes and let out another laugh. You let go of him immediately, you were confused. It didn't work? But you were sure that the formula was right. You had the right chemicals. You had the best hallucinogenic chemicals in the city.

Unless..

"Let me guess.. love potion?" he asked, his lips painting a smirk on his face as he looked at you.

You panicked. "I— Why isn't it working?"

Your heels stepped backward while he moved forward. Your heart started to thump aggressively; you were panicking.

"Why isn't it working indeed." Jonathan's eyes grow wide as his lips curve into a smirk. "Well, there are only two options. Either your little experience was an absolute fail or I'm already in love with you."

The words coming out of your mouth left you gasping. He's right. There were only two options.

"But how about your secretary?" you asked.

Jonathan began walking much closer to you until both of your faces were inches apart; your waist hitting his desk. You can be sure that he can hear how loud your heartbeat is. You can smell his strong men's perfume from his neck and his wrists. You can see how ravishing his blue eyes really are.

"It's you. It's always been you." Jonathan confessed, his eyes getting soft as he looked at you.

After a few visits from the pharmacy, Jonathan started to take an interest in you. He observes how you tilt a strand of your hair to the back of your ear whenever he compliments you. How your things are always the same color which he thinks is your favorite. How your ears perked up whenever he brings small conversations about your expertise— medicines.

Jonathan's soft hands found their way to your hips, securing them; tthemknowow you were his. Your lower body sat on top of his black wooden table. His, then, lips crashed into yours again but delicately. You were shocked by the sudden confession and the kiss but you ignored it anyway; you kissed him back, gripping a fistful of his hair as the kiss deepened. The way his tongue met yours made you wet. He explored your lips and tongue, allowing him to savor your taste leaving a trail of kisses down your neck before sucking it, making you suddenly moan in pleasure.

"Ah yes," you moaned but immediately covered your mouth when you noticed how loud it was.

"Don't worry, love," he said in between kisses, continuing to mark your neck. "The whole room is soundproof. Scream all you want, doll."

The wetness in your panties became worse. Your breath hitched as he sucked that spot in your neck. His hands began to trail down to your thighs, his fingers tracing it. The tent in his pants began to be visible.

"Please— touch me, Jonathan.."

Jonathan's fingers now trailed in between your thighs, toying with your clothed clit under your skirt. The touch sends shivers down your spine. He can feel how wet you are and your white lacey panties.

His lips began to paint another sluggish smirk. "So wet for me already?" he teased.

"Please, Johnny. I need you," you cried in pleasure as his fingers started to massage your clit from your panties.

Jonathan removed your panties before throwing them off the floor. The cold air touching your sensitive cunt made you shiver. His thumb began to rub it slowly and then his pace fastened making you bob your head backward, your eyes closing as you felt the pleasure down there. The wet noise echoed all over the room. He then started to insert two of his fingers with no warning making you moaaloudud.

"Fuck!— Yes, Jonathan!"

You moaned as his finger hit that spongy spot there. Your toyed pussy clenching around his fingers. His thumb circling figure eights on your clit. Back arching, your legs squirmed.

Jonathan's fast pace made you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, feeling more wet. Your moans were getting louder and louder.

"Jon.." you moaned. "I'm close."

"Go on," he whispered, you can feel his hot breath on your neck. "Cum on my fingers."

Jonathan's pace quickened until your orgasm flowed. His fingers were coated with your white juices. Jonathan brought up his fingers to his tongue, licking it clean as he tasted your juice.

"Mhm, sweet," he smirked.

Even though you just came from your orgasm, you still have that desire for more. You want him to take you. You want to feel him.

Jonathan gave you a small sweet kiss before his hands found their way to his black trousers, unzipping them; his erection can be clear through his boxers.

"You want me that bad, huh?" he teased. "I think you're the one who drank that potion of yours."

His voice was deep, husky, and raspy which made you want him more. He removed his black blazer, leaving him with his white long-sleeved polo and a tie. You began to unzip your skirt as well, tossing it on the floor. He kisses you again deeply.

As soon as he removed his boxers, his cock sprung out. He was bigger than you expected and veiny. Jonathan began to align his cock to your dripping and aching hole and then inserted himself fully.

