#is to say something wrong and get corrected

[hrrtshape]

read this if you're confused about persistence, if you've been affirming for months and nothing's shown up, if you're wondering whether you're doing something wrong but can't figure out what. not a method post. not a technique post. just what’s actually going on when it's not working yet.

ok. so. hi. this is going to be messy and probably upsetting. not because it's dramatic. don't flatter it. but because it's honest. and honesty gets weird when you're dealing with a field that's still so underexamined. we're all just poking the edge of the simulation with a biro. and maybe i should leave it alone. maybe i'm overcomplicating again. maybe this is one of those moments where i should just shut up and script and go to bed. but. no. i can't. i don't know how to shut up about this. and maybe this isn't even the truth. maybe this is just one lens. but fine. whatever. here it is.

context: someone asked me today. "how do i force myself to shift in a short amount of time?" (@srcerers this is your fault....affectionately) and i was writing the usual. the "correct" answer. if you decide it, it's done. if you say you shift instantly, you do. period. PERIOD. done and done, tried and true. the golden assumption + confidence = success formula.

and then i spiralled. because i've been saying that for months. and yes, i've shifted. yes, i've seen results. but before that???????? i spent ages deciding. persisting. affirming. knowing. and still. nothing. and no, this isn't about pedestals. this isn't about wanting it too much. this isn't a fucking disney villain song about obsession. this isn't "just let go babe." no one here is pacing the astral gates with mascara running. this isn't longing. this is clarity. this is when you know it's yours and reality still has the audacity to play pretend.

you're not begging. you're not desperate. you're just wondering why the algorithm is lagging. and you're allowed to. you're god, and the lights are flickering. you're allowed to knock on the wall and ask why.

and sure. someone might read this and say "you were overthinking." or "you were still checking the 3d." but it's not that. this isn't panic. it's not frantic. it's the calm after the calibration. this is what happens after you stop checking. after you stabilise. after you fully assume. when you don't need results to believe. but they still don't come. and so you ask. not because you're doubting. because you're refining. it's not sabotage. it's devotion. it's wanting to understand the edge of your own dominion.

and the thing is. in the past, i wasn't hoping. i wasn't tiptoeing. i was in. all in. clearly, absolutely. no checking. no waiting. i wasn't treating the assumption like a wish. i was living like it was already law. so i continued in this spiral. because if you're god. if your thoughts create. if you say "i am in my dr" now and you mean it, like actually mean it, shouldn't that be enough?? i say this confidently, because after shifting so much, yes, that is indeed what happens. but. for people who haven't experienced that privilege. like. confidence plus assumption equals done. right??? so then why not. where does the decision go. does it just evaporate. does it fall behind the couch cushions of the multiverse. in what fucking universe do you decide something every day with conviction and it still doesn't root. how does that not calcify into fact.

so let me give you a scenario. maybe it's you. it was definitely me.

you're affirming day and night. not hoping. not wishing. knowing. you've decided you are in your dr. period. you walk like it. talk like it. feel it. you're not checking for results. not looking over your shoulder. not waiting for it to kick in. because it already did. your inner world is loud. it's screaming this is it. i'm there. not even zeus could knock me off the road because as god is my witness, i am in my goddamn dr.

and, nothing. no hogwarts. no mansion. no parisian cigarette moment with my boo in the rain. just your room. your walls. your body. again. again. again.

and it doesn't make sense. because the law is the law. you're god. your thoughts create. shifting is instant. so what the fuck is happening.

and look, i used to think there were only two ways to persist. either you're in power mode, clean, cold certainty. emotionally detached, i've already shifted, i'm just reinforcing it. or you're in panic mode, still affirming, still assuming, but there's this silent grip underneath. if i stop deciding this, it'll fall apart. and yeah, on the surface those feel like two different planets. one feels sovereign. the other feels shaky.

but if you strip the tone out of it, if you stop obsessing over how it sounds and just look at the architecture, both are assumptions. both are decisions. both count. because the law doesn't care if you're cool about it or crying about it. it only cares that you're doing it. that it's declared. that it's held. so if both modes are valid, then why do they sometimes fail????????

and this is where it started to come apart for me. because both 'i've already shifted' and 'i need to keep deciding' are still assumptions. one just feels better. it's smoother. but structurally, they're the same. and if the panic one isn't checking, if it's clean panic, if it's quiet panic, it should still land. it should still work. but sometimes it doesn't. and that's what broke the seal. because if it's not about hope, not about doubt, not about waiting, not about checking, and you're affirming like a master shifter, what the fuck is it? and i'll be using me as a poster child of examples and say that, hey, although shifting is now easy for me - i still struggle with manifestations. so. why???

and that question is the reason i'm even writing this at all.

so now maybe you're thinking (if i hopefully have not fully gutted your brain as i have with mine while writing this):

maybe it's because i'm doing it from panic, not power. maybe i'm secretly doubting. maybe i haven't let go. maybe i'm still in the waiting room. maybe that's because i keep looking at the 3d.

no. stop. cut it out. that's noise.

you can be in panic. you can be in power. it doesn't matter. if you are persisting. assuming. deciding. then it should work. that's the rule. that's the contract. it's not a myth. it's not a loophole. it's not some cult-coded trick line you chant and hope it lands. it's the structure. it's the law.

i kept trying to find a reason. maybe it's density. maybe it's linear cause and effect, like flipping a light switch and expecting the bulb. but loa doesn't work like that. and shifting definitely doesn't. it's not circuitry. it's not push-button response.

if you are the light, then the switch shouldn't matter. you're not triggering something, you are the trigger. you're the source. the mechanism. the whole #&*!$%@ circuit board. so what's jamming the signal. if it's not doubt. not timing. not belief. then what.

and here's the closest thing to an answer i've got (half consolation, half theory, fully an attempt to keep myself from throwing my laptop across the room):

you've already shifted. you just haven't caught up to yourself yet.

i know. i hate how that sounds too. it's vague. it's annoying. it feels like spiritual scaffolding. but it's not. or i at least hope it's not.

when we say shifting is instant, we don't mean the wallpaper peels itself off and your mom turns into dumbledore. we mean the moment you decide, the reality activates. the coordinates reroute. the entire grid adjusts.

it's as if you are rerouting a train track mid-motion. you're still moving. but you're not on the same line anymore.

the problem is, we expect the scenery to change with the switch. and sometimes it does. but sometimes it doesn't. and that's because the 3d isn't a flatscreen. it's not theatre. it's not performance. it's a mirror. and mirrors don't update because you want them to. they update because you've changed so deeply that they literally can't reflect the old you anymore.

so when you say "i am in my dr" and it doesn't look like your dr, that's not proof it failed. it's just a delay. you're already in the new field, but the particles haven't aligned. and yeah, that's maddening. because your body feels the shift. your head knows it. but your eyes won't show it. and then you start to doubt. not openly. but subtly. in the quiet. in the repetition.

