#i really wanted to keep their features in tact

[itz-pandora]

Human designs of Void, Andromeda, and Polarity that I made for fun!

All three belong to @emthimofnight

[the-darklings]

today i bury you in me ╱ finale preview.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ series masterlist

The Endless are formidable individually. Raw power holding this universe together given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades. 

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this. 

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones. 

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. He was the oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you. 

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves. 

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t empty, you might be throwing up right now. 

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she turns back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils, her hair flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green today. 

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds. 

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal point. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up. 

Destruction chuckles beside you, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm. 

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but you’re not sure you could stomach it right now. Not without losing it moments later. 

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way in your peripheral. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend and grasp sentiments that are so far out of their reach. 

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. That wild animal fear and helplessness is what you associate him most closely with. 

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

[cru5h-cascades]

Sins of the Flesh Update Trailer Dissection!

(plus some other stuff that wasn't shown in the trailer!)

At long last, the long awaited trailer & release date reveal for the newest Cult of the Lamb update's out! Storywise, there's not much to go off of from the trailer, but hey a bunch of new stuff to do in the new update!

Right out of the gate we see one of the main selling points of the update in a short animated segment of the vid: SEX. It's here we see the mating tent, where followers can do their thing and create an egg (just like I predicted! the xmas art for CotL was a teaser for the mating feature!). In order to use the mating tent, a new mechanic is introduced where followers have to have a high enough level of love for each other in order to use the tent. Once they do, you can have them make out with each other in the tent and as soon as they finish their love making session they'll come out of the tent with an egg, which you can either A) harvest for food or B) keep the egg in tact to have A BABY FOLLOWER!!! YESSS!!! I REALLY WANTED THIS TO BE IN THE UPDATE SO FUCK YEA!!! It's unclear if we ourselves can use the mating tent, but we'll find out eventually.

New follower attire (previously revealed alongside the announcement that booze would be added to the game)

We're re-introduced to a new weapon: the gun (previously revealed to us a few weeks before xmas) and get some footage of it in action.

A new follower interaction is shown off where we can fight a follower during a crusade (sorta like how Shamura turned a follower on a player in the base game's story campaign). May or may not be connected to the update's new story if there is one, which might be the case.

It appears you can further upgrade your meetinghouse/church/whatever you call it in this update. Perhaps even customize it? Seems like that in the trailer.

A re-introduction to the ability to serve booze to followers (also previously revealed to us before xmas)

New rituals ahoy! The one in the trailer where the followers are going ape shit is called the Rite of Wrath, where followers will go ahead and unleash the purge in your cult grounds by going around killing and fighting each other, vanalizing the cult grounds, and more. There's another one in the trailer that might have to do with more casual canabalizim in this game (instead a follower's presumably being eaten alive in this instance). And another ritual is going to be added into the update which is called the Rite of Lust, where your followers dance around a shrine in the Lamb's image naked. There's more rituals being added into the game but those are just a few.

A possibility of gaining more hearts??

Follower Sozo. That's all I gotta say here.

And that's everything that got revealed in the trailer. There's still a few more things that the trailer didn't show, which I'll talk about now:

New minigame ahoy! By using the new drum circle, you can now play a new rhythm game-based minigame!

A new food source (which remains unnamed; possibly due to lore significance?)

The new rituals may or may not have a tie with another new game mechanic called Sin. As of now it's unknown why we need to generate Sin in this update, but if I had to guess it has to do with the story of the new update.

There was other stuff revealed outside the trailer but those just had someting to do with something shown in the trailer (how the mating tent works and the Rite of Lust). We still dunno about why the crown turns into a snake-lookin' thing and we dunno why followers can turn on us in this update but hey at least we're getting the update soon! Then we can figure all of this stuff out for ourselves.

Sins of the Flesh will release January 16th!

[sunnydayjackass]

Hi! I love your posts! Got any possible headcanons if S/O ever discovers Jack's real identity? Maybe one day they call him by his real name Joseph and show him a 'MISSING PERSON' report of that year

Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

If you expressed any interest in looking into Jack's past, he'd do everything he could to shut it down. He's told you where he's from-Cloudy Town, he's told you about his friends and family from there, he'd thought that'd been enough. It isn't entirely a lie either but he's content to stick to it to keep you from prying.

Jack would assure you that this is who he is, who he's meant to be and always has been. There's nothing else to it, Sunshine, don't you believe him?

Naturally the production company and studio kept most if not everything under lock and keys. Keeping the information tightly secured under coverups and NDAs so a lot of your trails lead ultimately to dead ends. Jack just figures you'll tire out of it and give it up. He's here with you, in this moment, isnt it enough? It's a tinge frustrating but Jack doesn't have it in him to be upset at your curious nature.

Should you find a missing persons report or a photo of Joseph Cullman/Haberdae- Jack will absolutely flat out deny it. He won't even look at the photo. "Gosh, I mean...I guess he kinda looks like me I suppose but you know my name, silly." Jack will brush it off, saying that they even look a little similar is as close as you'll get out of him

Internally- mans is freaking the fuck out. That's not the person he is anymore, that's the real ghost in all of this. He's clean and free now, he's a better man, the best man. He isn't some troubled vagabond in tattoos and will even show you his arms and chest to prove a point.

"See? I told you." He chuckles, trying to choke down the anxiety. "Not a mark on me, Sunshine. I told you he's not me. I'm me. Poor guy though. Maybe someday they'll find him if he wants to be found." Never.

After the song and dance, if you accept Jack's points and drop the interrogations and research- it's an IMMENSE relief. Hell, he's thrilled to help you get rid of all the materials you collected. After all, the paper shredder makes it all look like confetti! And there's something just so satisfying about seeing Joseph's face go through the shredder and come out in teensy little pieces.

But if you still press, continuing to pepper Jack with questions instead of kisses or staying late into the night online or at the library, it'll take a different turn of tact.

"...why don't you believe me, Sunshine? Have I done something wrong to betray your trust?" It's that hurt turn of voice and aching look on his features as though very wounded by you not beliving his answers. "I know you're just trying to help, it's very sweet but...you can't help this man. Not all people want to be found." Again- not entirely a lie. "Sunshine, this fixating isn't good for your health. That's enough screen time, let me help you get ready for bed."

He doesn't want to fry your computer. He doesn't want to hide your library card or materials. But he will if he has to and he'll absolutely insist that he didn't. You don't have proof he's this man you seem to think he is and you have no proof of him blocking your efforts.

Really, Sunshine. It's better to let the dead rest.

[cyanidehog]

Hello! Could I request some yandere Silver the hedgehog headcanons? If not that’s okay, I totally understand. Have a good day!

BLOG'S 1ST request is for my favorite boy <333 thank you for kickstarting off my writing with this ! no spellchecking we die like (redacted)

⤷ “ i swear to you. as long as i’m by your side, you’ll never be harmed. ” [ ♡ 1.2k words -- SILVER + READER. ]

> first of all: worst hedgehog to have after you. he literally jumps through time. whether you are a civilian or an overpowered entity, you're screwed. not in a physical sense—he values your freedom and your dignity. it's just... you won't be able to avoid his advances. silver knows you better than you do yourself. after years of studying you, he'll have figured what makes you snap, what makes you melt, and the little intricacies that weave your past. then he'll drop himself back to a point in time where your relationship was still amicable and he'll sweep you up with a winner smile, using up every detail he soaked up in conversation about your person as a stepping stone.

> how you met is inconsequential. it could've been simple happenstance aided by your curiosity, or thanks to amy introducing you at an event. whatever the reason, you come to know of silver's plights and circumstances.

> silver latches onto you with a hunger because of your care and interest in his well-being. it's not that people aren't welcoming, or haven't been kind to him and blaze, of course not. there's been warmth aplenty in sonic's timeline. what sets you apart are the extra lengths you go to for his accommodation in a world alien to him and the love you display in different gestures: cooking him a sprawling dinner (a banquet of cultures, really!) or tidying up a place for him to crash at if need be; spending hours explaining history and the current state of affairs to a being completely removed from the context of modern society and common knowledge; finding time in your schedule to go places together and make albums of memories... the list could go on. you really tried your best for your friend - silver who'd never seen a tree or a valley or a flower... how could you not?

> you won't ever have fights with him. it's surreal and fantastical. he always, always has a hand in guiding you to a pleasant time. attentive and sweet and teasing, silver knows how to rile you up into feverish delight and how to soothe any nerves and doubts of yours. it's slightly unfair, actually, because at times you wish you could have the same tact and coolness he displays. whenever you express the want to make him happy he gets touchier and more joyful than usual, so you count that as a little win of yours. it is nice to brighten the day of someone who treats you fondly. and the tiny, furiously wagging tail is an endearing sight.

> your like or dislike for physical touch will define how he starts showing affection to you. if you're fine with it, silver won't hesitate to caress your back or shoulder, will lock arms with you on walks, and say goodbye with a peck to your temple. warm and strong hugs will be commonplace. you'll find yourself encased in embraces far too tender and embarrassing to remain cool-headed. and the average distance between you two will shrink every week. slowly but surely.

> if you are averse to it, he'll do his best to keep his hands to himself… though if you fall asleep in his vicinity, he'll slide a hand or two through your face and play a little with your features. it will be innocent enough to sate his need for your warmth. for a while. he'll get into the habit of playing with your fingers or tugging your clothes for attention. might develop a fondness for spaces full of people, if only to feel you leaning on him thanks to the moving multitudes. he'll also steal trinkets or inconspicuous articles of clothing that belong to you. he won't realize it, but not having your touch will starve him terribly, and he'll try to have his fill in other ways.

> you call him silvie and he's about to bust an aneurysm. his face catches on fire to the point he thinks it might be a heatstroke, and the real possibility of him fainting grows exponentially. he gives you a very personal nickname. some inside joke between the two of you. will whisper it only when you are both alone.

> he's devoted? dedicated? invested? in your friendships and emotional health. scratch that. like rotisserie chicken, his brain rotates worries about your daily life and physical and mental health to the point of burning itself to a crisp. he fears not having control over your joys. he gets literally sick ruminating on whether or not you are getting your due sleep, your due rewards, or your deserved love from those around you. he'll be a smidge too sharp on picking up changes in your mood and mentions of acquaintances and buddies and family. he probably has a journal with graphical maps on your relationships and other miscellanea. has filled up the margins with ideas on how to cheer you up and keep everything in check. whatever that means, or entails.

> HAHA if you get sick? if you get sick you'll sooner perish from silver's overwhelming presence by your side than from your illness. it's here that his obsession bleeds through enough to be alerted by. he gets super fussy over who's coming over and what you're eating. feels like it's his duty to schedule your time indoors and outdoors, and to make several lists of activities and meals and exercises for your speedy recovery. will have restocked your pantry and fridge with your favorite snacks and fruits before you know it (how did you know this is my fave, silvie? to which he replies: oh - isn't this what besties are for?) and areas such as the bathroom or your kitchen will be cleaned thrice as fervently. he's going to be around so often that you'll stumble across his toothbrush or his towel neatly organized along with your stuff. and yes he will give a subtle nudge towards the idea of being roomies, and having sleepovers, and movie nights, and so on. he won't be moving his stuff out even after you recover.

> anyway - silver is a protective, obsessive, manipulative and insidious yandere. your needs will most certainly be met when he's around and he'll try to elevate you into a lil pedestal while trying to improve your lifestyle in ways he thinks are the best. you won't have to worry about threats (eggman's or others') because he'll make sure you live in a peaceful and beautiful world. if he ever has to travel to accomplish this he'll make sure to return with a plethora of gifts and stories to share. but he'll worm and dig and root his way through your barriers and reservations until you rely on him, to some degree or other. he'll be... soft and good for you.