"Fuuuckkk—" he groaned as he felt your tight walls take him. "You're so tight."

You gasped as you felt his length take you; a loud hiss escaped from your lips.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he genuinely asked as he noticed you hissed.

Shaking your head, you gripped his broad shoulders. "No— I'm fine. Just keep going."

Jonathan started to slowly thrust inside you, taking no rush which you appreciated. He was gentle. Your legs locked his hips as you embraced his shoulders with your arms.

"I've been dreaming about this since—" he let out a low groan as his hips moved closer to you . "..the day I saw you. Fuck, you're beautiful."

His thrust quickened, making you moan. Your tits were bouncing at every move he makes. Your eyes were completely shut, your head rolling back as you savored the pleasure Jonathan gave you. The way his tip hit your G-spot made you scream a series of the most pornographic moans you've ever done.

"Oh my god! Yes yes yes!"

A smirk on his face was formed when he heard your lovely moans in his ears. Your moans are probably his favorite note. His baby blue eyes met yours when you looked at him. The way he was still wearing his sexy glasses made you blush more.

"You feel so good, my love," he said in between his thrusts. "Fuck— you're mine, okay?"

"Yes, Johnny! I'm—fuck— yours!"

All you felt was nothing but love and ecstasy. Every thrust, every moan, every kiss, and every touch coming from him makes you feel weak and pleasurable.

The table you guys were fucking on aggressively moves at every movement the both of you do. His files, ball pens, and other items fell from the table but none of you minded as your business was focused somewhere else.

A feeling of wetness and and closeless throb in your stomach. Jonathan abusing your sensitive spot with his fat cock didn't help. Your moans and his grunts synchronize together as the both of you feel close.

"I'm gonna cum, love. Where do you want it?"

"Inside, please! Fuck! Fill me up, please please please!"

"My princess wants me to fill her up, yeah? Alright then."

After a few more aggressive thrusts, you felt your orgasm came. His cock was now stained with your cum as he continued.

"Gonna cum now, doll. Take it, baby. Yes yes yes!" Jonathan groaned as he finally came inside you. His dick spurts out his hot white cum inside your walls. Jonathan, then, pulled out; a mix of his load spilled out in your hole.

"Fuck, look at that," he said, watching it dripped to his black table.

Jonathan gave you another kiss but this time, it was passionate. His lips let out a series of compliments which made you flustered and blush at the same time.

"I guess I'll be the one who'll give you your medicines now," you teased.

"I look forward to that, my love."

After dressing up again, Jonathan guided you to the door, not wanting you to be late for your shift. As soon as he opened the door, the both of you were greeted by his assistant who just came in.

"Doctor Crane and... Miss (L/n)... Didn't expect you to visit here." the female assistant said, clearly not expecting you at all.

"Natalia, clear out my schedule this Friday. I'm going on a date with Miss (L/n) here." Jonathan said, making you blush at the sudden invitation.

His assistant's face turned into a frown and anger but tried to let out a fake smile before you and Jonathan left his clinic.

"Your assistant must be sad that I'm going out with you, Doctor Crane."

"Oh, baby... I'm only yours."

[sybjl]

Arlecchino writes you a letter while she's far from home in Snezhnaya on a mission.

a/n: I've never written in english before, since spanish is my mother tongue. I thought doing a bit of character study and use such a complex character as Arlecchino to navigate emotions, specially in a different language, would be great help. I hope whoever reads enjoys it, and please let me know of any mistakes or any constructive criticism ♡.

(And yes, I did use a Loustat quote because it's just *cheff's kiss* and IDK).

─୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ─────────୨ৎ─

My dear darling:

It is with such sorrow I write to you for the second time in the span of three days; I've been recently informed my stay could prolong. As you know so well, my duties as a Harbinger are not to be dismissed, so I must accept the new terms this mission has acquired. I miss you terribly, and I pray, archons, I can come back to you as soon as possible. I do my part, as well; trying to get ahead of tasks, to guide agents into working faster and efficiently, but to our disadvantage, the rest of the Harbingers prefer to work at their own undemanded rhythm. Sometimes you'd see them in the most expensive bar of this village, early in the night, courting young ladies, delaying handing over their reports. I do not know how they suddenly get their work done, since I don't see much of work from them. It does worry me if they are asking others to do their reports, which could be a serious infringement. But never mind that. This letter is for you, and only you, má chérie.