so. what can i sum up. persistence is not about time. it's about saturation.

it's not about hours logged or how many affirmations you can fire off in a spiral notebook. it's about how deep it goes. how thick it sticks. and no, that doesn't mean screaming it louder. doesn't mean performing it. it means not needing to say it at all. not because you gave up. not because you're done trying. but because it's default now. baseline. unconscious. it is. not a spell. not a statement. just identity.

shifting isn't something you win. it's not a trophy for spiritual discipline. it's a symptom. a side effect of self-recognition so total, so absolute, that there's no room left for contradiction.

so yeah. both "i've already shifted" and "i need to keep deciding" can work. panic or power doesn't matter if the persistence is clean. if you're not checking. not looping. not measuring the silence. but if you're still waiting, even subtly, even spiritually, it's not saturation. it's performance.

and that doesn't mean you're doing it wrong. it just means you're still becoming. still burning off the part of you that thinks shifting is something to win, not something you already are.

and yes, some people shift instantly. some people shift after six months of saying "i'm already there." and they're not better than you. they're not more "aligned."

they just hit saturation faster. their idea of "this is true" had less gunk to burn off.

you say: but i'm god. i decide. why hasn't it happened yet?

and i say: it has. if it feels like it hasn't, you're still relating to it like something outside you. you're still watching for it.

reality isn’t late. reality isn't anything. it just reflects. it doesn't show up when you're ready, it has to show up when you're being. not when you want. not when you wait. when you are.

if it's not visible yet, it's not because it's in transit. it's because you're still checking. you're still measuring. you’re not failing. you're not early. you're just still treating truth like a method.

and truth isn’t a process. it’s a position. a posture. you don't need to persist for six months. you don't need to reach peak saturation like it’s a score. you just need to stop making realness conditional.

stop affirming like you're earning it. start assuming like it's breath. like it’s done and there’s nothing to explain.

because shifting isn't slow. it's not cumulative. it’s not linear. it’s identity. the second you say: i am - it's done.

not "on its way." not "almost here." and certainly not "it's glitching."

done. and if you're still asking when, then you haven't decided. not really. so stop trying to time it. just be it.

and look. i still believe shifting is easy. because it is. i've done it. i know it's not in charge. but sometimes it's not about method. it's about the silence in between. and that doesn't make the law wrong. it just makes the process actual. i'm not saying shifting or manifesting is hard. i'm saying that staying loyal to the truth when it hasn't shown its face yet takes a different kind of strength.

you don't have to overanalyse it.

but you're allowed to want to understand it.

that doesn't undo the truth.

it just lets you live inside it better.

[slaaneshsleftovergender]

*cracks knuckles* 

I have not been failing to beat the furry allegations for years, just to ignore this call to action now

I'm basing my takes on…vibes, mostly. Also there's no set system. Each primarch gets personal evaluation on Culture, Cannon, my view of what Big E would consider “sick as hell”, and just…them, ya know?

-

Lion - Obvious one*, very large and sturdy, leaning heavily towards a Dungeons and Dragons Leonin design. 

Fulgrim - My knee jerk reaction is snake, Slaneesh saw n made it happen, but I was torn because honestly when I think of Fulgrim, I think about his hair. Solution, hood like a cobra. I would love to draw Fulgrim as a Medusa now

Perturabo - Look, this all started with the Ultramoorines, and (possibly) bad news, Petty Turbo is also Bull. Same sacred symbolism situation between cultures, plus shit temper, and stubbornness. 

Khan - Okay, I'm not gonna say horse. He likes horses, I don't think he is one. I did think the basic bitch answer Cheetah, but that does not have enough flavor. He's a Hawk. That man is a hawk. 

Leman Russ* - Wolf. I really want to appologize for saying something so obvious.

Dorn - Gonna be real, knee jerk reaction is his Fursona is human. “Humans are animals” mfer.

For real though, wasp. The kind that makes nests in your rafters - builders, short temper, color scheme - I'd hear the argument for Bees as well. 

Konrad Curze - Now, a lot of people associate night lords as bats, AS THEY SHOULD. It is the morally correct thing to do. However, HOWEVER, might I interest you in cat boy Curze? 

Listen, feral bastard, actual night vision not echo location, one of the most efficient hunters in the animal kingdom. Also, someone here on Tumblr dot com said "Konrad with a cat mom" and I will never not wish that in my deepest soul. 

> Also people, normal ass people, with like cat ears and tail, do not count as furries....but like *holds up Catrad* 

Sanguinius - His alluded me. He's got wings, there's been jokes about him being a goose....but he wears a leopards pelt, maybe could take some licenser with that?

Until it hit me.

It's griffin. He likes big cats, has wings, and I want more mythical creature primarchs. Plus, they got an air of nobility while, also, kinda being a mutant in their own way. 

Ferrus - Armadillo Lizard. Look, imma be real, I don't know much about him. However, he's gotta be a reptile to match Fulgrim, and the metal arms translates to armor scales in my mind. I think the evolution of the scales would please him too, cause the Iron Fists got that whole weakness of the flesh thing going on. I think. Also cute as fuck

Angron - I was thinking maybe something that balanced before n after nails, but honestly, Wild Boar. Angry bastards. Also associated with gods of War :3

Guilliman - is locked in, Bull/Cow. I've heard Ultramoorines started due to either the symbolism, or Guilliman wanting to be a farmer. Either is fantastic….but if I COULD change it…Owl just because of Minerva? Felt worth saying lol.

Mortarion - I was thinking Spider for some reason, but I think ultimately it's another one where the chaos god called it. Also, I can see him really liking Moths in general.

Magnus - I've seen him likened to a jackal, and I do really like that. And it would be fun to draw. However, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think Ibis fits better. Ibis was associated with Thoth - God of Wisdom, so big point there, but, once more, chaos god involvement = birb. 

Horus - Capybara 

Okay, okay. So Horus obviously likes wolves, but bro is domesticated honestly. He's really good with people, he charms them. He is a dog. 

Lorgar - Ram!!! He's got that biblical sheep symbolism energy. And horns. And I can't think of anything else lol 

Vulkan* - Dragon. Big, happy dragon.

Corvus Corax* - Raven.

Alpharius and Omegon - "Well Hydra Dominatus, they would be some kind of Scaley-" WRONG! FOX BOIIIZZZZZ

Bonus: 

Jago Sevatarion's is shark.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfdbtvK/

[yuriartillery]

Agatha and Elizabeth

“Lady Agatha, I’ve brought you your tea.”

I set the platter down on the end table next to my mistress and pour out her tea. She doesn’t take it with milk or sugar, and she always insists that I oversteep the leaves in the pot. Bitter herbs sharpen the mind, she says.