> and... you'll never have to know about all the screw ups in a different timeline. if silver has committed a chain of overlapping atrocities trying to monopolize your affection, how would you ever find out? you'll never know the depravities he has executed on others, nor the kind of abnormality he is a slave to. he'll always be just silver to you.

> so please, please, please. don't look at anybody else with tender love in your eyes. don't break his heart and make him crawl on his knees. don't make him screw the world over for a few crumbs of your time, and everything will be just perfect.

[thecameronchronicles]

No Other Name

TW: Smut. Language. Dark!Rafe.

SUMMARY: A regrettable utterance sends your boyfriend to remind you his name will be the only one you ever say again…

WORD COUNT: 1500

*Requested*

No Other Name

The second his name left your lips, you wished you could swallow yourself whole. Rafe was the only person you ever wanted and yet someone else’s name had left your lips. But it wasn’t just any name…it was the name of a pogue-someone he loathed with every fiber of his being. It was what drove his loving lips from your inner thigh and now back to you with focus as he had licked his lips into a part before you watched them close in less than pleased clench. 

“Why the fuck are you moaning some pogues name while I’m between your legs?” He asked, angelic features darkened by this question as you knew no amount of an explanation would soothe this moment. You could try to convince him of the truth, that you had gotten into a spat with JJ Maybank and were frustrated for the comebacks you didn’t have a chance to say back, but you knew these attempts would be made in vain as Rafe was the kind to always have his mind made up. So instead, you just apologized. 

“You’re sorry? Why are you thinking about him right now? Huh? You want HIM here instead of me? Is that it? You want to say his name while someone’s making you feel good?” Your breathing accelerated in the worry of his reaction. Even though Rafe was an exceptional boyfriend with his undivided attention and devotion, it would also prove a reason for angst. 

“No…” You managed to utter as he pulled from between your legs and onto the side of the bed before tearing you to its edge by the way of your ankles. A gasp having interrupted the otherwise silent room as you were left with your eyes stationed in his own. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not-” He reached down to you, fingers wrapped within your hair as he pulled you close enough to kiss him, but finding the expression on his face offering you anything but this compassion. 

“I don’t want your fucking excuses. I don’t care to hear ‘em…But I’m gonna make sure it never fucking happens again-” He pulled you ever tighter to the edge of the bed, your panties torn clean off of yoru hips without a care to keep them in tact as you inhaled a sharp breath of surprise to his carnality. 

“Rafe…”

“You’re gonna say my name everytime or I’ll hit you, do you understand?” You swallowed hard. “You don’t get to come until I know you’ve learned your lesson-yeah?” 

“Rafe-” A solid collision of his fingers to your pussy forced you to jump as you had expected the ‘hit’ to come to your cheek as he had done so in prior roles of dominance. But this was different. This was a true punishment-not something to quell your own kink. He wanted that threat of pain along with the pleasure, always promising one or the other. 

“Every lick, I better hear my name…Or you’re gonna ache for me in a new way…” You nodded as he released your hair and allowed you to recline in some state of rest as you looked back at him. 

“Don’t even think about closing your eyes either. I want it engrained in your fucking subconscious of who belongs here…” He pulled your legs over his shoulders. 

“Right…Here…” He slowed his words, ensuring you felt the breath directly on your sex as they were spoken. 

“I don’t want to have to hurt you…so I REALLY hope you can listen this time…” You nodded again, devoted to the cause as he would draw that first line of his tongue, his name a natural moan coming from your lips. But after a handful of stripes that quickened once he was pleased with how you had obeyed, your mind became transcendent in that pleasure of his thorough intentions you loved above all else. 

“Fuck!” You belted to the cruel slap made to your clit, the remaining sting forcing you to wince as he would return to his licks, the recovery of your strike making you silent and warranting yet another hit. 

“Do I need to brand my name onto your fucking tongue to make you say it?!” You shook your head as you wouldn’t put such a thing past him. He had a kink for truly everything and the more depraved the desire the more desperate he was to entertain its beckoning. 

“Then I better hear it…NOW-”

“Rafe!” You belted as he smirked. 

“Always sounds so sweet from you..” He licked his own lips for a moment as if to consider ceasing his torment and allowing you both that pleasurable release. 

“Rafe…” You breathed again before he nodded and returned back between your thighs. 

“Now I want you to focus on me…how this feels…” He offered a single suck to your clit as you winced in pleasure reprimanded by his own self-guided absence. “And understand that if I ever hear that name or anyone else’s from your lips, you’ll never feel this again-”

“Rafe-”

“I want you to be quiet and think, baby…While I draw my name into your pussy, yeah?” He was already between your folds, spelling out each letter of his name inside of you in slow torture. 

The eroticism of his slowness yet threat behind his words had been enough to send you trembling, something he aided in the grip tightened around your thighs as he pulled you even further into him. The way your fingers wrapped through his hair as you tried to remain silent had pulled him to no longer care to spell his name as he instead dove your depths, needy to bring you to that edge while he pulled two fingers inside of you, curving them as you shuddered. 

“God, you make it impossible to be mad at you when you taste so fucking good!” He pulled back for only a second, allowing his winded breath to hit against your soaking cunt, before he looked back up to see how desperate you had been for him to continue. 

“Hands and knees, turn away from me.” You obeyed, flipping yourself over as requested, before hearing him undress behind you. 

“Each thrust, I wanna hear my name or I’m gonna make it so you can’t sit, yeah?” You nodded. “And don’t come until I say-”

“Rafe!” He chuckled. 

“Getting ahead of ourselves, sweetheart, I haven’t even put it in yet.” You bowed forward until feeling him inside of you, the familiar fullness driving you to that moan as you breathed his name in that natural effect he had on you. But once again, as your head began to spin at the feeling of his motions erasing your sense of instruction, you would find his aforementioned promise in a swat to your ass. 

“Rafe!”

“Is THAT what it takes to remind you? Just slapping your ass while I’m pounding it, huh?”

“Fuck…”

“Not my name…” He reminded. 

“RAFE! PLEASE!” Your ass was hit again, this time with blows much harsher than those that had come before it. 

“Rafe! Rafe! RAFERAFERAFE!” You spoke his name as he requested. With each thrust. Prompting him to praise you with his guttural ‘good girls’ and quickening pace. Until finally his own desire reached its pinnacle that he could no longer deny. He would lift you against him, hand wrapped around your throat to keep you stabilized in place. 

“You stop saying my name and you don’t get to come for a fucking week-and that’s only when I”ll take you to The Cut to make you scream it on the top of your goddamn lungs-”

“RAFE!” You cried out as he nodded. 

“That’s right baby-Show me you know it’s me-only me-EVER only me! No other name-” 

“YOU, RAFE, YOU!” You whimpered, moaning his name in repetition as he made quick work of your clit while you trembled against him. 

“Who makes you cry out like that?”

“Rafe!”

“Who makes you come so hard that we gotta clean these sheets more than once a day?”

“RAFE!”

“And who loves you enough to teach you that lesson so you’ll remember it for next time?!”

“RAAAFFEEE!” You chorused as he nodded into you, thrusts ungodly but in contrast to the selfishness of each time he would bottom out while his fingers more than made up for that lack of care. 

“Then come for me, sweetheart. Come for me while saying my name one last time…just once-” He groaned into you and felt you buckle into fatigue. Once both spent, his name now an echo, he brought you back against him, this time, for a tender kiss to your mouth that worsened your breathlessness. 

“Good girl, baby. Now let’s get you cleaned up…Made more of a mess than usual…guess you like saying my name…” He teased as you scoffed before being taken with care, a favorite in the aftermath of all moments shared with him; the calm after the storm…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-ls @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste

[kerink]

i do want to spend a little more time with the proverb

PROVERB: Love is a many-legged thing with human skin and no eyes.

so first, the human skin and no eyes thing. while it's an easy reach to go kevin with this (and thankfully we have those posts), i'd really like to talk about the snake god

from 171 we learn that the flickering creature haunting cecil is a snake with human skin and a human face and, at the very least, talons. cecil said its face was small, small enough he thought it was far away, and that it cried like a child. its eyes are expressionless. when cecil's mother told him she was an oracle, she gave him a book written in an unknown language and told him to study it. this book features drawings of this creature.

in 214 john peters, you know the farmer, says there were a couple hundred children gathered in his corn field speaking in an unknown language who worshiped a serpent god. their eyes were entirely white (<- adding this detail for my kevin warriors out there). john was taken by this snake god up to heaven where he was given an effigy of himself.

in 213 there's a mural depicting children standing in a field of corn while a winged snake god lifts all the adults into heaven. cecil said: "This action symbolizes our city being delivered into the future by a huge snake god."

in 79 we get: The symbolic dead lead the procession, each of them wearing the mask of one of those who went into the distance of time and can never return. Behind them is a float depicting the enormous serpent whose mouth contains the universe. A playful reminder to us all that even the stars must someday be swallowed.

and let's not forget cecil's iconic line from e1: Along those lines, to get personal for a moment, I think the best way to die would be swallowed by a giant snake. Going feet first and whole into a slimy maw would give your life perfect symmetry.

so let's break down this snake god.

cecil's mother was an oracle and aware of the creature, which cecil can see when he looks in the mirror, which cecil's mother covers. see my last post about cecil and his mother about what i think about this dynamic cause this post is long enough.

this snake god represents death and, more specifically, the death of the universe.

i don't think it's a coincidence that this snake god has appeared in night vale right when huntokar returned and her cult its picking up speed. huntokar is the destroyer after all, she ripped a hole in reality which has caused an immense amount of pain and suffering and which she is trying desperately to fix.

i also don't think it's a coincidence that this snake god has appeared when the uowii is trying to un-weird night vale, when we know from e110 that the belief night vale is weird is part of what keeps it in-tact

between the uowii and huntokar's meddling, is night vale going to un-weird enough to fix the damage huntokar did? and the snake god has appeared because to do so would be to destroy it? we know that huntokar acts only out of love, and yet, love is, possibly, this serpent

especially because cecil alludes to being swallowed by a serpent as being an inverse of birth, which is what he'd prefer

which brings us to the love part of the proverb. i'd like to circle back around to e102:

“Love is a shambling thing. It climbs through a window into an infant’s bedroom. When one of the mothers comes in to check on her baby son, there is love too in the crib, curled up beside him. Love murmurs, and the baby spits restlessly. The baby does not burn. The baby will eventually burn, but by then he will not be a baby. The woman looks down at the ghastly form of love, curled beside her son, and she thinks ‘what have I done?’ She cries, not because she is happy or sad, but because that is what her body needs to do next. Love rises from the crib, and passes her without a glance. Love is a shambling thing. It shambles out of her home."

and here i'd really like to redirect you to my post about cecil and his mother.

love has curled around cecil, almost like the thing in the mirror curled around his shoulders and digging in to draw blood. love has followed him since birth and doomed him. love is birth and death. love of his mother and love of his god.

if the smiling god is the unraveling of all things, and huntokar is the destruction of all things, is the serpent god the repair of all things? the bringing pieces back together? the future night vale will be delivered to?

and why children? why is the creature in the mirror a child and children were in the corn field and only children survived on earth in the mural?

children saved night vale from strexcorp because children could not be financially controlled. will children save night vale because they contain whimsy, imagination and belief? will their view of reality and the world keep them immune from the uowii? will the adults fall because of their unwavering faith in science? but the children will remain because just look at the state of the Children's Fun Fact Science Corner

a child saved desert bluffs too. it was in the play and imagination of a child the town was saved from kevin's hubris. will a child be what saves night vale from carlos' inaction and cecil's loyalty to his husband? will this child be esteban?

love curls around a son, after all

[mint-yooxgi]

I really respect how much you stand up for yourself. Not everyone has to agree with your opinions in order for them to be valid, and so many people (myself included) are people pleasers who prioritise being ‘nice’ over being honest and true to yourself and setting firm boundaries on the respect you deserve from others. It’s always refreshing to see someone who will stand their ground and I genuinely find it a source of inspiration, so I appreciate that just as much as your brilliant writing! If someone doesn’t like your stories they don’t have to read them. I’ve always taken your requests for feedback as a request to hear what people thought, not as a request for anyone who hated it to come out and insult it (very common courtesy, if I don’t enjoy something I obviously don’t interact with it???). I understand if people like the stories but want to share something constructive, but if you’re giving feedback on something that was FREE, the least you can do is be respectful - honesty without tact and respect is just cruelty. And I think you’re right in your observation that a lot of the hate/cringe anon stuff is coming from butthurt people who don’t like to be called out for their behaviour … sucks to be them! If only they’d take the opportunity to learn and grow from it 🥲

Hey love, I just want everyone to know I received this ask before I got the one I just responded to, but I felt the need to respond to the other one first because, I'll be very honest, I'm tired and very upset people keep taking things out of context and putting words in my mouth.