I'm awaken in the mornings by the cold of this part of Teyvat. I stretch my arm to the bedside seeking for your warm embrace, only to find myself alone in this room. I cannot wait to be back home and reach for your touch every morning, listening to your soft breathing next to me. A part of me does think that if you were here, it would be far too difficult to get up in the mornings, since I would much more prefer to rot in bed next to you, feeling the warmth of your body cover me under the sheets. All the same, leaving you here, in this place by yourself, would be absolutely excruciating. Even if I may sound far too egotistical, I'm glad you get to be spending your mornings and evenings with the children at home, who I know cherish you terribly. Me being away might be a step into bonding even greatly than you already do. I must think positively above all, I suppose.

And speaking of home, yesterday when arriving "home", although I find it rather strange to call this residence a home without you and the children here, I saw a small teahouse near. I did go in, and to my surprise there was an immense variety of teas and sweets. You would love it. It's such a shame this place is related to Fatui investigations, this teahouse would be a turistic point in Fontaine. But, never mind that.

The variety of tea was splendid, not even the Café Lutece has ever laid hand on some of these. "Tulip's tea" is apparently a tea made out of imported tulips straight from Fontaine, to that, I bought some. I cannot wait to sit in my office and taste this magnificent beverage with you while working, or before bed. We must keep this locked in my office; tulips are only reserved for you, my love. Visitors and the rest of the house can have the other flavours we usually find in Fontaine. I know you would expect me to send samples along with this letter as I usually do, but I insist on tasting it together at home with my arrival.

Anyways, I read your recent letter and I'm glad everything is running smoothly as ever at the House of Hearth. There is no one I could've trusted more to be the Subdirector of my organisation than you. I'm also pleased to know that the children continue their chores and missions despite me being away. I know Lyney tends to find it hard to trust himself, or even others, for missions. Please, make sure he doesn't overstep. He knows I expect him to be able to delegate tasks to his other siblings too.

I can't help to tell you again how much my heart longs for you before saying goodbye on this letter. "A veil separates our union, but it is a thin veil, and I'm always on the other side. Face pressed up against your longing". Wait for me, má chéri, I'll be back faster than the blink of your beautiful eyelids to press a kiss on your temple once I'm back and we'll share tea while eating your favourite pastries, you'll forget I was ever away. Continue your writting, it keeps my spirits up.

Always yours,

𝒜𝓇𝓁ℯ

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in April 2025. For more new fics, check out this month's fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup ! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

🌸 Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl

(E, 113k, omegaverse) Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

🌸 The Money Mark by @brightgolden

(E, 52k, omegaverse) Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

🌸 HL 80s NYC verse (series) by superglass / @gaymoustache

(M, 51k, HIV) In the midst of the AIDS crisis, Harry meets Louis after coming home from a drag ball. 80s NYC au.

🌸 Mountain Investigation by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(T, 35k, mystery) As a plane crash investigator, Louis has handled his fair share of strange cases, but something is different about the crash of British Airways flight BA278. Crashed into the Brecon Beacons, over the Pen Y Fan mountain, very few survived. One of them being the pilot, Harry Styles.

🌸 All Of You For Eternity by @signofcomfort

(M, 29k, soulmates) Meet the walker of the night, aka, vampire, aka Louis Tomlinson, who is dwelling between the lovers from the past and the present!

🌸 Not having a breakdown! (I'm just here for the kid.) by louisismycat / @liminalkittyfics

(E, 28k, omegaverse) Harry has to park outside his ex-husband’s (Louis) wedding so that he can whisk their kid away if a meltdown ensues during the day. Guests will not know this and will only see him parked outside, it cannot be stressed enough, his ex-husband’s wedding.

🌸 Lucky Again by BoosBabycakes / @boosbabycakes28

(T, 10k, exes) It’s been 7 years since Harry and Louis broke up and one special tattoo on Louis’ fingers might be what brings them back together again.

🌸 Birthday Boyfriend by @emmli28

(M, 6k, meet cute) It’s Harry’s birthday, and he has had a rather shitty day, to be honest. That changes the moment a complete stranger sits down across from him at a bar and decides to make it the best birthday ever.