Agatha is sprawled out on her reading chair in her chamber, still in her nightgown despite it nearly being noon. Lady Agatha purportedly drove away several governesses in her youth with her willful and unladylike attitude, and I have personally seen her drive out a fair score of potential suitors in much the same way. I admit that I almost admire her sharp tongue when it’s turned towards those above me, but all too often her disposition grates on me in the way that only a spoiled child can.

“Thank you, Liz. Would you draw the curtains? I have a bitch of a headache.”

Her delicately manicured left hand covers her porcelain face, as she regards me through spread fingers. My lady’s room has a western facing window, and there’s not a single stream of light flowing in at the moment. A catty remark crosses my mind briefly as I walk over to the curtains to draw them.

“Right away, my Lady.”

She’s not fond of sharp or sudden noises, so I carefully pull them together, taking far longer than I would prefer. Once the are curtains shut, I tidy up her room. The laundry maid has often complained that Agatha’s clothes seem to spend more time as makeshift rugs than on her body. She’s still watching me through her fingers, although she hasn’t yet deigned to honour me by turning her head.

“Lady Agatha, forgive me my presumption, but you seem not to be feeling well today. Shall I send word to that factory owner’s son that you won’t be able to entertain him for dinner?”

Exactly on cue, she lets out a put-upon sigh and slumps further into her chair. Mister John Harker has been quite dogged in his pursuit of Agatha, despite her repeated deflections of his various advances. By society’s estimation he’s a perfectly unobjectionable man, though the arrogance he displays by courting far above his station embitters him to me. Not that anyone of standing minds, her parents have been trying to marry her off to any man who will take her, both to finally rid the estate of her presence and to dispel the rumors that they’ve spawned an unmarriageable hellion.

“I’m afraid you didn’t respond clearly enough for me to answer Mr. Harker’s solicitations, my Lady, shall I return after you’ve had time for the tea to settle?”

My mistress is so predictable. As soon as I suggest that I’m about to leave, she immediately rights her posture, combs her hair out of her eyes, and clears her throat.

“Tell that parasitic bastard that I am indisposed in no uncertain terms, Liz.”

She pauses for a beat, her face twisting as venom decants behind her ruby lips, until her expression settles into a malicious grin barely veiled by an austere half-smile. Just as I’m about to prompt her, my Lady speaks.

“On second thought, I’m feeling much better. Your tea always does wonders for me, Elizabeth. Let him know that I would be honored to dine with him alone tonight.”

I know she’s not touched her tea yet, so Agatha must be plotting something. Typically she would hold a massive party so that she could publicly humiliate a suitor. A solo dinner is well outside of her usual mischief.

“Very good, my Lady. I’ll have a messenger send word to Mr. Harker immediately.”

“You must help me get dressed and prepared first, Liz. I can’t host anyone in this state, certainly not him. My hair’s a mess, as is my face.”

I can’t help but smile to myself. Agatha is always so petulant and exacting when she gets an idea like this into her head. Until the very moment her plans begin, she’ll find something wrong with her appearance or presentation and endlessly correct it such that everything is perfect. She’ll need to bathe, get dressed, do her hair, and have at least four hours to make sure that each room in her scheme is arranged to her need.

“Did you bathe last night, my Lady?”

Of course she didn’t, I was with her until I turned out her lights. My mistress never bathes unless I remind her too. She seems startled when I ask this, snapped out of her plots for a moment by the societal expectation of cleanliness. Honestly, she’s helpless.

“Oh! I, well, no…”

“I see, my Lady. I’ll go draw a bath for you now, and I’ll fetch you when it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Liz.”

“It’s no trouble at all, my Lady. Do you have an idea of what you’ll be wearing tonight?”

“…I don’t.”

“Well my Lady, I encourage you to think on it while I prepare your bath. Please excuse me.”

She’s not listening anymore, and I know it. I don’t particularly mind. The look of her perfectly focused face tells she can’t tell if I take a moment outside of her notice. Some time to alert the staff to the general outline of what will be occurring today. I quietly excuse myself from her chambers and look for Anthony, the estate’s coachman and messenger. He seems genuinely excited to be giving Mr. Harker substantial news for a change. I can’t blame the man, it must be exhausting to constantly rebuff the pesterings of a desperate lovelorn fool.

Lady Agatha didn’t outline any of her plans to me before I left, but they all more or less follow a rote routine, so providing advanced notice to the kitchen and cleaning staff has historically improved the odds of my mistress’s plans going off without a hitch.

The bath has always been simple, but unorthodox, to prepare. Agatha prefers her baths to be as hot as possible, so I nearly boil her bathwater. When she’s ready it’ll be the almost scalding temperature that she so adores. I gently knock at the door and let myself in. Agatha has spread a few different dresses out on her bed and the floor and is in deep deliberation as to which dress she should wear.

“I think the sky blue dress would be appropriate for today, my Lady.”

She starts up, like a cat that’s had its tail tread on. I suppress a giggle. She nods to me in agreement and begins to gather up her other dresses.

“Also, your bath is prepared. Leave the cleanup to me, my Lady.”

I reach down to help her upright and she takes my hand swiftly. She pulls herself to her feet in one sudden motion and walks to the bathroom faster than is necessary. Out of the corner of my eye I catch her alabaster cheeks flushing rose, cut off sharply by the slamming of a door. This is routine as well, a startled Agatha can’t bear to be seen by anyone else. I tidy up her room, returning all but the blue dress to her wardrobe. After all is set into its rightful place, I make up her bed and tidy the mess of romance novels on her desk.

A book titled Carmilla catches my eye as I clean, hidden away behind the headboard of Agatha’s bed. It’s in a horrid state, spine bent and broken, pages yellowed with several dog-eared to hold her place. My lady is still bathing, so I take a break from my chores to peruse a few pages. Within seconds I am absorbed so fully that I nearly miss my Lady crying out for my aid. I clear my throat and tuck the novel back where I found it.

“Liz! Elizabeth! I need your help! Now!”

It’s strange, she almost never requires assistance in the bath, but I open the door to the bath and a wave of heavy steam forces me back. I wipe the fog from my glasses and walk in.

“Liz, what took you so long?”

Agatha’s skin is entirely red from the hot bath, but she hasn’t yet wet her hair. I can’t help but sigh, she’s going to insist that I wash her hair. It’s nearly been two months since she last asked for this, I had almost hoped that she had forgotten that I said I’d be willing to. I move behind the bathtub and prepare the soaps.

“Forgive me, my Lady. I was engrossed in my work.”

She pouts, because she can’t help it. I keep my opinions to myself.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore! Now that you’re here, wash my hair! … please.”

I knew it.