This is getting ridiculous at this point, and you're right here my dear anon, I AM going to stick up for myself because this is MY blog, and if people don't like it, they can see themselves out. I have every right to defend myself on my own blog, or make jokes out of rude, hateful anons that come into MY safe space and call ME a "dumbass hoe."

I, too, believe it or not, am a people pleaser, but I'm sick and tired of ignoring my own comfort in favour of others. This is something I felt finally needed to be said, and I'm very pleasantly surprised by how many other authors agree with me. Which, honestly, says a lot!

I literally never made it about the two blogs I reblogged those fic rec posts from. One of which, has reached out and said they're actually grateful I told them and is going to fix the post when they get a chance to! Kudos for them! That's the mature thing to do!

This whole situation never was directed at anybody, or meant to be targeted until certain people made it just about them. And now, it's ballooned into this when all I was asking was for basic respect for all authors. I'm just... shocked.

And I could not have said it better myself, anon. I hope you don't mind me quoting you here, but

"If someone doesn’t like your stories they don’t have to read them. I’ve always taken your requests for feedback as a request to hear what people thought, not as a request for anyone who hated it to come out and insult it (very common courtesy, if I don’t enjoy something I obviously don’t interact with it???). I understand if people like the stories but want to share something constructive, but if you’re giving feedback on something that was FREE, the least you can do is be respectful - honesty without tact and respect is just cruelty."

This, especially your last line about tact and respect is literally so important. I think people get too comfortable saying whatever they want behind the security of the anonymous feature. If you have a problem with me, then come off anon, or shoot me a private message, and we can deal with it there. Sending a rude anon during a time when I'm making a post about showing your authors respect just doesn't sit right with me. And if you're going to send feedback, like actual helpful feedback, make sure it will actually help the person you're sending it to? Also, make sure they asked?

I really hope people do take this opportunity to grow, and critically think about this situation before trying to get involved. Because at this point, a lot of people are just making themselves out to be an ass. (Not you anon, you're literally so sweet for sending me this! Same with everyone who has been supporting me and kind! So I thank you very much!!)

[caparvisquartet]

figured i could post this here too and have this short story as my first tumblr post, so here you go <3

Zoro is lost. He has an uncanny way to find his path back home.

(A zosan short story)

***

“Who the fuck gave the map to Zoro?!”

Nami roared, half-enraged half-stunned.

She turned to Usopp, recoiling in fear behind the trunk of one of the large trees that made the forest they were currently lost in.

"LONG NOSE! I entrusted you with the map, so don't run off and explain why it ended up in the directionally challenged idiot's hands!"

"Hey!" Zoro protested half-heartedly, at least sheepish enough to not make any additional comment. Nami decided to ignore him anyway.

"Explanation, now!" she barked at the sniper.

"Well, you see, it's funny, really..." he trailed off, looking to the side. Nami heaved a long-suffering sigh and grabbed the straps of his overalls with force.

She wore her sweetest, most threatening smile as she crooned, "what's funny?"

Usopp swallowed painfully, forced to look her in her rage-smoldering eyes.

"I really intended to keep it, Nami," he whined. She only tugged tighter on his clothes.

"But then there was this huge wolf, and I got scared, and Luffy offered to chase it off for me, right?"

Imploring eyes shone to her, but she didn't budge.

"He took the map at some point to shoo the monster away with it, and it didn't process immediately for me because of the fear, okay! And then he ran off, and I don't know what happened, and then we all met again and Luffy ran off again back to Sunny because he was hungry, and I didn't know anymore where the map was and I was too afraid to say anything about it..."

He slumped in her arms, utterly defeated. She didn't even have the strength to send him flying with her climat-tact, too busy being absolutely baffled by his carelessness.

She turned to Zoro, growling.

"Anything to say for yourself?"

The swordsman just glared at her defiantly.

"Luffy gave it to me. Figured I could do the job as well as Usopp."

"SO YOU LOST US BECAUSE YOUR ASS IS NOT EVEN CAPABLE TO READ A MAP???"

"I'm plenty capable!" Zoro barked in return, looking offended like he had absolutely NO business being. "And this shit here is more flaming garbage than it is a map, it's unreadable!"

She let go of Usopp, who fell limp to the forest floor, trembling, and snatched the map from Zoro's extended arm.

The paper was still wet from a jump in the water, probably, and was adorned by multiple sticky fingerprints that she immediately recognized as Luffy's. She turned the map in her hands, eyes going a dull shade of neutral, then looked back to her two companions.

Usopp winced at the sight of her face.

"None of you talk to me anymore," she decided, her grimace by that point as good as burnt into her features.

Taking a few angry steps to distance herself from the two boys, she then brusquely came to a halt when the realization dawned on her.

Lest she had the urge to strangle one of them, she kept her back to them as she growled.

"So. You're telling me that our map with the way back to the others is ruined. And, that we lost our foolish captain, who was the only one who could help us make it back to the Sunny, because he already ran off by himself to the ship?"

She tugged on her hair and heaved a crazed laugh.

"Great. Great! Absolutely tremendous."

Silence stretched out for a little while as she paced on the soft soil of the forest. Then, Zoro yawned and huffed a displeased sound.

"It's supper soon," he stated. "I'm hungry."

Bristling in rage, Nami whirled around and pointed a threatening finger right between his eyes.

"I literally couldn't care less right now."

Zoro just rolled his eyes like he was bored with the whole exchange. "You don't understand. It's supper soon."

"And?"

"And the cook is preparing dinner."

"O...kay? And what do you want me to do about it?"

He pointed to some place behind her.

"It's coming from there."

"Huh?"

She turned around. Saw nothing. On her side, Usopp turned to him in surprise, forgetting his apologetic and fearful muteness.

"How... Wait. You can smell it like Luffy does?? Like you do for booze?"

Zoro simply shrugged, the bastard.

Usopp and Nami both blinked owlishly at him.

"What gluttonish Nakama I have..." she muttered under her breath, then challenged, "How come you're able to smell food from this far?"

"I can't simply do it for any food. It has to be Curly's."

He said, like it was a perfectly fine answer. Their eyes widened even more.

"Haaah...?"

And to make matters even worse, the doofus had the indecency to blush a little.

"I mean, it's not really his food, specifically. It's just, his food smells just like him, you know?"

"NO, I DON'T KNOW!" she all but hysterically cried, and laughed at the same time, because what. The. Fuck.

"Wait, wait, backtrack." Usopp said, confusion etched all over his face. "You're telling us you can use Sanji's smell to navigate yourself around?"

Zoro made a face too guilty for Usopp to be wrong. "I never said anything like that!"

Nami was almost feeling her eyes slowly falling off her head.

"Dear god. You're absolutely hopeless, aren't you? How come you're not dying under the weight of such a humongous crush?"

Then, she turned to Usopp and whispered. "Like, come on, his smell? Ugh, they disgust me."

"I know, they really need to do something about this thing they have going on..."

"You guys finished?" Zoro growled. Nami couldn't really tell if he was beet-red from anger or the shameful revelation. She itched to laugh, suddenly.

The urge was just too great to pass.

"Find your way back to your boyfriend, lover boy," she cackled, tears seeping from the corner of her eyes at the absolute madness that just unfolded in the last couple of minutes.

Zoro gave her the finger.

"NOT my boyfriend, witch."

She just howled in another mighty bout of laughter.

[dragunsblood]

been working again on my mlp rework/post canon writing project again! sorry if my phone crunched any of these images i forgot to post them last night when i was on my pc...

lots to talk about here! first image is the current land boundaries of each country on this side of equestria. i'll get around to drawing the zebrican continent and the other side of the griffon continent one day i swear.

the flags here a combination of both canon flags and flags made by me (as far as i'm aware, the canon flags are mostly in the equestria games episode)

the harmonic union is a union of nations similar to the european union. yakyakistan is TENTATIVELY part of it i might take them out

you'll notice our town there, that's a small communist pocket in equestria lol

second image is a map of old ponyville vs new (though i accidentally drew it south side up)

finally we have some changeling reworks. i wanted them to keep some of their original body features in tact bc i really like the old changelings but i also like the new ones too. they're no longer monarchal, and thorax is not a king. instead, thorax is their elected representative. i've also reworked a bit how changeling life spans work, in that usually a reciprocated romantic love can keep them alive long enough to match or near match their partner's life span. useful for a creature made to eat love.

chrysalis sustained herself for thousands of years on her own love for herself, as well as the love born from fear of her subjects, but it ate at her and her subjects severely.

that's all for this time!!! do feel free to send in asks about this stuff btw i've been passively working on it for Years and it's like impossible for me to get it all down in an organized fashion at this point

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for saving this guy's life?

First, I want to make it clear that I held no malicious intent in my actions. I'm still thoroughly convinced I was not in the wrong here. But, in essence, I do some robotic science on the side, specifically how organic life and machine can compliment each other and make each other stronger. I've succeeded on increasing the strength, endurance, and even the lifespan of rodents, birds, and pigs. However, as it turns out, it's a bit difficult to get human test volunteers for this endeavor. Which is understandable, it's pretty high risk, and not everyone wants to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Really, I get it. Which is why I didn't push for it. Instead, I did what I did in a way that ensured no one was hurt.

There was an earthquake in a complex nearby, causing a total structural collapse. The rubble was pretty extensive, so I waited until the emergency services turned their backs and snuck into the area. I managed to find a man partially covered by the rubble, who was not yet dead, but was basically unsalvagable. Cursory examination proved that part of his skull was fractured beyond repair, his arm was totally mangled, there was terrible nerve damage... it was a miracle his heart was beating at all. Anyway, I got him back to my lab and started working on him.

You have to understand, there was no way this man was going to survive. There was absolutely nothing the paramedics could have done for him. He was just lying there unconscious, waiting to die. However, through weeks of painstaking stabilization and rigorous electronics work, I was able to not only keep him alive but repair the fatal damage to his skull. With my help, this man was going to survive.

The moment I was able, and I was sure he was stable and would not be in any pain, I woke him up from his (at this point) medically induced rest. I explained to him that I had found him in the earthquake wreckage, and used my superior engineering knowledge to resuscitate him. He seemed confused and intrigued by this; it turns out he was a roboticist himself, and couldn't fathom such a thing to be possible. Either way, I ran diagnostics and found that the cybernetic augmentations were running perfectly. His replaced eye could see perfectly well, his mental functions were not impaired, and his fine motor skills were still in-tact. He seemed perturbed that I had made such drastic changes to his composition, as well as the fact that I had amputated his arm (which was necessary to replace it, as it was entirely unusable in the state it was in). I did not pay heed to his concerns, instead asking him if he would like any particular features in his replacement arm.