🌸 in the middle of the night, when the wolves come out by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 4k, omegaverse) A snowstorm ruins Harry's Christmas plans. Presented with an alternate in an equally stranded Louis, he finds that he doesn't mind so much.

🌸 X Marks The Spot by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 4k, exes) Breaking up six weeks before their best friends’ wedding wasn’t ideal, especially given the fact that both Harry and Louis are part of the wedding party. What happens when they see each other at the wedding and actually get a moment alone during the reception?

🌸 My husband (29/M) died and has been possessed by a demon and now he’s cooking eggs in my kitchen as if nothing happened, what do I do? by cosycryptid

(M, 4k, MCD) The man, Harry, his husband, is standing there. Louis still hasn’t removed his wedding ring and he doesn’t think he ever will. He looks down and sees it still sitting on Harry’s finger also, though, there’s mud and dirt staining the silver. Actually. Come to think of it. He’s covered in mud. His whole body. The suit they buried him in is torn in places and there’s grass stains lining his wrinkled white shirt.

🌸 Sweven by @1diamondinthesun

(NR, 4k, Idiopathic Hypersomnia) "So this Harry,” Liam chuckled, reaching for the business card, “Harry Styles, witnessed you in a near nap state and gave you his card? And his personal number?”

🌸 Through Darkest Clouds by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, Orpheus and Eurydice AU) “That’s the deal. You cannot look at him. You cannot speak to him. Until you’re over the border, he is to know nothing.” Harry nods, face set. “If that’s what it takes,” he says. After all, he has no choice.

🌸 Silently Calling You Home by Spigityspack

(NR, 3k, established relationship) Harry is coming home from a trip and wants to take Louis out as a way to celebrate. Louis falls ill and feels awful for ruining Harry's plans.

🌸 The lights are a little too bright by @sunflour28

(G, 2k, chronic dizziness) Louis' a little done with his situation. He's seen the same hospital room far too many times in his life. Maybe things will start looking up though- now that Harry's in the same waiting room as him.

🌸 calm down girl by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 1k, meet cute) Harry can't handle the stress of boarding his darling cat. Louis is happy to ease his worries.

🌸 What If We Were Penguins? by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down

(NR, 1k, penguins) A late night question turns into the strangest dream... or is it?

- Rare Pairs -

🌸 Let Us Be Lovers by @lululawrence

(NR, 27k, Louis/Diego Luna) Louis and Diego were only supposed to have a one night stand. When Diego's parents unexpectedly turn up the morning after, Louis finds himself getting a crash course in Mexican culture and Diego's family, and quite possibly the healing he didn't even realize he still needed.

🌸 Two, He's Kissing On You by @louislittletomlintum

(E, 10k, Louis/Harry, Louis/Zayn/Harry) the one where louis' a life model, zayn is a photographer, and harry is also there

[cannedtomaytas]

An interesting thing about Jayce and Viktor in Arcane is the show literally tells viewers to care for their disabled friends. I mean, Viktor had nobody but Jayce, in a world where discrimination doesnt exist, yet he was still insecure and that drove him to try and cure the incurable, an impossible feat that drove him to attempt to start the world anew.

Its selfish yet strangely accurate to the position many disabled people find themselves in. Viktor was blinded by his desperate need to fix what cannot be fixed, while Jayce was trying to aid him, to help him realise his potential and look past the physicality of it, to be a friend that many cant say they have. Jayce wasnt there just to babysit or care for a disabled person, rather he was there for Viktor, who happened to be disabled. He helped wipe the insecurity from Viktors mind in that last second and persisted through all the world variations and times just because he knew Viktors potential as a human being.

The show does an amazing job at portraying a disabled character as intelligent and capable, Viktor has never been put in a position where he is helpless, where the viewer must feel bad for him as the main emotive product. Jayce never had to come in and rescue him from his own disability, rather he just had to be there for him emotionally - he was the one to try and stop the Evolution (a product of his disability). And even then, no blame was put on Viktor, only understanding, showing Jayces growth as a character.

Their contrasting backgrounds is something I find especially emotive, as one has the ignorance of somebody who may not interact often with disabled people, while its Viktors entire livelihood. Yet, they still persist, as much as Jayce will never understand the efforts.