“You’ll have to wet it yourself, my lady. I wouldn’t want to appear to be drowning my mistress on the off chance that someone stumbles into your bathroom.”

With a huff, Agatha sinks beneath the steaming water, giving me another opportunity to remove the fog from my glasses. She childishly breaches moments later, splattering both myself and the floor with her bathwater. Every day it grows harder to suppress my annoyance with my mistress. Each interaction is just another trial from God, sent to test my patience.

“Close your eyes, my Lady. We wouldn’t want it to get into your eyes.”

I lather her scalp and begin the laborious process of cleaning her unmanageable amount of hair. Agatha has been famously opposed to it ever being cut. Trimming it to remove the splitting ends has been a battle enough her entire life, the other maids have told me. She’s made a personal enemy of every salon’s proprietor and all of their employees within fifty miles, and now none will ever assent to seeing her.

My mistress sighs with contentment as I work on her. She purrs like a cat when my nails scratch her scalp and mewls pathetically when I move on to more of her hair. There’s some wordless protestation when I wipe my glasses for a third time, but it’s easily resolved with a bit of pointless fawning.

“Alright, it is finished, my Lady.”

She sinks back underneath the water. I have to wait for her to resurface before I leave, lest I provoke another outburst. It won’t be long, as she can hardly hold her breath above water, let alone below it. When she surfaces this time she doesn’t intentionally splash as a seal would.

“If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave now, Lady Agatha.”

I’m struck by how wounded she looks as I move to leave. With a sigh I turn around and set my glasses on the vanity, as it seems I might be in this teakettle of a room for quite some time.

“Is there something wrong, my Lady?”

There’s a pause as she thinks over my question. She’s clearly troubled, it’s written all over her face.

“What do you think of that Harker bastard, Liz? And you have to answer honestly! Or else!”

It’s now my turn to spend a moment thinking. By all measures he’s an upstanding young gentleman, cordial and polite at every opportunity. He gets along well with all of the servants in our estate, myself excluded, and he’s absolutely filthy rich, so it wouldn’t be beyond him to provide the lavish lifestyle that Agatha insists on.

But despite knowing all of that, I simply cannot stand the man for more than five minutes at a time. His posture is stiff and bent all at the same time, he never knows when to stop joking about with people, and his tireless pursuit of Agatha, despite her obvious intolerance of his existence, makes me wretch. If I were her mother, I would make it clear in no uncertain terms that he is to leave my darling Agatha alone and never show his face in my house again.

“Hmm. Well, in all respects he’s a wonderful gentleman who any young woman would be delighted to marry.”

I can feel my mistress burning holes through me with her glare as I begin my evaluation of her suitor with the same uncritical praise that she’s doubtless heard dozens of times already.

“But, I personally would resign as my Lady’s personal maid if you were to accept his proposal. I cannot stand to share a room with the man, and were it not my duty to ensure he felt safe and welcomed in this estate, I would have denied him entry long ago.”

Agatha looks visibly relieved to hear such a scathing opinion of Mr. Harker. After I finish speaking, she steps out of the bath without warning and wrings out her hair. I nearly stumble as I go for a towel to give her so that she can cover up. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen her fully naked before, so I suppose she must not mind at anymore. I excuse myself to her chambers to help her dress and do her hair after she finishes drying herself.

She’s returned to her silent plotting once she exits the bath, and wordlessly allows me to dress her, not putting up nearly as much of a fight as I’m used to out of her. I prefer her like this, a nice pretty doll for me to dress and groom. I’m almost shocked not to hear any complaining as I do her hair up into a partial crown braid, but she’s within in her own internal world now. The Day of Judgment itself could not rouse her now.

Once she’s fully prepared for the day she gracefully dances out of her room, stopping to offer me a mumbled thanks for dressing her. She’s likely off to let the staff know her particular requirements for tonight’s dinner. I’ll be following her during the late afternoon, but time has flown, and I’m finally allowed one of my breaks, so I go off to the kitchen to have myself a meal.

The cooks are all abuzz about Lady Agatha’s meal request for tonight. Against her parent’s paltry resistance, she’s asked that they prepare all of the most expensive meat they had on hand, and that they were to make enough to feed the entire staff. Nobody is quite sure what awful prank she’s going to play on Mr. Harker, but they don’t care. Wine, bread, cheeses, all are fair game to the staff tonight, so Agatha likely has their entire support.

It’s already late afternoon when Anthony leads Mr. Harker into the foyer. He looks dazzled by the chandelier when I greet him on behalf of Agatha.

“Welcome to the Rosewood Estate, Mr. John Harker. At present, my Lady Agatha is preparing for your meal with her. Forgive her absence; she’ll be with us shortly. Until then, it would be my honor to entertain you.”

My voice breaks his fascination with the crystal chandelier and he laughs nervously.

“Uh, haha, yes, very good. You’re, wait, don’t tell me, I remember your face, uh, you’re Elizabeth! Right, yeah Lizzy, the uh, maid that’s always joined to Aggie’s hip. That’s splendid, I could use your advice.”

I wince when he calls my mistress ‘Aggie’ with such familiarity. Where does he get off thinking that he can use a pet name she despises when she’s done nothing but ignore his telegrams and letters for months? I offer a silent prayer that whatever Agatha has planned will rid us of this vermin for good.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Harker. Not only do you remember a humble servant like myself, but you think so highly of my opinion that you’d ask for my advice. If you would give Anthony your coat, I’ll guide you to the sitting room, where it’d be my utmost pleasure to answer any questions you may have.”

Mr. Harker’s face lights up with an awful juvenile smile as he hands off his filthy longcoat to the coachman. I lead him to the sitting room, opening the door for him and he immediately takes Agatha’s favored seat. His posture is positively uncouth as his miserable form seeps into the chair.

“Should I have a servant put on some tea, Mr. Harker?”

“Tea? No, can’t stand the stuff. I only drink coffee. Lizzy, you wouldn’t believe how rough the journey here from London is, but after months of silence, my beloved Aggie has finally seen sense! Everyone told me that she’d never respond, uh, that she’s always going to be unmarried but I sure showed-”

I can’t bear to hear anymore of his blathering, so I cut him off.

“I’m as pleased as anyone else is that my Lady has finally graced with you an invitation to our humble estate, Mr. Harker. If you would forgive me speaking above my station, what did you intend to ask me about?”

His surprised expression at my directness fills me with equal parts pride for silencing him and anxiety for speaking over a man.

“Uh… right, right, so you know Aggy better than anyone else right, Lizzy? I mean, uh, of course you do. I’ve never seen her without you by her side, uh, so, in your opinion how do you think it’d be best for me to uh, spring an engagement on her?”

Die. I want him to die right now.