I left him to his own devices and went to work on the arm after that. Unfortunately, I could not finish it, because a few days later my lab experienced a police raid. The authorities seemed particularly disturbed by what I'd done to the man. I confess, I got quite angry when they attempted to remove him from the facility. He was not currently fit to be walking about without my aid, after all! Nevertheless, they went on with it, and I was incarcerated.

I, to this day, do not understand what I did wrong. It was explained to me that robotically altering human beings without seeking consent is not ethically sound, which I understand, I really do, but I saved his life! Were any complications to arise, it would be because they yanked him from my care so soon in his recovery. And there were no complications, even then! He was able to create his own robotic arm (an impressive feat, I would have loved to work with him, which is yet another thing that was taken from me) and is now living out his life, perfectly healthy and comfortable. I think he landed a job as a college engineering professor, actually. Were it not for me, he would not have any of this; he would be under six feet of dirt.

I simply do not understand why my actions were so reprehensible.

(ocs)

[birlwrites]

scrapbook snippet: seventh year

this is a warm-up i did, sort-of-vaguely set in the atfhv universe but i don't think it'll make any sort of actual appearance, just based on my general writing process.

featuring: soft established rosewater, talking about the future (referencing complications due to both of them being set up to inherit control of different noble houses), THE CHAISE

-

It's alarmingly easy to accept Evan's silent offer, sink onto the chaise in the space at his side. Regulus used to think of himself as more... well, independent. Desks and armchairs and twin beds. But the allure of this took hold of him around the same time that Evan did—sofas and loveseats and a chaise longue big enough for two, if they keep close.

A sofa is simpler, a bed more comfortable, but Regulus has a soft spot for the chaise. It was a gift from Hogwarts, after all.

Besides, he wants to keep close. Sometimes that's the only thing he knows for sure.

Evan's fingertips are light as they run through his hair, his voice soft. "My parents are giving me the townhouse as a graduation gift. If you wanted to know."

"I didn't know you had one." The Rosiers certainly don't spend any time there.

"That's what makes it such a good gift—now the upkeep is my responsibility instead of theirs. And someone gets some use out of it."

Regulus doesn't have to be a genius to figure out why Evan is bringing this up now. NEWTs are approaching, and then graduation will bear down upon them like a freight train, and their neighboring beds, their shared meals, even Regulus's office—they'll all vanish, relegated to a bygone era of their lives.

He knows what it's like to wake up without Evan nearby. There are the summer and winter holidays, after all. But they don't feel real in the way that Hogwarts does. They've always been temporary.

"What will your policy be on callers?" he says, because it's easier than what he wants to say.

Even as recently as fifty years ago, people got married younger—right out of Hogwarts. That was when they were beginning their adult lives, after all, and they wanted companions for the journey. They don't really do that anymore—there's no traditional flurry of proposals in the spring of seventh year, no flood of weddings every July and August.

Even if there were, it wouldn't be simple. Not for two heirs.

"Well, you can come over whenever you want," Evan says comfortably, and as expected as it is, Regulus still feels a little warmer because of it. "There'll be a private Floo in the drawing room. I'll give you the address. You'll just need to come over an hour or so before mealtimes if you want food."

"Very practical."

"And I'll make sure there's Assam."

Regulus is already pressed against Evan's side, but he's momentarily swept away by the urge to press even closer, impossibly so—he has to content himself with hooking one leg over Evan's, pressing his lips to Evan's collarbone maybe a little too hard, and Evan stops stroking Regulus's hair to hug him almost tightly enough.

"Get a chaise too," Regulus says to Evan's neck, just to hear him laugh.

"Consider it done." He loosens his hold, goes back to stroking Regulus's hair—it's practically habitual for Evan at this point. "Purple again, or shall we branch out?"

"How are we meant to choose furniture colors when we haven't seen the rooms?"

"Oh, I'd redecorate if necessary." Like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Even if I said I wanted bright orange and green stripes with silver trim?"

"You came up with that design concerningly fast."

"You are, as ever, tactful about your instantaneous rejections."

That makes Evan laugh again. "If you really wanted that, I'd at least take you to a Healer for a health screening before saying no."

"How reassuring."

A few breaths pass, soft, even, before Evan says quietly, "We could pretend you lived there too."

Regulus has to shut his eyes.

"I know you can't, not really," Evan says, and the gentle movement of his fingers through Regulus's hair seems restless rather than absent-minded, or maybe neither. "But we could pretend."

Regulus pictures it—a townhouse, new to them both, a master bedroom meant for two and two only, a pantry full of whatever they want, invitations addressed to both of them, a fabulously ugly chaise longue photographed for posterity before being completely reupholstered however Evan wants it, because really, Regulus doesn't care. He wouldn't care even if it were utterly hideous. He'd just look at Evan instead.

He'll just look at Evan instead.

"It's not impossible," Regulus says, because it's easier than I'll make it possible. "Just very, very complicated."

Evan hums in agreement. "Is now when I'm meant to say that you do like complicated, or were you not setting up a punchline?"

"I like complicated." Regulus kisses Evan's collarbone again. "We'll figure it out."

[itsbinghebitch]

ok so here’s the tea

this is gonna be about build and the whole shitshow of last week. consider it more of a public diary entry on my part.

i want to preface this with saying i really regret my anger outburst. i think it’s a really complicated situation and it lacked a lot of tact on my part to insult other fans no matter how angry i was feeling in that moment. i consider myself a thoughtful person but idk sometimes i deal with severe mood swings that i can’t control which. yeah, that doesn’t excuse attacking other people. and yeah even if i perceived homophobia/bigoted attitudes in the fandom, i recognize that i there are fans who are really going through a hard time right now and painting their moral dilemma as ‘excusing homophobia’ is not helpful. 

i totally get that. i believe there can be productive conversations in this fandom. on the other hand, i don’t believe it was right for people to outright block me and alienate me when i expressed that, as a queer person, i cannot tolerate emerging attitudes in the fandom that excuse what build has said as simply manipulation on poi’s part. it’s a very difficult issue, because on the one hand you have the toxic/abusive relationship he clearly was in, and on the other you have an individual that has an enormous amount of growth to do, and an individual we all don’t know personally at that. it is, at the end of the day, a projection. who you think build is depends on your own experiences and philosophy on abuse, rehabilitation, nature vs nurture... so on and so forth.

it’s really heartbreaking to say, i’ve had so much trouble writing any vegaspete fic for a while now because however much i want to stick to the characters and not the actors, a little voice in my brain always reminds me of the whole build dilemma. and while before there might have been plausible deniability, that build had been wronged on so many fronts, now i can’t help but think of the comments he made on bible’s appearance. like did he think bible was ugly when filming with him. did he have bigoted/homophobic views as he was making vegaspete a reality, etc. 

so that’s where i’m at folks. i might be able to dispassionately discuss this issue, still engage with kpts for its narrative merits, love vegaspete for what it has meant to me for over a year. but at a gut level, i can’t help it. i am an INFJ cancer moon bitch which means i make judgments with my third eye or pussy or something and i believe that’s a feature rather than a moral flaw.

i will always find sympathy for other marginalized people in fandom. i really hope your time here has been a respite, however brief, from the general shittiness of everything (at least that’s what kpts fandom has been for me). but i think the moment fandom subsumes your identity in any way, the moment you start judging emerging fandom topics as ‘us vs. them,’ you really have to take a step back and ask yourself what the real issue is.

is the real underlying issue the fandom or is it the overall lack of transparency from the person we’re debating? is it some rando on the other side of the world in a forum of 200 people or is it celebrity culture, which is opaque by design? is it social media, meant to maintain your interest, endlessly tweet, endlessly consume, keep the money making machine going with just one small nudge? with just a few well-placed hashtags? with its slot game mechanism and gambling level addictiveness and constant abstraction of real people? what is that is *really* making me angry? 

because i don’t believe it’s another fan who, just like me, is trying to make it through today. that’s what i think. and that’s why i choose to step back and redirect my anger to the people with real power in this world. and that’s what i urge everyone to do when the going gets too crazy. 

[dismalzelenka]

Iron 1, Silver 2, & Tin 3 for whichever OC you think would be most fun to answer with

From the Symbolism of Metals OC Questions post:

I just dropped the start of a new galetav modern AU featuring my chaotic mess of a Tav, Miriam, and let's be honest she's all that's on my brain these days. Pictured below: local patron saint of terrible decisions.

Iron 1: Has your OC ever regretted something they have said or done in anger? Perhaps this has happened more than once?

All the fucking time. Pretty much every time she argues with Gale she drops some fun new terrible thing she instantly regrets. If she knew how to handle her anger in a productive manner, this probably wouldn't happen as often, but she keeps her feelings bottled up beneath this mask of "if I ignore it or crack jokes about it, it can't hurt me" right up until they do, in fact, hurt both her and everyone around her. She's also really bad at learning her lesson with this.

Silver 2: How tactful is your OC? Are they able to frame criticism constructively and give feedback in a way that protects against potential hurt feelings? Or are they blunt, or even callous, in their attitude to the failings of others?

It truly depends on how bad she wants something from the person she's talking to. She's not above spinning bullshit to get what she wants, and if she's emotionally removed enough from someone she can keep this up for weeks. Months, even.

If the person is not in possession of an item or skill she wants to make use of, or if they're just someone she's too involved with to think clearly around, she has zero tact whatsoever. She's spun enough saccharine bullshit today, she doesn't have any energy left for situations where it's not going to benefit her.

Tin 3: Does your OC believe that all life is sacred on some level? Or are some types of person more valuable than others? Can someone's deeds ever make them deserving of death? Or would your OC never consider that an appropriate sanction, no matter the circumstances?

Yes, but. She's also practical to a fault, and because she's had so much practice shoving her own feelings down in order to accomplish a goal, her core beliefs and the choices she makes are very often not in alignment at all. She wants to make her brother proud and live up to the idea she's been taught that life is inherently sacred, but there's a part of her that has to force that idea from getting too close, because if she accepts that wholly she also has to accept that she's someone who prioritizes her own survival and desires over something she's supposed to hold dear. When Withers asks her what the value of a single mortal life is, she tells him it depends on the life, because that's what she has to tell herself in order to sleep at night.

Does it actually help her sleep? No. But she's lying to herself about that, too. 💀

[fcble]

FORM IS EMPTINESS (EMPTINESS IS FORM) — PART 2 OF 2

Emptiness does not differ from form, form does not differ from emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form, the same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, and consciousness.

SUMMARY: In which Eunsu leaves. FEATURING: Fable ensemble WORD COUNT: 9.1k WARNINGS / NOTES: Off screen minor character death. Religious themes and discussions. If you’ve ever read anything from Eunsu’s perspective before in a previous Fable iteration, no you haven’t <3. You can also CLICK HERE or in the source link to read the whole thing at once in a Google doc.

66 DAYS — MINGEUN

Fable’s comeback showcase is delayed because Eunsu went to the bathroom ten minutes ago and never came back. Mingeun paces around backstage, anxious to perform. It’s his first time standing on stage in almost a year. He’s missed it so deeply his chest aches, like a legitimate physical ailment.

It should be difficult for him to pace with his bulky overcoat, but he’s gotten used to it over the past few years. He also has to dance in it, so walking back and forth down a hallway really isn’t a big deal.

“Stop it. You’re causing me stress,” Intak says, eyes half-closed. He sits on the ground, probably trying to keep his food down. Why did the guy with stage fright become an kpop idol? And how does he still have stage fright almost three years after his debut? Mingeun will never know.