Jayce was decorated, he was able bodied, he took the light from Viktor, and became the face of HexTech. Then, he came back for him when he realised the passion that lay in Viktor for his work, how he wanted nothing more but to help those that needed it (albeit in a drastic manner).

and just. “there is beauty in imperfections”.

Imagine the events if nobody stuck around through his life, or if Jayce only saw him for his disibility. Im going fucking insane

[riality-check]

ao3 link

Viktor does not have many friends at the Academy, but he is rarely alone. Such is the nature of university life. The academic environment is inherently social; he attends class with other students, eats alongside them, and must frequently bang on his wall so as to alert his neighbors that he can, in fact, hear… whatever activities they decide to do on weeknights. Being alone at the Academy is a difficult feat, and it is one that does not go out of his way to accomplish.

He has learned that surprises some of his classmates. They often remark, when they are paired with him for group projects, about their perceptions of him.

“I thought you’d be meaner.”

“I thought you’d be quieter.”

“I always assumed you were just shy.”

Every time, Viktor must refrain from rolling his eyes. Topside politeness is a strange thing, he has learned. It is very performative, with its big smiles and friendly, useless greetings. He finds it difficult to imitate - why, for example, ask someone “how are you?” if neither they nor him truly care for the answer? - and so he sticks to Undercity standards.

Nod politely as a greeting. Give people space unless they require conversation. Offer a chair or a coat or a snack if someone is in need, with the understanding that the debt will be repaid.

Back home, his parents were often praised for raising such a polite boy. Here, at least once a semester, someone comments on his standoffishness.

It does not matter. He is not here to slack off. He is here to learn. He does not need anything more than the pleasant, occasional company of his classmates, who, he is discovering, will offer their smiles but never their coats.

Every once in a while, he does get more. Someone will stay in his room for a night - they always think they are the ones in charge at the beginning, a fact that Viktor finds equally amusing and irritating - and coo sweet words about his appearance and his intellect.

He is lucky if they look at him the next morning. He learns the hard way that they are perfectly content with a trencher in their bed but never on their arm.

When this finally sinks in - it does not take long; he has always been a quick study - Viktor swallows back whatever odd thing it is that rises in his throat and determines that this attitude suits him perfectly well.

______________________________________________________________

The brace is simple in its concept but difficult to perfect. Considering the amount of time spent constructing his current cane a few semesters ago, Viktor is not surprised. Engineering for biological systems is far more complex than, say, pure mechanical engineering. Pain and discomfort, for example, are complicating factors for his leg bug not for air filtration systems.

Viktor would much rather design air filtration systems than leg braces or canes. They are far more interesting and useful on a larger scale. But the truth of the matter is that he cannot trust anyone else to construct these devices for him. Only he knows how they feel for his body, and the effort he would have to undergo to translate the abstract (but very real) sensations of wrongness, in all their varied forms, into words that another person can understand is not worth it. Not when he can just grab a wrench.

What is that saying? “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Story of Viktor’s life.

He sits on his bed, right leg crossed at an uncomfortable height over his left, and tightens a screw. The previous designs are all documented in his notebook, which he flips through using his unoccupied hand. With every problem he eliminates, a new one arises. It is the worst haggling he has ever partaken in.

The brace must be worn underneath his trousers; he will not wrinkle his uniform if he can avoid it. Until recently, this meant that the cold, harsh metal of the brace would chill and bite at his skin. He only had so much salve (fresh unopened tin, left in the communal bathroom for a week with no takers) left, and he intended to save it for injuries that mattered.

He tried once, a few days ago, with a long sock on underneath the brace, but it rolled down so often and so severely that in a fit of exasperation, he nearly cut it off with scissors. Then he remembered that his sewing kit did not have enough black thread to repair that level of damage.

He only had three pairs of socks left, as they had a proclivity for vanishing inexplicably each time he washed his clothes. So, he could not cut it.

This design should, hopefully, “do the trick.” He attached cushioning (A petite girl he had taken a calculus class with, when she woke up the next morning in his room, asked, with a glance at the sewing kit left on his desk, if he could hem a dress for her. She repaid him by purchasing his next meal - real food, finally, not from the university - and letting him keep the scrap. He never saw her again.) to the parts of the brace most uncomfortable to wear.