“Lady Agatha has always hated surprises. I’m sure someone who cares for her as deeply, as you yourself do, would understand that instinctively. She’s also quite sharp, trying to trick her into saying yes would only put yourself in danger of one of her infamous rejections. Were I in your position, I would be upfro-”

“Ha! Upfront? You’ve got to be joking around with me, right Lizzy? I’ve always uh, been upfront with Aggie about my intentions and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Honestly, were I a more cynical man, I’d think she’s uh, preparing to embarrass me like she she did to Georgie, and Percy, and Willy, and…”

He trails off getting quieter and quieter as he lists a number of Agatha’s potential suitors that he personally knew. I take the moment to breathe, trying to quell the seething rage I feel after being so sharply cut off by a dimwitted half-common fool who asked for my advice, then decided he knew better instantly.

“Yes, my Lady has discerning taste. But not one of the unfortunate men you listed were ever personally invited to a private dinner with Lady Agatha.”

Mr. Harker looks up from the fingers he was counting his former rivals on, genuinely shocked at what I had just said.

“Wait, uh, really?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re not pulling my leg, are you Lizzy?”

“This is not the proper time to make jokes, Mr, Harker.”

The smile that appears on his face on hearing this turns my stomach.

“Splendid! Right, uh, sorry for doubting you Lizzy. You’ve been so helpful. Uh, take this as a sign of my thanks.”

He shoves a crumpled wad of banknotes into my hand, then returns to Agatha’s chair, somehow spreading himself in a less dignified way than before.

“Sir, I can’t accept these, I haven’t done anything for you.”

I gently set the money onto an end table nearby Mr. Harker. It stinks like he does. I’ll have to wash my hands once I have some time to myself. When he speaks again, his voice is in a lower tone.

“Oh Lizzy, you’re so humble, I insist. And uh, just between you and me, uh, Percy said the reason why he stopped pursuing Aggie wasn’t because of all of the drinks she spilled on him or the kissing some other man while he was watching or any of that. Percy’s a good-natured chap after all. You could probably cut off his leg and he’d thank you.”

“Forgive me, I’m not sure I understand-”

“He said it was because uh, whenever you’d look at him, he’d uh, feel the chill of the grave. So, uh, if Agatha does become my fiancee, I’d like to have a good uh, you know, relationship with you, Lizzy.”

I notice that I’ve been clenching my fists in my lap during this entire conversation. I relax myself, and give him a halfhearted half-smile.

“Whatever my Lady desires, I will make so. If she truly does wish to marry you, Mr. Harker, I’ll gladly serve you with her.”

“Brilliant! We’ll be thick as thieves in no time, won’t we, Lizzy?”

As if Lady Agatha has any intention of spending one more moment of her precious time with this imbecile after tonight is through.

“I’d imagine we would be, sir.”

Another maid opens the door to let us know that dinner is ready to be served. Harker gets up right away, boundless energy pouring out of his every step. I follow behind and over his shoulders I see Lady Agatha. She’s done her own makeup for this dinner, and though it’s competent, I still wish she had given me the opportunity to do it for her. Even so, at this moment she is the pinnacle of grace and beauty, her dress flowing like water with each step she takes.

“John, it’s so very good to see you tonight. I trust that Liz was a satisfactory substitute hostess while I was making myself presentable?”

Her voice rings out clear and wonderful as church bells, contrasted to Mr. Harker’s boorish mumbling.

“Uh, yeah, Aggie, she was an uh, a great hostess. You uh, look pretty tonight. Uh, Lizzy said it would just be the uh, two of us dining?”

“Yes, I’ve had my staff prepare the meal beforehand so that it can just be the two of us alone, John. I’m quite proud of what my chefs have waiting for us tonight.”

Agatha offers her hand to Harker, which he takes, not even kneeling to kiss it, and then pulls her into the dining room. The doors close behind them and I rush to the washroom to scrub his scent from my hands.

It’s been nearly thirty minutes as I wait alone by the door, hands red and raw from the washing. The air stings. All I can here through the polished oak are polite murmurs as the two eat and chat, though try as I might, I can’t discern the direction the conversation is going.

Doubts begin to eat away at me while the minute hand crawls iota by iota across the clock face. Did Agatha actually have feelings for Mr. Harker that I simply hadn’t noticed? Was this not going to be a prank of hers? Without being able to hear, anything could be going on behind those closed doors. I fall to my knees and offer another prayer to whatever saint can be bothered. Ask God on my behalf to kill that man on the spot.

As I strain my ears I hear a glass shatter and a slight scuffle. I ignore it dutifully, if I am needed then she will come ask for me. Then a dull thump as something hits the floor hard. It is none of my concern, my imagination must be overactive. Then a strangled, gurgling scream. I disregard my station and throw open a door to see if my Lady is safe.

Within the dining hall I see my lovely Lady Agatha on top of a fallen John Harker, her face pressed against his neck and hand covering his mouth. He’s gripping the tablecloth with one hand and clawing desperately at the air with another. The red wine is all over the floor and my Lady’s dress. Harker’s eyes dart towards me and he forces out another gagged scream.

I begin to apologize for my intrusion and turn to leave, when I catch from the corner of my eye thick crimson pool oozing from Mr. Harker’s neck. There’s a tearing sound as she looks at me from atop the bleeding man. She looks up at me and spits out a chunk of his flesh. A jolt of envy courses through me.

“Oh Liz. Right outside my door. Ever my faithful dog. Did you hear that scream and get worried that John was attempting something improper with your master?”

Harker had sunk his teeth into Agatha’s hand, hard enough to make her bleed, but the light is already beginning to leave his eyes. I come to my senses enough to speak.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Agatha?”

She smiles far wider than she’s ever done before, showing off all of her perfectly straight bloodstained teeth. Her voice remains even and tempered, as if she were speaking to her parents or another noble. I’m beckoned over by her free hand and I approach warily.

“John was just blathering on and on and on about his life and how he’ll treat me if we were to get engaged and about his work in the city and all of his terribly boring friends and it was so mind-numbingly dull.”

Her voice is excited and lilting as she continues, but she isn’t talking past me. All of her attention is on me now.

“You know how I get when I’m bored, Liz. I started to look at his neck instead of his face. When he gets excited did you know one of his veins throbs just a little? I got to wondering what it would feel like if I were to sink my teeth into it and then before I knew it-”

She laughs clear and innocent as a church bell. It brings a smile to the corner of my face despite the circumstances.

“I was on top of him ripping out that throbbing vein with my teeth!”

Blood has started to seep into the edges of her dress, the floor is slick with Harker’s life. I get closer to her, and she wrenches her other hand out of his mouth. I kneel beside her and she rests her head on my shoulder.

“And it felt so good, Liz, the heat of his blood pouring into my mouth, the feel of my teeth cutting through skin and muscle alike, the terror in his eyes as he realized that I was going to kill him.”