He wishes he could be wearing a watch. His wrist feels naked without it. And he wants to know when they’re supposed to go onstage. He knows they have people in charge of coordinating all of that, but Mingeun wants to know too.

Jaeseop stops Mingeun on one of his passes. “You should go find Eunsu,” he says in a low voice.

“Me?” Mingeun asks. “Byeonghwi is younger—”

“You’re the second youngest. Eunsu is your best friend,” Jaeseop says, cutting him off. “Go find him.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Mingeun tries the bathroom first. That’s where Eunsu said he was going. He pushes the door open, and yells, loudly and shamelessly, “Eunsu?”

There’s no response. Mingeun double checks that he’s in the men’s bathroom—yep, those are urinals. Where the fuck is Eunsu if he’s not using the fucking bathroom? He forces himself not to panic, taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, like his therapist always says.

He continues down the labyrinth of backstage hallways, getting farther and farther away from the stage. Forget his watch, Mingeun wants his fucking phone.

Then he hears the barest hint of a voice. Mingeun couldn’t call himself Eunsu’s best friend if he couldn’t recognize him from a whisper. He carefully grabs at the folds of his outfit, and continues down the hall, feeling like fucking Cinderella.

Eunsu’s voice drifts out from a small doorway Mingeun would have missed otherwise. The door blends in with the rest of the white wall, and carries the slightest scent of bleach. A cleaning supply closet? What is Eunsu doing in there?

With absolutely zero tact, Mingeun pushes the door wide open. “Eunsu! We need to go.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize I was late,” Eunsu says, blocking Mingeun’s view of the small, dark room. He seems down and not like his usual self, although that’s the way he’s been for the past couple of weeks.

Mingeun tries to crane his neck past Eunsu, to see if there’s a second person in the room. “You”—he pokes Eunsu in the chest—“are incredibly oblivious sometimes. What are you doing here? Are you seeing someone? Or are you talking to yourself? Is something wrong?”

He can’t help the way his voice rises in pitch with each question. Eunsu brushes him off.

“It’s nothing,” he says, closing the door not quite all the way. 

Nosy as he is, Mingeun tries again to peek inside the room.

“You came here to tell me we have to go,” Eunsu says. “We have to perform now.”

They do have to perform now, so Mingeun lets it go. “You’ll tell me about it later, right?”

“Of course,” Eunsu says, hesitating only slightly as they almost run back to the rest of their group.

They meet Byeonghwi in the hallway, only most of the way back.

“What took you so long?” he asks. “They sent me after both of you. It’s like a horror movie, where one person goes off on their own, and the next person sent after them also disappears.”

“You were going to be next,” Eunsu teases, like he wasn’t melancholy and morose five minutes ago when Mingeun found him.

An hour later, after their showcase finishes, Mingeun corners Eunsu in the dressing room. Literally. Eunsu sits on a stool in the corner of the room, wearing half of his stage outfit. He’s discarded his jeogori in favor of a plain t-shirt, but he still has his baji on, more interested in his phone than changing.

“So what were you doing earlier?” Mingeun asks. 

“Do we have to talk about it now?” Eunsu asks without looking up.

“We can talk about this now, or we can talk about it in the van.” Mingeun knows Eunsu probably wouldn’t want everyone involved in the conversation. There are some things that stay between just the two of them. Or mostly between the two of them. Andrew and Byeonghwi are the only ones still here, and Mingeun figures they’re close enough that it’s fine if they overhear whatever Eunsu has to say.

Eunsu finally puts his phone down. “It’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Really?” That just makes him want to know more.

With a sigh, Eunsu asks, “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“No,” Mingeun says. “It’s…” He searches for the right word. He’s pretty sure Eunsu doesn’t, but what if he does? It’s not like religion is a common conversation topic for the two of them, unless Haksu is also involved.

“Then we have nothing to talk about,” Eunsu says. “Can you leave so I can change now?”

“I don’t see what reincarnation has to do with you delaying our comeback showcase by fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll put it a different way. You know how Haksu-hyung talks about God and his dreams all the time?”

“Idol Joan of Arc,” Mingeun says. He recalls Eunsu saying that once.

“Yeah. Religious experiences that leave a mark on you. Maybe fundamentally change who you are.”

Mingeun doesn’t like where this is going. “You had a religious experience backstage at the comeback showcase of our sixth mini album?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“I thought you weren’t religious.”

Eunsu has the decency to look embarrassed. “I thought so. I think I was in denial. I was trying so hard to get out of my hometown and away from my parents that I thought the only way was to be someone completely different. But I didn’t have to run away like that. I think Haksu-hyung helped too. He’s just so… himself.”

Mingeun still has no idea what any of that has to do with their comeback showcase or reincarnation. He’s glad, though, that Eunsu is learning more about himself.

Eunsu must see the look of confusion on Mingeun’s face, because he says, “It’s a lot to explain.”

“It’s a lot to hear,” Mingeun says.

“Byeonghwi!” Eunsu calls. “What do you think of moths? Religiously?”

Mingeun turns around to see the youngest member pause two steps from the door. 

“Ancestors,” Byeonghwi says with a thumbs up. Then he leaves.

“That doesn’t help,” Mingeun says.

Eunsu sighs. “It’s like this. A family member, someone you know, someone you were very close to, dies. Death isn’t the end, because of samsara.”

Mingeun opens his mouth to ask what that is.

Very clearly anticipating the question, Eunsu says, “The endless cycle of birth, life, and death, until we reach nirvana.”

“So you think your brother came back as a moth.”

“Not exactly. There are six realms—” He cuts himself off. “I can’t explain everything. But I left home less than forty-nine days after Yonggeum-hyung—” He stops again. “His spirit could have followed me. You probably think this all sounds stupid.”

There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and for the first time, Mingeun thinks he pushed too far. The first thing he thinks of is how crying would ruin Eunsu’s makeup. He hates himself for it. He doesn’t even have the emotional capacity to comfort his friend, and their performance is over.

“I don’t,” Mingeun says. They’re the only two left now. Andrew must have slipped out at some point. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore, if you don’t want to.”

It shouldn’t have been him having this conversation with Eunsu. It should have been someone who would understand him more. But then again, is there anyone closer to Eunsu than Mingeun?

“Do you mind if I change now?” Eunsu asks, somewhat shakily.

“No, not at all,” Mingeun says. “Sorry I asked so much of you. I’ll wait outside.”

He trips over his feet in his haste to leave the room.

Standing outside the dressing room, Mingeun reflects on everything Eunsu told him. The moth. Reincarnation. Spirits. Yonggeum’s spirit followed Eunsu to Seoul and appeared to him as a moth backstage at the comeback showcase for Fable’s sixth mini album. Okay. Mingeun can wrap his head around that. It isn’t any more farfetched than the Eucharist.

Eunsu emerges not long after, wearing his own pants this time. He looks composed, like his normal self again.

“I’m sorry,” Mingeun says again, fulfilling a Canadian stereotype.

“Don’t you think it’s nice, sometimes, to talk about yourself?” Eunsu asks, completely ignoring Mingeun’s apology.

“I guess so,” he says begrudgingly. He wanted to say yes with confidence, but his only reasoning would have been that he enjoys talking about himself on camera. With Mingeun, everything goes back to being an idol.

“I’m not upset,” Eunsu says calmly. “We don’t need to talk about this again if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Mingeun agrees, because he sucks ass at having any emotions other than anger and despair.

They step out into the not-quite-summer night. Jaeseop rolls down the passenger window of the van. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Mingeun answers, because at the time, that’s what he believes.

59 DAYS — JAESEOP 

“It’s not too late, if you want to take a break,” Jaeseop says. Their latest album released a week ago, and he can tell Eunsu isn’t into it the way he usually is.

“No, I can do this,” Eunsu says.

The pile of discarded tissues and the way he barely leaves his bed unless he has to say otherwise. Even now, Eunsu is buried under his blankets in the summer weather. It’s hard to tell it’s warm and bright outside with the curtains closed.

“I think you should take a break,” Jaeseop repeats. He sits on top the covers at the foot of Eunsu’s bed.

“I told you, hyung, I don’t need to. I can do this.”

It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince Jaeseop. Jaeseop is skeptical about all of this.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he says.

“I’m not,” Eunsu says. “This is my job.”

“No one expects you to do your job if you’re grieving.”

“I’m—we’re different.”

Jaeseop is not. He would take a break. There’s nothing embarrassing about wanting to step back for a bit, especially considering what Eunsu is going through.

“Idols are human too,” he says, as gently as he can. “At the end of the day, it’s just a job.”

“Am I just your coworker?” Eunsu asks. “What other job would have you at my bedside like this?”

“Nurse. Doctor,” Jaeseop says, even though he knows those aren’t remotely similar comparisons.

Eunsu shakes his head. He’s been different since he got back from his short trip home. Solemn, somber, older than his twenty-something years. He was always unflinchingly serious, but the air that surrounds him now has changed. Jaeseop knows exactly why. He doesn’t know if Eunsu recognizes himself in the same way.

“You don’t have to treat me like a kid,” Eunsu says. “I can take care of myself.”

Jaeseop raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall, flush against Eunsu’s bed. “I’m not treating you like a kid. I want you to consider all of your options. I know you don’t think you have any other choice but to keep going, but you do. There’s no shame in slowing down or pausing.”

“And I’m telling you, hyung, I don’t need to do any of that. I’m fine.”

Eunsu is obviously not fine. Jaeseop has never seen him so insistent on anything.

“What’s the name of our new album?” he asks. 

Eunsu is silent. The names are often confusing and Jaeseop has started saying the wrong ones from time to time. Yet they’ve been living and breathing the party theme for over a month. Eunsu stands out in his misery. Jaeseop doesn’t want to think only of the group and the group’s image and the group’s public perception, but he has to at least consider it.

If Eunsu’s heart isn’t in to it, and he can’t fake it, then maybe it’s better if he’s not there. Taein could force Eunsu onto a hiatus. Jaeseop doesn’t want to involve his uncle in this. He can solve their problems himself.

“What are you trying to prove?” Eunsu asks.

“You want to promote something you don’t know the name of,” Jaeseop says. “You should be able to see how that sounds.”

“Byeonghwi probably doesn’t know the name of our new album.”

“Byeonghwi never knows the names of our albums. Don’t use him as your example.”

Eunsu sits up, incensed. “So Byeonghwi can never know an album name and promote just fine, but when I forget one of them, I need to take a break?”

Jaeseop says, very bluntly, “Your brother’s death makes this a completely different situation.”

He doesn’t expect Eunsu to hang his head and say, softly and sullenly, “I know. I thought I could come back and pretend nothing is wrong. To everyone else, there’s nothing wrong. Everyone around me—you too, hyung—keeps living their lives, and I’m the only one whose world is upside-down.”

He looks like he’s going to keep talking, until his phone rings. He picks it up on the second ring. “Hi Mom.”

Eunsu sounds almost chipper. “I ate earlier.”

Jaeseop knows that’s a lie. He figures Eunsu would want to talk to his parents in private. The bed creaks as he stands up.

Eunsu stares at him questioningly, and gestures for him to sit.

Jaeseop sits back down on the edge of his bed.

“Mm-hmm, I’m doing well. Don’t worry too much about me,” Eunsu says. He pauses briefly. “Yes, I’m eating and sleeping.”

The bags under his eyes become more prominent every day. He offers a few more words of reassurance, then hangs up the phone. The call is short, not more than a few minutes.

“She calls me every day now,” Eunsu says. “Sometimes multiple times a day. If I don’t answer almost immediately, it scares her. It scares me too, to see how she’s become. Sometimes think I made a mistake coming back.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaeseop offers, even though he knows it’s not nearly enough.