All the old problems - tension, pressure, weight, bulk - have been resolved. There will only be new ones.

Viktor tightens the last screw. Time to see what those will be.

The brace is multifunctional. Primarily, its design is intended to correct the abnormal inward rotation of his right leg. Secondarily, it supports his knee and ankle to both allow his muscles to stop carrying that burden and prevent the joints from overextending and subluxating, as they often tend to do.

It will be uncomfortable, compelling his leg away from its natural state. But Viktor can live with discomfort if it is in exchange for improvement.

He has been haggling in this manner for his entire life.

With assistance from his cane, he stands. Then, he divides his weight evenly between his two own feet, holding his cane aloft.

There is the discomfort, as he had expected, but there is no pain.

He paces up and down the length of his dorm without his cane. His joints are relegated to a normal range of motion, which is restrictive but more stable. They do not feel as loose. A dull stretch, induced by the rigidity of the brace fighting against his body, along the side of his leg runs from thigh to calf, but that is all.

No other pain. No true pain, other than the dull ache of adjustment.

He nearly falls over with the realization before he catches himself on the wall. He has had days free of pain before, but they occurred far more often when he was a child. Now, they are so few and far between that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to have the distraction of it removed almost entirely. 

He can think more clearly without it whispering talking shouting in his ear. He can breathe more easily.

Walking is awkward, what with the new rotation and the added weight, but he conjectures that he will get acclimated to it. He wants to get acclimated to it.

Outside of his window, he has a nearly unobscured view of the Academy clocktower. It takes him one glance to realize he is very nearly late for his systems course.

In his haste, Viktor nearly forgets to bring his cane with him to class. With how his brace reduces the pain, it is merely a failsafe in the event his balance is compromised by the awkwardness of his gait.

He barely uses it. Once he gets used to the new positioning of his leg, walking is a little easier. Slower, but easier. And the whole time, his cane barely makes contact with the ground.

The whispers are loud as always.

“Did he get better?”

“Has he been faking?”

“I knew someone our age couldn’t actually need it.”

He holds his head up and ignores them. When he catches a look, he returns the stares and wins.

He knows he will never be able to run. He could not when he was a child, and the unfortunate fact that the many non-functioning components of his body will only degrade - a fact he greatly prefers not to dwell on - has prohibited the notion for the rest of his life.

For the first time, he wants to run. So badly, in fact, that it is heart that aches instead of his leg.

He walks into class without the assistance of his cane, with the brace hidden underneath his pant leg, and believes, entirely, that this could work. That maybe he can walk like this, with no outward signal that he is different. Non-functional. Built incorrectly in the compounding of each and every failure inflicted upon the Undercity.

Maybe this is something he can overcome with his intellect. He already crawled up. What is stopping him from walking upright?

What is stopping his brilliant mind from allowing him to run?

He spends all day testing this notion, barely using his cane.

Viktor should have known the haggling would not work entirely in his favor. It never has.

When his body comes to collect, he pays in full. With interest.

The other installments, if you're interested: 1, 2, 3. 5 6.

[11queensupreme11]

What if Percy children like all them reverse Isekai into pjo world like all them got sent to camp half blood oh man those poor campers and poor Chiron also 😭 (I don't feel bad for Mr d he deserves get bullied by all them😆 ) and even better what if in the timeline where the still searching Percy and then saw her children who look like Percy get mistaken for Percy (which i highly doubt that since I think Antonius would know Percy the best plus grover )

depending on the which kid gets sent to them... camp is SCREWED 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

the pjo characters however won't mistake the kids as percy, even the girls that look more like her. why? because the percy they know is a regular demigod. she's hot af yes, but her children are GODS and they literally look unearthly perfect. the second one of the demigods see them, they're gonna know "oh shit. this is a god. why is a god here?"