Agatha lets out a dreamy sigh, running her uninjured hand over the chest of Harker’s corpse. I glare at it. It’s still too much affection for him, from her.

“And the struggle, he bit my hand, you know. How improper of him, he’s meant to be my suitor.”

She takes my cheek with her unbitten hand and turns my head to look her in the eyes. I ask instinctively.

“Is there something you require, my Lady?” My Lady Agatha kisses me on my lips, the bitter iron taste of Harker’s blood fills my mouth, my cheeks reddening from the directness, the impropriety of it. I feel my heart quicken when her tongue meets mine and at this moment I forget about the dead man beside me, the stains to my clothes, and every thought about what I should do now.

The kiss ends abruptly, and I’m still left reeling from the intensity of the situation. Agatha stands and present her injured hand to me. I wrap it with a napkin to staunch the flow of blood. The same smile is still on her face.

“Now Liz, I seem to have made a mess of my dinner. Could you clean up for me?”

[kozachenko]

I. LOVE. NAREKO. SO MUCH SHE HAS BECOME MY NEW FAVOURITE FROM THE DEMO OMG-

Artist's Notes;

Before I even knew about her character, her design and theme made me like her so much omg I knew I had to draw her and it was enough to distract me from the Touhou Project Inscryption AU art I was working on before this but that's not important right now. I love her and the stage 1 boss so much (Chimi is a little too weird for me I'm sorry), but Nareko's colour scheme stood out to me a lot.

I know she's not acutally Egyptian and is just larping, but I did try to give her some more melanin since I thought that sort of skin tone would jive better with some of her other colours. IDK why but tan skin and blue hair go really well together, this is like, the second time I've done this so far (I WILL GET TO KEIKI IN A MOMENT BECAUSE HOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY DO I HAVE SOME NEW IDEAS NOW). I also didn't feel like drawing hands, so I put them behind her back, though I do think the pose fits. I also exaggerated her shorts because again, her design has is really fun to exagerrate and stylize. I didn't go too nuts on the rendering, really only felt inspired to do some of the clothes and a few gold bits. One of her key earrings kinda got lost in some of the gold but honestly I just wanted to doodle her.

AND NOW ONTO MY IDEA WITH KEIKI BECAUSE OOOH MY GOODNESS I NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY BRAIN. So like, in ancient Egypt, one important part of their funerary rights were these little idols called Shabti, which were intended to assist the dead in the afterlife as servants and were used since all the way back in Old Kingdom Egypt. Another funerary rite Egypt is well known for is also the pyramids, which were large tombs constructed for the deceased that also date back to Old Kingdom Egypt. (If I get something wrong with ancient Egyptian history btw, please correct me in the comments)

All I'm saying is that Keiki could very possibly connect with Nareko over funerary rights, and Nareko would probably appreciate the funerary rites of the Kofun period that Keiki has dominion over since there some similarities between Ancient Egyptian funeral rites and Kofun period funeral rites (not saying they are identical, but these are just some connections I've noticed). You know, maybe if Nareko met Keiki she'd probably help support her in her faith since she would also likely believe in idol worship and...y'know, they'd probably be friends :)

...Their ship name is Kei/Reko and I will say no more.

Now back to the Touhou Project Inscryption AU I was working on before this

[mayoi-inu]

Surprise surprise, this translation is wrong

As many of you already know I’m in a crusade against bad translations. I see this panel going around very often but the translation makes me cringe so bad everytime. I'm sure many people are already aware of the mistranslation but I have never seen it explained anywhere so I decided to do it myself.

Disclaimer, English is not my native language.

Let’s start from the previous panel, because ✨context✨ The order is Japanese -- the fan translation I found -- and the official translation.

I will write down the literal, weird, almost word for word translation for comparison purposes:

判った　答える　答えるから近くに寄らないでくれる？連れだって歩いてると思われたくない

Understood I’ll answer. I’ll answer so, could you not come any closer? I don’t want it to look like we are walking together (I don’t want it be thought we are walking together)

はっ　心配すんな　俺もおもわれたくねえから

Ha, don’t worry. Because I don’t want it either (I also don’t want it be thought)

うふふ　気が合うねえ

ufufu ki ga au nee

Ok first explanation needed. First, the Japanese definition of ki ga au

気が合う -- 考え方や感じ方が通じ合う (kangaekata ya kanjikata ga tsuujiau)

way of thinking and feeling mutually understood.

"Ki" means mind, spirit, "au" means to meet. The English definition in many dictionaries and google is “to get along” and that’s what the fan translation uses (friendly reminder to ALWAYS use a monolingual dictionary once you reach a level high enough), but the "so well" comes from nowhere. The official translation uses "to see eye to eye". IMO it's more accurate in this context than to get along. But the “glad” also comes from nowhere.

Anyway, now you get the feeling of what it means. I think it's more like Dazai commenting how Chuuya shares with him the same feelings about the situation.

“fufu you agree, I see…”

そんな君が大好きだよ

sonna kimi ga daisuki dayo

And we got to the important part.

We have "sonna" that means “such”, “that kind of”. It's a spoken synonym of "sou iu" ("such, like that, that sort of"). As a pre-nominal adjective that goes with kimi, "sonna kimi" it means that you. It has a nuance of surprise when used in sentences like this.

And then "daisukidayo" that of course means I like so much, I love.

What does he loves? "sonna kimi", that is, a specific Chuuya, the Chuuya who is of the same mind that he is about not wanting people to think they were walking together. Or maybe simply the Chuuya that agrees with him, generally speaking.

In both translations the concept is all wrong. It’s presented as if loving Chuuya was the fact and Dazai was explaining the why. But in Japanese, Dazai is singling out the kind of Chuuya he likes/loves if you wish.

Now ask yourselves why specially the official translation chooses to make up the dialogue like that. I'm sure the translators knew enough Japanese to understand it correctly and I don't think it's a matter of cultural adaptation because it never justifies chaging the meaning. The correct answer is fanservice, sales and money 😭

If I had to translate it, I would say “oh I love/like so much that Chuuya!”.

It’s VERY in character for Dazai to say that. And the protest that follows is VERY in character for Chuuya.

うわ……やめろ！気色悪くて死ぬ！

Uwaa… stop it! It’s so disgusting I am going to die!

僕もだ

Me too.

Yes, Dazai sounds crestfallen.

This is getting too long, so my personal non-grammatical opinions under the cut

I have two, even three theories.

First case, Dazai was honest when he said that.

But he didn't register that's not something you go saying around like that, and he was hit with Chuuya's reaction. Because Chuuya had lived with other kids, so he understood social interactions. But Dazai didn't understand.