Eunsu waves him off. “Before, I liked being here. I liked being an idol. That’s why I thought I could come back and keep doing this like nothing changed.”

Jaeseop doesn’t like the past tense. He shifts in his seated position. “It’s your decision,” he says. Either way, whatever Eunsu decides is best, Jaeseop wants to support him. It’s his choice to make.

“I know,” Eunsu says, sounding miserable. “I was hoping you’d convince me, one way or another. You weren’t very convincing.”

“I don’t want to pressure you. I think you’d benefit from a longer break, but that might not be what you think is best for you.”

In this very specific situation, Jaeseop thinks he’s right. But to pressure Eunsu so much until he has no choice but to accept? That makes him just like Taein.

“I don’t know what’s best for me anymore,” Eunsu says, “but I want to promote this album. I’ll learn the title.”

Jaeseop supposes that’s enough for now. “Okay,” he agrees. “Remember you can always change your mind.”

53 DAYS — BYEONGHWI 

In the bathroom mirror, Byeonghwi can only see the very top of Eunsu's head as he sits on the ground.

“Red?” Eunsu asks.

Byeonghwi nods, garbage bag crinkling over his shoulders.

“It's very bright.” It sounds like Eunsu doesn't approve of his choice.

“That's the point.” Byeonghwi doesn't have to be good at home-dying his hair; he just has to do a good enough job for the stylists to pick up where he left off. Taein will hate it, Daewoong will hate it, but Byeonghwi is beginning to care less of what they think.

It should be the opposite, really, because now Byeonghwi is somewhat famous. People see him and recognize him. He hasn’t decided if that’s a good thing or a bad thing yet.

He leans forward, closer to the mirror, to make sure he hasn’t missed any spots. The hardest part about doing this on his own and also having dark hair is how long it takes. When he’s satisfied, he pushes aside the boxes of dye, two toothbrushes, his and Haksu’s skincare collections, and sits on the counter.

“When you decided to become an idol, is this what you thought it would be like?” Eunsu asks.

“No,” Byeonghwi answers, quickly and honestly.

Eunsu seems satisfied. Byeonghwi is pretty sure most of them think like this. It manifests in different ways for everyone: he box-dyes his hair, Andrew is obsessed with writing a perfect album, Haksu pushes them all down for a chance to boost himself up, Mingeun is restless and always wants the next big thing. He hadn’t thought of Eunsu like that. Eunsu strikes him as someone who’s satisfied with his lot in life.

“I don’t think I gave it much thought,” he continues. “I thought an idol was just someone on TV, someone who could sing and dance. I could sing, so why couldn’t I be an idol?”

Eunsu nods, maybe in agreement, maybe in acceptance. “This isn’t what I thought it would be either. I thought being an idol was something I could do forever. That once I started, I’d be able to keep following this path, and everything would be laid out for me.”

“You’re only realizing this now?” Byeonghwi asks light-heartedly, in a very desperate attempt to lighten the conversation.

“I have a different perspective now. I wasn’t able to see any of this before.”

Byeonghwi so badly wants to say that maybe all Eunsu needs is to take a break, that maybe he’s burnt-out. Mingeun says that a lot. Maybe Eunsu is the same. He keeps quiet and lets Eunsu talk.

“It’s really changed how I think of my place in the group.”

Byeonghwi has a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach that has nothing to do with the cold, sinking feeling on his scalp.

“I think,” Eunsu says softly, almost to the point where Byeonghwi has to strain his ears to hear him. “I’m going to ask Taein-nim to terminate my contract.”

“You can’t.” The reply is reflexive.

“Why?”

Byeonghwi doesn’t have a good answer for that. “Fable wouldn’t be the same without you,” he says lamely. “It wouldn’t be the same without any one of us.”

“You’d recover,” Eunsu says dismissively. “I’m only thinking about it.”

“Stop thinking about it. Think about us instead.”

“I want to do what’s best for everyone. Myself, Fable, and my parents.”

Bringing his parents into the conversation is a low blow. Byeonghwi has spent the past three years being the exemplary son in Fable. Now he has no choice but to hear Eunsu out.

“Okay,” he says, idly swinging his legs. “What do your parents have to do with this?”

“They’re getting older,” Eunsu says. “I know my dad will keep his position for as long as he can, but what happens after that? The temple is his livelihood, and my grandfather’s livelihood, and my great-grandfather’s, and my great-great-grandfather’s, and back so far I can’t even count. I can’t be the one to give that up for some stupid idol career.”

Byeonghwi doesn’t think an idol career is stupid.

“Did your dad tell you this?” he asks.

“No, but—”

“It’s conjecture! You can’t leave the group because of conjecture!” 

“It’s not the kind of thing my parents would tell me,” Eunsu says, sounding miserable. “They tell me that I can do whatever I want, and for so long, I’ve been doing whatever I want. Shouldn’t I start thinking about someone other than myself?”

Byeonghwi realizes what the problem is. Eunsu spends too much time with Mingeun. Mingeun has all these ideas of individualism and acts on the whims of his own desires and has probably never heard of Confucianism or filial piety in his entire life. It’s very clearly affected Eunsu.

“You should,” Byeonghwi says. It’s only after he speaks that he realizes his words are an admission of agreement. He doesn’t want to Eunsu to leave, but he also couldn’t imagine turning his back on his parents and a family tradition.

“I thought you’d agree,” Eunsu says. “Now you have to help me break the news to everyone else.”

Byeonghwi is blindsided and betrayed. “Did you plan this out?”

Eunsu nods. “A little. You know no one else would agree so easily. I couldn’t pull the parent line on anyone but you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Talking about it makes it feel a bit more real.”

He talks around the topic, never saying it’s his departure.

Byeonghwi swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t want Eunsu to leave, of course. But to be stuck between your family and your personal ambitions? It’s a hard, terrible choice that he hopes he never has to make.

“I’ll miss you, hyung,” he says. “I’d give you a hug, but…” He holds up his gloved hands, tinged red.

“I haven’t left yet,” Eunsu says. “We’ll make the most of it. I promise.”

16 DAYS — ANDREW 

Andrew has been writing an album for slightly over a year. He goes through phases: sometimes he's the best songwriter to ever exist, and it's a tragedy that no one's ever heard his songs. Other times everything he writes is the most cliché piece of shit to ever exist on Earth. 

He doesn't have anyone to talk through it with. Intak moves so much faster, while Andrew obsesses over melodies and countermelodies and if his art is good enough. His friends are classical music enthusiasts who think it's slightly ridiculous that he's a kpop idol and indie enthusiasts who will listen to anyone, so long as they have less than a thousand Spotify monthly listeners. Fable isn’t included in that.

So Andrew works on the bits that he can, when he can. At the very least, he knows he wants to incorporate real instruments wherever he can. It always sounds better than samples or synthetic instruments. 

The only parts he can do on his own are the piano parts, because that's the only instrument Andrew can play with confidence. Even then, using his keyboard isn't the same as a grand piano. Disgruntled, he deletes the recordings off his computer. 

Then he recruits Eunsu. It's the bass, after all, that makes music sound better. Eunsu's short-lived cover band bassist career has always been a point of interest to Andrew. How did he have the resources, in his small town in the middle of nowhere? Growing up in a place like that is something Andrew knows all too well.

“I'm out of practice,” Eunsu says when he arrives, carrying his guitar case across his back.

 Andrew dismisses his concern. “It's fine. I don't think the parts are too complicated. You’ve looked it over, right?”

It’s a bass line. How hard can it be? Andrew also sent him the music a few days ago. Surely he’s been able to practice at least a little bit, so that he’s not sight-reading when he should be recording.

Andrew busies himself with finding the sheet music of the correct parts for the correct songs. He gives up his seat to Eunsu to walk him through the process.

“The microphone is here. You can adjust the height or the position to whatever’s comfortable for you, as long as it’s within a few inches of your strings.” He pushes it around to demonstrate.

“Press the red button to record, and then again to stop. You can play back everything at once, or mute the other tracks. The recording will start at wherever the marker is. This is a draft. It doesn’t have to be perfect now.”

“This is overwhelming,” Eunsu interrupts. 

“You’ll figure it out once you start,” Andrew assures him. “I’ll be here if you need any help.”

Showing anyone else his music is always a tense situation. He knows he can’t appease everyone, and even when it’s people he’s close too, it’s still stressful. What if they dislike it, and it changes their opinion of Andrew as a person? He wouldn’t be able to stand it.

But Eunsu doesn’t do any of that. He plugs his own earbuds into Andrew’s laptop, and listens. Andrew tries not to hover directly behind him and breathe down on his neck. Eunsu starts to play, a few hesitant notes echoing in the room.

It’s impossible to tell if he’s good or not. At the very least, he sounds like he’s in tune. Andrew doesn’t know what part of the song he’s listening to, if he’s warming up or experimenting. He should know what his own song sounds like, he thinks, slightly disgruntled. 

Andrew expects Eunsu to ask for clarification, or something similar. Eunsu surprises him by rewinding to the beginning, and playing in earnest, foot tapping and head bobbing. Andrew pumps his fist in silent victory. 

The instrument's low tones sound so much better than he had expected. He can see the rest of it coming together in his head: he'll make the piano part work somehow, maybe get a drum recording from Hwajung. Andrew entertains himself with fantasies of finally finishing some songs, then an album, polishing them to perfection, winning music shows and topping charts.

Eunsu's play style is by the book. He plays the music exactly as Andrew wrote it—down to each note's dynamic and articulation. It's devoid of any improvisations or new licks or riffs.

“Where did you learn how to play?” Andrew asks when Eunsu pauses the recording.

“I taught myself,” Eunsu says, spinning around in his seat. “My friends wanted to try and start a band. I had to be part of it, so I begged my parents to buy me an instrument until they gave in. The band never took off. We stopped after a few months. I'm the only one who still does music.”

He says it lightheartedly, like it's a story he's told over and over before. It reminds Andrew of himself, at probably that same age, making noise in GarageBand.

Eunsu changes the topic back to the matter at hand. “Let me try this one again, and then you can listen to it.”

He doesn’t wait for Andrew’s response, but goes back to the beginning of the song. He likes it, Andrew realizes, a bit belatedly and a bit hesitantly. It almost seems too good to be true. 

The pride and recognition he feels buoys him throughout Eunsu’s recording. He isn’t listening too closely, content to let Eunsu play his music. Eunsu is a musician too; he can be trusted.

When the next take finishes, Eunsu hits the trackpad with maybe more force than necessary. 

“Are you satisfied with that?” Andrew asks. 

Eunsu hesitates for the barest second before he nods. “It was better than my first one by far.”

That doesn’t sound very promising, but Andrew refrains from passing judgment. He leans over Eunsu’s shoulder to stare down at the computer screen. From a quick glance, he can tell he’s going to need to adjust the track volume. Eunsu fidgets in the chair while Andrew reaches for the mouse.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says. “I’m sure you sounded fine.”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“With the rest of the music,” Andrew clarifies, bringing up the volume on Eunsu’s recording.

He switches the sound output to his speaker system, and presses play. Then he skips over the intro, eager to get to the parts Eunsu added.

It sounds fuller, more complete, with the bass line. Andrew was right. Of course he was right. The bass makes the songs sound better. There are a few places where Eunsu lags behind or pushes ahead of the beat. Andrew makes a mental note as he listens.

“It's not bad,” he says at last.

Eunsu taps his fingers against the body of his guitar. “If it was good, you would have said it was good,” he says sullenly.

“It was your second take.”

He leans forward to point out a few parts of the recording. “Try these parts again. You start to fall behind here.” 