(plus they're not like... lookalikes really, they just share most of percy's traits like her sea green eyes, black hair, and/or brown skin, they're not near copies of her tbh 😅)

now anyway, let's say the kids get isekai-ed and land right in camp! they spend some time there and somehow some way the campers realize that this kid may or may not be connected to percy in a rather... concerning way

axiandros: for this scenario it'd HAVE to be mr. d who finds him because if it were any of the campers, they'd fucking die 💀 the only reason he's staying in this camp is because it's connected to the gods and he wants answers as to why he's in this strange universe. he also introduces himself as the son of poseidon... and PERCILLA 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 naturally, everyone freaks the fuck out and starts showing him pics of their percy, HOPING he says it's a different person but no.... his mother really IS their percy and somehow she gets knocked up by an alt!poseidon (pjo!poseidon's in shambles rn 💀). anyway, he's a very unhappy camper lmao. everyone's avoiding him not just because he's dangerous, but also because he's THEIR percy's kid.... and they're not liking the implications of his birth

kymon: reserved, but not dangerous at least. he stays to himself at the camp, quiet and observing. he has -10000 hopes in the gods of the universe finding a way to send him back home (he was there for one of the olympus meetings and realized these gods can't get ANYTHING done to save their lives 💀). he doesn't tell anyone much about himself but easily picks up on the fact that the percy they're looking for is actually his mother. he knows he should be trying to find a way back, but he can't help but learn more about what his mother was like before she was sent to their universe. anthonius is the first to get sus; this strange god doesn't seem to care about anything but the second percy's brought up (someone kymon shouldn't know), he perks up and pays attention????? 🤨

thalassandros: the instant people see him, with pjo!poseidon's features, they immediately knew he was a godly son of poseidon 😂 so in to the poseidon cabin he goes while the gods scramble and try to figure out what to do with him. now, remember, the only demigod kid poseidon has is PERCY so all the stuff in that cabin is hers. she has photos of herself and her friends on the walls and thalassandros zeroes in on that, freaks out, and barges into the big house demanding answers like "hey why the fuck do you weirdos have pictures of my mom back when she was a kid all over that ugly ass cabin?!?!?!?! 👹🔱" and that's how everyone finds out he's percy's son 😭😭😭😭😭

pontoleon: rude and abrasive up until they find out that he's somehow a son of poseidon that he didn't know about and he gets sent to stay at the poseidon cabin. poor kid's absolutely terrified. he has NO idea what this poseidon is like, but he just cannot stay in that cabin. so he avoids it, fearing that this poseidon would be just as horrible as his father 💔 he spends most of his time in the lake, avoiding everyone, even the nymphs that live there. ppl quickly pick up that he's weirdly avoidant whenever the topic of poseidon comes up; he's usually quite rude and huffy but the second someone mentions poseidon, he clams up and tries to leave. it isn't until he finally musters up the courage to step into the poseidon cabin does he finally see percy's pictures and it clicks that the missing girl they've been looking for was actually his MOTHER. now the poor kid's even more terrified. should he tell anyone? would this poseidon hurt him too??? someone help this poor god 😭

eudorios: the demigods like him! he's charming and sweet and lowkey reminds them all of percy in a way! he's surprisingly rather chill for a god; he eats with them, trains with them (he takes it SUPER easy tho for obvious reasons), and he even offers swim lessons! it's obvious that this kid is some kind of sea god but they've never heard of a god named "eudorios" before (he tells them to call him "dory" if they wanna!). chiron, mr. d, anthonius, and nico are kinda sus about him. he seems like a genuinely decent dude, but there's just something... off about him. mr. d is even worse because he can literally sense the insanity in this kid. a mentally unstable god randomly showing up in camp and none of the gods know who he is? anyway, things take a turn when he finds out that they've been missing a camper for several years now and then he sees the photo and tilts his head like a puppy with a deadly look in his eyes, "Oh? you're looking for MY mother? and what do you want with her, hmm? 😊"

cearbhall: the gods are at a loss because WHYYYY is there a CELTIC god at the GREEK camp for demigods?????? the greeks are calling up the irish like "yo one of ur kids got lost, can you come pick him up?" and they're like "uh wtf are you talking about" 😭😭😭😭 anyway, like father like son, he would ABSOLUTELY mess around with the girls at the aphrodite cabin but while he's ahem 'sleeping over', he finds pictures of his MOM in one of the picture frames and loses it (he inherited cú chulainn's overprotective tendencies when it came to the women/girls in his family 😭): "WHY DO YOU HAVE PICTURES OF MY MOTHER?! ARE YOU STALKING HER?! I'LL KILL YOU!" "YOUR WHO NOW?!" and that's how the aphrodite cabin nearly gets slaughtered 💀