I've seen infinite analysis about Dazai and ND, mentall illnesses but not even one analyze this scene. So what if he really loved when Chuuya agreed with him, expressed it without any filters and recoiled when he was met with Chuuya's reaction and realized "that was not a normal thing to do". Remember the scene when he shoots the dead soldier? He seemed to be taking notes of what is and isn't normal. This option breaks my heart.

The criticism would be that what Dazai says doesn't sound so honest. This theory would fit better with the English translations but in Japanese he's very clearly informing Chuuya of the kind of Chuuya he likes, which is a twisted thing to say in any language. So maybe Chuuya's reaction is a response to both the nasty observation and the words chosen.

Second option, Dazai knew what he was doing

He used daisuki to provoke Chuuya, to mess with him and make him angry.

That's something 22!Dazai would do easily but I don't know if 15!Dazai was already so good at it. Anyway in this case the surprise would come from the genuine disgust in Chuuya's reaction instead of the expected anger. Chuuya is Chuuya, and he is immune to Dazai's manipulation schemes, except Dazai didn't know it yet. Also once he said it, daisuki was so cringe (and he was 15 😂). Absolutely in character for both of them.

Third option. Dazai said he wanted to make Chuuya his dog.

Dazai was a very messed up kid at that point. The first thing he thinks when he meets another (very powerful) boy his age is to dominate him and make him obbey his orders as his dog. The way he says that to Chuuya can sound very domineering, oh you agree, that's the Chuuya I love. That's a good boy 🐕. And then he felt down when Chuuya rejected that praise with disgust. In the manga it really looks like this option, with a very close and pushing Dazai and an uncomfortable looking Chuuya. I hate that vibe.

Or... possibly it's a bit of all three because after all, nobody knows what's in Dazai's mind 😌

[thebrainofmae]

Ok, just to be clear, I wasn’t trying to say that Joel didn’t do anything wrong and I understand that as much as WE know the science to be BS, we’re supposed to buy into the idea that this is probably a cure (tho I stand by the fact that since they’ve never done this before, even if we ignore all the flaws in the method here, the Doc still has no sure way of knowing it’ll work.)

I just meant to say that whatever his intentions were, Abby’s dad was also making a choice in the trolley problem that is the season one finale. He thinks he’s making the correct choice and I do understand his logic, but he’s also making an ethical sacrifice in doing that—yeah, just as Joel was.

And so I was annoyed bc Abby is framing her father as some completely innocent victim so that she could frame her vengeance as something righteous as opposed to just…brutal, violent, anger and grief driven vengeance! Which is fine, that’s her character. It’s also some of what Ellie is doing. It’s kind of a depressing place for the story to go, but whatever. That’s what I meant by the cycle of violence stuff at the start of my post, I get what they’re trying to say from a narrative perspective, I’m just also upset at the characters as they play it out.

I get that in the situation he’s in, her dad might make a legitimate decision that killing the unconscious teenage girl is the right thing to do. I just also think if you make that decision you should know that you might get shot in the face by her dad.

like I understand it’s all about the cycles of violence and why does the person you love matter more than the person I love etc etc

But Abby really does neglect to mention that her “unarmed doctor” father was about to kill an unconscious teenage girl in the hopes of finding a cure he had no way of knowing for sure would work, without even getting her consent first.

Like girl, Joel is right, shut the fuck up and do it already.

[neiptune]

so long as you're still you and i'm still me

cw: 5k wc, female hashira reader, mention of wounds, scars, trauma, in my heart of hearts this is a continuation of rain is back luck but you can also read it separately. you and sanemi are not exactly friends and not exactly lovers but when you disappear completely after a mission gone particularly wrong he finally musters the courage to pay you a visit

Sanemi sits on his knees, sharp eyes focused on his master as he details the latest missions every hashira is to be dispatched on. The tatami feels oddly soft under his legs, unstable and undulating like a boat lost at sea. Almost pulpy. Is the floor about to swallow him?

He blinks, sternly ordering himself to snap out of it. Ubuyashiki is talking but he can’t quite hear what he’s saying, the one sound drowning out every other noise a low buzz that fills his ears as his lavender gaze slips to his left again.

Empty. No one’s been sitting between him and Shinobu for the past two months.

His fingers twitch in his lap, Kanroji’s melodious pitch somehow cutting through the vacuum of muffled sounds of a world he can’t perceive right.

And then, suddenly, Ubuyashiki says your name. Sanemi blinks, certain his mind is playing tricks on him, but his master is truly describing… a mission?

“What?”, it’s not something he does, interrupt Oyakata-sama. It’s not something anyone does.

“Yes, Sanemi?”, yet, he turns to him with a gentle smile.

“I apologize, master. Did you just say… she’s been on a mission?”.

“Several missions, in fact”, Ubuyashiki nods, “as soon as she could stand, hold her blade again. I insisted she’d take more time to recover, Shinobu did too, but you know how she is”.

“Stubborn”, Kocho murmurs. It sounds like an apology but, as he fists the fabric of his pants until his knuckles turn white, Sanemi can’t bring himself to care.

When the meeting ends, a few pillars decide to stay at the estate for a while longer, to indulge in the warm tea Amane-sama serves. He’s always, without fail, among the first ones to leave but this particular afternoon he believes a cup of tea might help him clear his mind. If the hands holding the yunomi will stop shaking, that is.

“Wanna share your burdens, Shinazugawa?”, Tengen’s sarcastic pitch makes a vein on his temple throb.

“Fuck off”.

“Uzui”, Rengoku’s admonishment is affable but firm.

“I think we should just talk about it, since he clearly won’t”, the giant idiot sitting across from him shrugs, “did anyone besides Shinobu go on a mission with her?”.

“I did not go on a mission with her”, Kocho corrects him, patient, “I just know she didn’t want to stay in bed any longer. She let me treat her wounds but only right after it happened, I haven’t seen her in almost two months”, she catches Sanemi’s gaze as she speaks and he holds hers. Rage dissolves, it stops gripping the tissue that attaches muscle to bone and he finally feels like he can move his limbs again.

“’Kay”, Tengen clicks his tongue, “well, I tried visiting”.

“We all did”, Obanai, the only one staying despite not drinking tea, speaks quietly.

“She never comes out. Only speaks behind closed doors and it’s mostly to tell us to leave”, Mitsuri’s voice trembles.

“Tokito was the only one she came out for”, Iguro pushes, “but he doesn’t remember”.

“Shinazugawa-san”, Shinobu tilts her head to the side, “you stayed at my estate day and night, for over a week. But then… did you ever try?”.

Sanemi exhales but it comes out like a hiss.

“Why the hell would you think I didn’t-”

“When was the last time you went?”.

“Shortly after she left the butterfly estate”.

Mitsuri’s shocked gasp echoes across the quiet room.

“Two months ago?”.

Sanemi glares at her.

“Yes. I gave her space, you don’t really want someone at your door every day after shit like that happens”.