Andrew drags the cursor over the specific bars to specify what he means. Then he steps back to give Eunsu another chance.

It always amazes him how quickly Eunsu adapts to feedback. He’s seen it happen in the studio before: the producer or Intak will give him instructions, Eunsu will practice a few more times, and then he’ll perform flawlessly. 

Today, it seems like something is off. Eunsu plays slightly better, but it doesn’t match up to the vision in Andrew’s head. 

“Again,” he says.

“Did I miss something?”

Andrew ignores his question. He’s missing something, but it’s hard to describe. It’s more of a feeling—the song is fast and bright, and Eunsu’s playing doesn’t have the same energy.

“Same part,” he says instead. “Stay on beat.”

Eunsu plays it again. And again. And again.

Andrew rejects every take. 

“Maybe you should learn how to play the bass,” Eunsu jokes half-heartedly. He shakes his left hand out, and Andrew sees the string imprints across the reddening pads of his fingers. 

This is only the first song, and it’s going much worse than Andrew could have ever expected. He makes an executive decision.

“Let’s stop for now. You can practice a bit more, and then we’ll try again in a few days.”

For a moment, Eunsu looks like he wants to protest. Andrew is not in the mood to entertain him. But all Eunsu says is, “Okay, hyung. Let me know when you want me to come back.”

He appears eager to leave as he starts to pack up. Andrew is left contemplating. It seems the only way he’ll get anything done is if he does it himself.

14 DAYS — KIYOUNG

Eunsu’s departure is turning into an event. Which it is, of course, but he sends Kiyoung a meeting invitation titled, “Eunsu’s Departure Letter Writing Session.” Kiyoung adds it to his calendar.

When the time and day both arrive, Kiyoung meets Eunsu in the company meeting room. Eunsu sits at the head of the table, surrounded by an array of pens and paper. To his surprise, Andrew is sitting on Eunsu’s right—scowling, arms crossed, foot impatiently tapping out a beat. He’s never seen Andrew this mad before.

Kiyoung takes a seat on the other side of Eunsu, wondering what could have pissed Andrew off so badly.

“You didn’t need to invite both of us,” he says.

“I didn’t,” Eunsu says, arranging his pens. “I only dragged Andrew-hyung out of his studio a few minutes ago because he was there.”

“Do you know what he’s doing?” Andrew asks.

“I’ve had this in my calendar for a week,” Kiyoung answers. 

“He told me”—Andrew checks his phone—“seven minutes ago.”

“Can you help me write my letter?” Eunsu interrupts.

Kiyoung doesn’t know the first thing about writing a departure letter. He’s written resignation letters—one resignation letter, to be exact—before, but that’s a completely different situation. It must show on his face, and Andrew’s as well, because Eunsu follows it up with, “You’re the only two people who have had jobs outside of being idols. Please?”

Andrew sighs. “Fine. Mingeun probably has a template for this kind of thing memorized.”

“Mingeun doesn’t know I’m leaving,” Eunsu says. “I haven’t told him yet either. He’s going to take it really badly.”

“He’s going to take it worse than me,” Andrew mutters.

“When are you going to tell him?” Kiyoung asks. It comes as a surprise—he thought Mingeun would know first.

“He’ll figure it out eventually. Or when I post this letter. Please don’t tell him.” Eunsu waves a piece of paper through the air. “How should I start?”

“‘Dear Fabulists’ or something like that,” Kiyoung attempts. 

Eunsu puts his pen to the paper. An ink blot begins to spread from the tip. He holds it there without writing anything for a moment. Eventually, he puts the pen down. “I can’t do this.”

He buries his head in his hands. “It’s embarrassing. I know I’m going to hate everything I write. It doesn’t seem genuine.”

“If it’s how you feel, that should be enough,” Kiyoung says. This is most decidedly not the same thing as a resignation letter. He could lie out of his ass for one of those. Eunsu should not lie about this.

“That doesn’t have to be the only thing you say,” Andrew says, seemingly on board now. He scrolls through his phone. “You can write about how much you enjoyed being in the group, or how you’re thankful to your fans, or something like that.”

Kiyoung stares at him across the table. “Are you reading other letters?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t even sound embarrassed. “Neither of us know the first thing about what should be in one of these letters.”

“Did you talk to Taein-nim yet?” Kiyoung asks.

Eunsu seems to shrink in his seat. “Not yet. I thought I could do this first. To show him I’m sure.”

To Kiyoung, being able to leave would come before writing the letter. But it’s Eunsu’s departure, and he gets to choose the sequence.

“Dear Fabulists,” Eunsu says as he starts to write. “This is Eunsu. Today I’m sharing with you my decision to depart from Fable and the company.”

Kiyoung interrupts. “You should add something before that to soften the blow. Like a ‘I hope everyone is doing well’ or ‘It’s been a while since I spoke to you.’”

Eunsu scratches the words “first draft” across the top of the page and adds another introductory sentence between his name and his departure announcement.

“Thank you to everyone who loved and supported me as a member of Fable. Because of you, I was able to create fond memories with my members that I’ll remember forever.”

“You’re not going to finish recording all the parts for my songs,” Andrew says suddenly, as if it just occurred to him.

Eunsu looks up from his writing. “I’m leaving the group. I don’t think it’s necessary for me to be part of an album I won’t even be here for. You don’t know how long it’s going to take you to finish it, or if Taein-nim will allow to release it.”

“I want you to be on the record,” Andrew insists. “You’re an important part of the group.”

“You thought I sounded like shit a few days ago,” Eunsu says.

Andrew shrugs, not denying it. “You said you’d practice and try again. You also didn’t tell me you were leaving.”

He seems hung up on that fact. 

Kiyoung intercedes. “There’s still time,” he says, when he knows that’s the very thing Eunsu is running out of. The days will slip by, like sand through his fingers, and then Eunsu will be gone.

“I need to finish my letter first,” Eunsu says. “After that”—a shrug—“I’ll figure it out. One task at a time.”

Now that he’s started, it seems like it’s easier for him to write. The page begins to overflow with words, Eunsu’s neat handwriting stark against the white page. He edits his own writing as he goes, crossing out and replacing words, pausing only to think briefly before moving on.

Kiyoung tilts his head to read it. There are a lot of sentences about their fans, and how much Eunsu appreciates their love and support. Coming from him, it makes sense. Eunsu is an idol through and through. Kiyoung can’t imagine him doing anything else.

Eventually, Eunsu puts his pen down and stretches. “I think I’m done.”

Andrew takes the paper first, skimming over Eunsu’s words. “Do you mean all of this? Genuinely?”

“Most of it,” Eunsu says.

“Even this one?” Andrew taps one line. “‘Although I will no be recognized as a member of Fable, I will treasure these precious moments I spent with Fabulists forever.’”

Eunsu winces. “A little less on that one.”

“Then don’t write it.”

“Don’t you think the fans would want to hear it? It’s reassuring.”

There are still times when Andrew is immensely culture-shocked. Kiyoung figures this is one of them.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says. He reaches across the table and takes the letter.

It’s more or less what he thought would be in it. The line Andrew singled out isn’t even the worst one.

“The ‘I will support Fable just as Fabulists do’ is a nice touch,’” Kiyoung says.

Eunsu flushes. “Thanks. I really like that one. Do you think it’s too much?”

For Kiyoung’s tastes, it certainly is. But it’s not by him or for him. So he says, “The fans will like it.”

They won’t like his departure, but the point of the letter is closure and acceptance.

Eunsu turns expectantly to Andrew, who says, “If Kiyoung thinks the fans will like it, then it’s good to me.”

With that recommendation, Eunsu looks pleased. He takes a clean sheet of paper from his pile and starts to write a cleaner version.

“Thanks for helping me with this,” he says as he starts to write.

Kiyoung doesn’t feel like he did anything of note. He accepts the thanks anyway. “We’ll miss you.”

He thinks he speaks for all of them when he says that. There’s a lump in his throat. Kiyoung has no idea where that came from.

“I will too,” Eunsu says, pausing in his writing. “I’ll visit all the time. Don’t worry too much about me.”

He says it lightly and cheerfully. Kiyoung knows he won’t be able to do that.

6 DAYS — JAESEOP 

“Get out.”

When Jaeseop asked to be treated like any employee and not like the CEO’s nephew he is, he forgot to consider all the times that it would come in handy. Like when one of your group mates wants to leave the group and you have no idea how your own family member will react.

“I’ll be alright if you go,” Eunsu murmurs softly.

Jaeseop shakes his head. “I have to be sure my uncle doesn’t try to do anything sketchy.”

Eunsu gives him a look that seems to ask something like, You don’t trust your own uncle? Jaeseop trusts him in family settings, not in business ones. He has yet to move on from when he first agreed to work with his uncle, and he was asked to break up with Seoyeon. Nevermind that they had been dating for two years at that point, and Jaeseop never asked to be an idol.

“Can you get another chair, Eunsu?” Jaeseop asks.

Eunsu looks hesitant, like he doesn’t want to leave.

“If I leave, Samchon will lock me out,” Jaeseop says pleasantly. He glances at his uncle, who doesn’t deny it.

Eunsu’s mouth forms an O. “I’ll be right back.”

For the time being, Jaeseop sits on Taein’s desk. “I hope you’re not too hung up on our image to listen to Eunsu.”

“A lot goes into running a successful business,” Taein says.

“Is that something you’d know?” Jaeseop asks with faux innocence. He could run this company better, but it’s not like his uncle would ever take his advice.

He doesn’t think it’s very sightly for CEOs to entertain the thought of murdering their employees, but that’s the look on Taein’s face.

“You always wanted seven members in the group. Have you changed your mind now?”

Jaeseop can practically see Taein seething. But what’s he going to do? Fire him?

“I made sacrifices for the eight of you. I’m the one who made it so that you could all debut.”

“You didn’t want to do it. You tried to make Mingeun lie for his career.”

“Mingeun has nothing to do with this. It worked,” Taein says.

There’s a bang on the door as Eunsu lugs a second chair in. Jaeseop jumps down from his seat and holds the door for him.

“Thanks,” Jaeseop whispers, taking a seat.

Taein steeples his fingers in front of him. “What did you want to discuss with me today?”

“I want to end my contract,” Eunsu says. If Jaeseop looks carefully, he can see the way Eunsu trembles ever so slightly, hands shaking in his lap. “I no longer think it’s right for me to be an idol, and I wish to leave on good terms.”

“You sound very sure,” Taein says. “But are you sure?”

What does that mean? “Samchon, I don’t think this is a decision Eunsu would make lightly,” Jaeseop says.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Jaeseop,” his uncle snaps. He turns back to Eunsu, calm again. “This is a very serious decision.”

“I’ve thought about it for a long time,” Eunsu says. 

“Yet you stayed,” Taein says.

“I felt like I had an obligation to the group. I wanted to see all eight of us through the promotional period.”

“And you have an obligation to the end of your contract. Another four years.” Taein taps the pads of his fingers against his desk in an unnecessarily distracting motion.

Jaeseop doesn’t like this. Eunsu stayed because of the group, not because of his contract or Taein.

“You should explain,” he says, nudging Eunsu’s knee with his own.

“Is that necessary?” Eunsu asks, biting his lip.

“Don’t egg him on,” Taein says.

Jaeseop fucking hates talking to his uncle. “I’m not egging him on. You’re pressuring him and stressing him out.”

Eunsu takes a steadying breath, and says, “I know I have an obligation to you, and to everyone else in Fable. At the same time, I also have an obligation to my parents. Especially because”—he takes another deep breath—“because I’m their only son now. I can’t be here, in Seoul, so far away from them when they’re growing older and they need someone to learn about the family business before it’s too late.”