luisne: she terrorizes everyone 😭😭😭 she terrorizes the demigods, the satyrs, the nymphs, chiron, and mr. d. and when mr. d called up olympus to deal with her, she terrorized them too 😭😭😭😭 she HATES camp half-blood. everything is UGLY and SHITTY, the closest thing to "luxury" is the aphrodite cabin but everything there is just that cheap ass human brands they call "high quality". olympus is begging the celtic pantheon to PLEASE pick this child up, but they have no idea who they're talking about and they could hear luisne screeching in the background so there's no way they'd take her in either 😭

ponyo: bless her 😭💖💖 the only percy baby so far to actually be a decent person so she definitely WON'T give the camp a hard time 🥺💖💖💖💖 polite, well-behaved, tho a little reckless at times, she's probably one of the kindest gods they've ever met. she's so helpful too; she saved one of the kids from drowning at the lake and decided to try and teach the kids how to swim 💖 also gained a long list of admirers (lol she really is percy's kid 😂). anthonius is the only one sus of her, not because he thinks she's bad tho! it's just... odd..... she claims be a greek and celtic goddess, but ponyo isn't a greek or celtic name. it IS however, the name of percy's fav ghibli movie........ and he knows percy would happily name her kids after it no matter how ridiculous it sounded....... and ponyo has percy's features........ unable to take it anymore, he straight up asks her "who exactly are your parents?" and she happily says, to the disbelief of EVERYONE AT CAMP, "oh, my mother is Percilla and my father is Cú Chulainn! ☺️"

luke: now... you see, the LAST person at camp to be named luke brought kronos back from tartarus and started a revolution that nearly ended the world..... and in this universe, names are VERY important...... so for some random scary god to show up years after their savior disappears, with the SAME NAME as the one who nearly destroyed them.... well, you can imagine how tense they all are 😭😭😭 especially, anthonius. cuz luke is very clearly a god, but "luke" is not a godly name. plus, he has all of percy's features. it doesn't take anthonius that long to come to the conclusion that this god could possibly be percy's son, SOMEHOW, who she named after their fallen friend/traitor luke 💀

[fataldrum]

Dorian Gray is queer art, period.

Apparently Netflix has decided to make an adaption of The Picture of Dorian Gray with Dorian and Basil as siblings. Unless they're planning to go the gothic horror incest route, they've completely missed the point of the relationship between these characters.

If you haven't read the book, Basil is a painter who becomes infatuated with a beautiful young man, pouring his feelings into a painting. Dorian becomes jealous of the painting's beauty, realizing that he will never be as young and unspoiled as the version of himself on the canvas. He finds himself wishing that the painting could age instead of him. His wish is granted, allowing him to stay young and beautiful until the end, with his moral and spiritual decline reflected only in the painting.

I cannot overstate how queer this book is. Dorian is so beautiful that their first meeting inspires a wave of existential terror in Basil. Dorian changes Basil's entire understanding of art and beauty. This book is so queer it was used as evidence at Wilde's sodomy trial.

The existence of the portrait itself is tantamount to a confession of queer desire. Basil tells his friend, Lord Henry, that he can't exhibit the painting because "I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry (who will later lead Dorian into a life of vice) laughs, but Basil explains:

“[E]very portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. [...] It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

This is how he describes meeting Dorian:

When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. [...] I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

Notice that turn of phrase--it was not conscience but cowardice that made him attempt to flee. Why would conscience factor into his decision? Because he felt shame at his reaction to Dorian's perfect, beautiful face.

Lord Henry is shocked to discover Basil cares for something besides his art.

“He is all my art to me now,” said the painter gravely. “I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the world’s history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me.

Basil goes on to confess, "I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there."

Lord Henry still doesn't understand why there is too much of Basil in the painting, so Basil explains:

“Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expression of all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never know anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry—too much of myself!”

Lord Henry asks how Dorian feels about Basil, and his response is absolutely tragic.

The painter considered for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered after a pause; “I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”

Any adaptation that ignores the way Dorian's existence and beauty utterly destroyed Basil is doomed to be shallow and insipid. This is not just a book about a magic painting. It's a monument to queer longing.