“It’s very tragic,” Taein says, looking as if he couldn’t care less. “That was something you should have taken into consideration before you left.”

“I was seventeen. I didn’t know any better.”

Jaeseop also thinks it’s ridiculous that death by drunk driver at the age of twenty-eight is something people should prepare for.

“I’m prepared for this,” Eunsu says, fishing out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He’s hitting every talking point they went over in the past week. “I wrote a letter explaining my situation to the fans.”

He hands it over to Taein, who unfolds it and skims it quickly. Then he starts methodically tearing it into small pieces.

“You won’t need this,” Taein says, “because you won’t be leaving.”

Both Jaeseop and Eunsu stare at the paper scraps as Taein pushes them neatly into a pile. In every single one of Jaeseop’s daydreams, Eunsu would tell his story, maybe with some extra tears and groveling, and Taein would agree to let him leave. 

“Why?” Jaeseop asks, standing up so that he can look down on his uncle. The sounds of his hands hitting the desk echoes in the small room. His palms sting, but he ignores it. “Why are you doing this?”

He can feel Eunsu tug at the hem of his shirt. “You don't have to do this for me. I'll be alright if I stay,” Eunsu says.

His voice sounds so small that Jaeseop's sense of justice rears its head. He fought for Mingeun and Kiyoung and won. He can do this for Eunsu. In the back of his mind, he thinks he should have made a PowerPoint presentation. Taein loves PowerPoint presentations.

“You won't,” Jaeseop says. He doesn't mean it in a mean way, but it's obvious, the way Eunsu is barely holding himself together. 

He leans across the desk. “Samchon, are you oblivious or ignorant? You don't see how this is affecting him?”

Of course he doesn’t. That’s supposed to be Jaeseop’s job—leader and parent and therapist all at once.

Jaeseop has never done this with the person in the room before. He's sure Eunsu will forgive him for whatever he says, even if he talks about Eunsu like he isn't there.

“Letting Eunsu leave would set a dangerous precedent. Anyone else dissatisfied with their career would think they can do the same,” Taein says, looking unbothered by Jaeseop's words.

It’s obvious that he’s bluffing. As far as Jaeseop knows, no one else in Fable is dissatisfied enough with the group's direction to leave. A bit upset, sure. But to leave? That’s a completely different issue.

“I’m not dissatisfied,” Eunsu says. “I like being an idol. I like being part of Fable. It’s because of these extenuating circumstances that I’m asking to leave.”

“The reasoning isn’t important,” Taein says. “A departure is still a departure.”

“No one else wants to leave,” Jaeseop says.

Taein gives him a sidelong glance. “Not everything is about you.”

Behind him, Jaeseop hears Eunsu take another deep breath. “I can explain everything.” He pulls at Jaeseop’s shirt again. Jaeseop sits down reluctantly. 

“You know who my parents are, and what they do.”

For a moment, Jaeseop doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Eunsu is almost secretive of his past. It’s like he sprang into being in Seoul when he was in high school. Jaeseop knows only the barest bones of his childhood. He sees Taein nod along, and he sits back and listens.

Eunsu weaves a tale of his older brother, inheritance, and the role he was expected to play. His voice catches every time he says Yonggeum’s name. Jaeseop has heard very little of this before, and it was all in the past few months. He wonders how long Eunsu has kept it all in. All his life?

“I think you can recognize, sajang-nim, how I never expected to be in this position.” He seems more composed now, words coming out smooth and even. “If the circumstances were any different, I wouldn’t be asking you for this.”

He stands up from his seat and bow formally, bent ninety degrees at the waist, arms pressed to his sides.

Jaeseop feels sick. Eunsu shouldn’t have to do any of this—bowing and scraping and pleading—to convince Taein of something so simple.

Taein spends a long moment taking in Eunsu’s words. Jaeseop is on the edge of his seat.

“I’ll think about it,” Taein says.

Jaeseop is almost optimistic as they leave.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Eunsu says. “I think I gave more than I got.”

“Coming from him, thinking about it is as close to a yes as you can get. Do you know any lawyers?” Jaeseop asks.

“Do you think I’ll need a lawyer?”

A shrug. “It might be nice.”

Eunsu ends up not needing a lawyer. He does need to rewrite his departure note, bemoaning about how hard it was the first time, and how he’s already forgotten what he’s written. It’s bittersweet for Jaeseop, to see him in relatively high spirits for the first time in months. He wishes it didn’t have to end so soon.

0 DAYS — MINGEUN

On August 2, 2021, a picture of a handwritten letter signed by Eunsu is posted to the official Fable Instagram. Mingeun sees the number of likes and comments jump by tens and hundreds. How is he learning about this at the same time everyone else is?

He bursts into Eunsu’s room, not even bothering to knock. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re leaving?”

Eunsu is sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by his belongings, two suitcases, and some cardboard boxes. And for some reason Mingeun can’t even begin to think of, Byeonghwi appears to be helping him pack.

“You knew?” he asks, giving Byeonghwi in the most deadly glare he can manage.

The youngest member blanches in the face of Mingeun’s wrath. 

“I told him,” Eunsu says, always the picture of calm and serenity.

“You told him and not me?” Mingeun asks, voice rising as he points accusingly towards Byeonghwi. “I found out through fucking Instagram?”

He storms across the room and grips Eunsu by the shirt collar. “Why?”

“You read the letter,” Eunsu says. He tries to extricate himself from Mingeun’s hold.

“You can’t tell me the same things you tell the fans. Does our friendship mean that little to you?” He drops Eunsu and looks wildly around the room, taking in the progress of his move out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Byeonghwi slip out the door. He ignores him. Eunsu has stacked boxes and boxes and things, all over his bed and his desk and his shelves. Mingeun pushes them to the ground, one at a time, just because he can. Each one tumbles with a crash. It does nothing to assuage how Mingeun feels.

“Hey, whoa, Mingeun,” Eunsu says, like Mingeun is a fucking horse. Eunsu grabs his wrists, pinning them together.

Mingeun twists out of his grip. Between the two of them, he’s always been the stronger one. It’s a pity he isn’t strong enough to keep Eunsu from leaving.

“I know you’re upset,” Eunsu says, somehow still calm.

Upset is an understatement. If Eunsu leaves, it’s like half of him is carved away. Mingeun wants to wreck and tear and destroy, as if that will fix the soon-to-be-missing part of him.

“You think I’m upset?” Mingeun says incredulously. If he wasn’t so, well, upset, he would laugh. It’s ridiculous.

Eunsu shrugs. “Maybe a little more than upset.”

Mingeun takes a step forward and socks him across the jaw. 

“Ow,” Eunsu says, massaging his afflicted face. 

“You deserve worse than that,” Mingeun informs him. He feels ever so slightly better.

“I knew you’d do something like this,” Eunsu says. He starts to pick the boxes up off the floor. Mingeun doesn’t make a move to help him, even though it was his fault. “I had to wait until it was too late for you to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Mingeun says. It’s an obvious lie. He moves a pile of clothes from Eunsu’s desk chair to the floor and takes a seat.

Eunsu doesn’t even bother to call him out on it. “I didn’t want you to try to change my mind either.”

“When have I ever successfully changed your mind?”

Mingeun told him not to leave SM. Eunsu did anyway. He told him not to buy that ugly ass NFT (Minah told him they were scams). Eunsu did anyway, and was roasted alive on Twitter by their fans. Mingeun watched it all happen in real time in an almost self-satisfied way.

“This time could be different,” Eunsu says.

“If you say it like that, it sounds like you don’t want to leave.” Mingeun doesn’t allow himself to have hope.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” Eunsu says, beginning to stack his clothes in a suitcase.

“Then why?” Mingeun asks, frustrated. “Does it have to do with Yonggeum?”

He knows Eunsu hasn’t been himself ever since his brother’s death. He thought that was something he’d get over by now.

“It has everything to do with Yonggeum-hyung,” Eunsu says, sounding like he went to the Lee Taein School of Public Speaking. “It was his duty to inherit the temple. Mine was anything but that.”

Mingeun nods along like he didn’t hear all of this two years ago, when Eunsu tried to out-drink Andrew and got so drunk he threw up twice in the bathroom and once in his bed. The two of them had crammed themselves into Mingeun’s twin-sized bed, and Eunsu had overshared for probably the first and only time in his life.

So Mingeun knows how his idol dream took shape: Yonggeum’s wishful thinking for a way out, for Eunsu to experience everything he couldn’t; how Eunsu interpreted that as seeing the world and finding no other way to do it other than becoming a celebrity; discovering a passion for music and moving to Seoul to reinvent himself. He did that last part so well Mingeun is still jealous that he couldn’t do the same. 

Eventually, Eunsu stops packing and keeps talking. “I don’t know if it was my dream or his dream. I keep asking myself what he would do in this situation. I wish he could tell me what the right choice is.”

“What about the moth?” Mingeun asks suddenly.

Eunsu tilts his head. “Moths don’t talk.”

“But when you were backstage, you had that conversation.” He feels like he’s losing his mind.

“It doesn’t work like that. It wasn’t a conversation. Moths don’t talk.”

Now Mingeun feels stupid. Of course moths can’t talk.

“So that’s it?” he says, trying to save face. “It’s over?”

“It is for me,” Eunsu says. “It’s not the end for you. You can keep performing. I know that’s what you want.”

Mingeun doesn’t have the heart to tell him that sometimes, he doesn’t know what he wants either. Sometimes he feels like he’ll cave to the pressure of everyone else’s perceptions and expectations, and he has no other way to deal with it except to continue on.

“I’ll do it for you,” he says instead.

Eunsu looks surprised. “You’d do something for someone else?” he jokes.

Mingeun scowls and hits him again.

It takes Eunsu the better part of a week to pack. In the end, he fits his whole life into three suitcases and five cardboard boxes. He overestimated the number of boxes he needed, and now the rest of them sit in piles in their living room, like a permanent reminder of his absence. 

All seven of them—it’s strange to think of them as seven—see him off at the train’s platform. Taein and Daewoong are there too, but Mingeun couldn't care less about them.

He stays at the edge of the platform, watching as the train begins to pick up speed. Eunsu waves at him through the window. Mingeun waves back until Eunsu becomes a blur from some combination of the movement and his tears. 

He feels Jaeseop’s hand on his shoulder. It has to be Jaeseop, because no one else would do that. Mingeun ducks his head away for a moment, drying his eyes.

He lets Jaeseop lead him away from the edge, resolute in some newfound determination. If he doesn’t take it upon himself to keep Eunsu’s dream alive, who else will?

[flowerthornsart]

(Bug free version of my commission sheet! While i do my best to tag all posts featuring bug characters with "Tw bugs" or "Tw bug", be careful browsing my art tag if bugs are upsetting! <3)

EXAMPLES AND ART TAG: One I Two (Colored) I Three I Four I Five I Art Tag

Hey everyone! I wanted to revamp my Commission sheet to hopefully make it more clear.

If you’re interested in commissioning me, you can reach out to me via DM here on tumblr, or reach out via Discord (HoneyBee#3887). I’ll estimate a price for you and get started once you give the okay.

Rules:

1. I reserve the right to decline any commission

2. Extra characters are $10-$20 extra depending on the style (ex. a sketch would be 10$ extra while shaded/ lineless would be $20)

3. I always show the sketch before payment, unless the piece is a sketch itself. After fixing anything the buyer needs me to, i will not line/color until payment

4. I’ll be sending an invoice through PayPal! Not a rule really but just, information.

5. It’s okay for you to post the art made anywhere! I will place a small signature somewhere on the piece, please keep that part of the piece in tact

6. I LOVE references! The more the better, it helps me make sure I’m drawing what you want!

Even if you dont commission, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated to get to more people!