“Two months? What the fuck kinda space is that? I bet she thinks you forgot about her”, Uzui speaks with the cup pressed to his lips. Convenient, since Sanemi is getting closer and closer to knocking his teeth out.

“Shut the fuck up, Tengen”, the stern warning only makes the sound hashira grin.

“Think about it, she may be believing all she was to you was an easy relief provider…”.

“I’m fucking warning you”, Sanemi’s hand closes around the hilt of his nichirin, “another goddamn word and I’ll slit your throat open”.

Uzui’s sarcastic expression morphs into something real, something serious.

“Good. So you can still man up, after all. Fucking go talk to her”.

“That’s not your decision to make, you assho-”

“Enough”, Rengoku heaves a deep sigh as he glares at both parties, “the point is, we’re all worried. And we all care. If despite what she went through she can still honor her oath as a pillar, I believe we owe it to her to keep trying. She’s my comrade and my friend, I won’t leave her alone”.

Sanemi deflates in his seat, the hand clutching his blade relaxes. Kyojuro’s fiery, determined gaze makes him feel so insignificant.

“Shinazugawa-san”, when Rengoku speaks again, his tone is gentle, “please help us remind her she’s not alone. She holds deep affection for you”.

Deep affection. Well, that’s a way to describe it, he thinks.

Truth is, Sanemi doesn’t know what you actually feel for him. Hell, he doesn’t know what he feels half of the time. When he refused to leave the butterly estate as long as you lied there unconscius and bloodied, he remembers feeling dread. When was the last time he got scared, felt actual fear? He’s afraid every time Genya leaves for a mission, holds his breath and refuses to release it until his brother is back. But you? You’re a pillar. He can’t be scared for you or it’ll mess with his head, it’ll remind him that their talent and power can both succumb to destiny far too easily. Their lives are always tied to the fragile thread of luck and yours almost, almost got severed.

He wonders if you felt the same panic when he was the one injured, that time he almost didn’t make it. Sanemi remembers the way you failed to control your breathing, the tenderness enveloping his heart at the sight of your shaky hands and rain-soaked hair. Through gritted teeth you admitted how scared you got, how worried. You’re brave. He isn’t. Once he knew you’d make it, Sanemi left. He paid you one visit, then disappeared with the excuse of wanting to give you time to recover.

He couldn’t have anticipated this, your stubborn disappearance. Time went on and despite the anxiety gripping his heart day and night, he convinced himself you were fine. He told himself you didn’t need him. He waited for your friends to make you better, to help you bring your usual self back. But you just resisted and pushed everyone away and Sanemi doesn’t think he’d make a difference anymore because why would he? You spent a few nights in his futon and that was it. Why would you need him of all people to talk some sense into that obstinate head of yours?

Dwelling on all this, using the excuse of being annoyed at how infuriating you’re being, is far easier than admitting the truth. Concern is eating away at his sanity and, hell, he misses you. He’s scared to face what that fight did to you, how different you are now. Gods know how his trauma changed him.

“Sanemi”, Iguro gently bumps his shoulder against his, “let’s go together”.

“No”, he gets up, tea left unfinished and cold in his cup, “I’ll go alone”.

It only starts raining once he arrives at your estate but he still finds it ironic.

There’s no one around and the place looks barely inhabited: he has faint memories of your lively messiness, teacups and books and snacks everywhere, especially when you had guests. You liked having guests. Mostly from the corps but also Shinobu’s girls, villagers, other pillars. Genya. You’d ask them to come over and you’d make tea for them, cook, sometimes a bottle of sake would be passed around (especially if Tengen or his wives were present).

Sanemi never came by a lot, he’d pay brief visits from time to time, mainly to check on his brother or take a tipsy Obanai home. You were the one always passing by his estate. You’d ask him to be your sparring partner, you’d drop by to leave some homemade ohagi, you’d let him undress you at night. You liked when he was gentle and he liked when you were vulnerable, none of the usual burning quips you’d exchange once the moon would go down. You’d find release in something other than banter and then wake up to a new day of pretending neither of you cared about the other enough to address whatever feelings were tied to something that was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated.

Something that wasn’t supposed to make Sanemi think of you at night, itch to kiss you, have your fingers gently run through his hair. He wasn’t supposed to be wondering where you were, how you were, when on a mission. He definitely wasn’t supposed to ask his master to pair him up with you, not while being fully aware of how willing he’d be to sacrifice his life to keep you out of harm’s way.

You’d look at him in a way that made dangerous thoughts take shape in his mind, you’d make him feel like more than what he was willing to be. Thoughtful, tender, hopeful. You’d articulate his name like no one else, make it sound special, like a melody.

Oh, Sanemi.

Sanemi, promise me you’ll be careful.

Sanemi!

Sa-ne-mi.

Shinazugawa is your usual go to but if you’re worried, if you’re scared, if he makes you exceptionally mad or provides the pleasure you’re seeking, it’s always Sanemi.

You make him want to give you everything, more than relief, more than a life where each day of being alive feels like a luxury.

“It’s me”, he gruffly announces himself, listens to the way his voice echoes across the empty entrance.

Sanemi gingerly shuffles to the shoji doors of your bedroom and sits on his heels once more, hands closed on his knees. He knows you’re there, he knows you can hear him. He hopes his absence didn’t weigh too heavy, although with all the shit you’re going through he sincerely doubts you spared him a single thought.

“We had a meeting today. I guess you already know, your crow was there”, Sanemi takes a deep breath, “you’ve been going on missions. Yet you refuse to be seen”.

A statement. Where is he even going with that? He doesn’t have a speech ready, words never come easily to him and anxiety makes his rough edges even sharper.

“Everyone’s worried about you, even that asshole Tengen lectured me. So I’m here. You can’t live in that room forever, come out”.

He could very well open the doors himself, barge in, but he wouldn’t dare. He may be crass with words but he’s still respectful of your boundaries.

“Oi, did you hear me? I said, come out. Hiding won’t solve shit, you should know better”.

Sanemi waits for a few seconds. Nothing, besides the drumming of the torrential rain against your roof. He groans.

“Can you fucking at least say something? Tap on the goddamn floor, one tap yes, two taps no?”, he raises his voice, “are you even listening to me?”.

He pauses again, muscles tense. Right as he begins to ponder about whether he should break through the stupid doors after all, he hears a faint thump. And then two more.

The sudden uptick in his heartbeat is nothing short of pathetic.

“Three…? What does that mean?”.

“Go away”.

It fills his lungs with relief, the way your voice sounds the same. He hasn’t heard it in two months, it’s a little hoarse, but it’s you.

“I’m not going anywhere. Come out”.

“Fuck off”.

The corners of his mouth relax into a soft smile.

“Tell that to my face, coward”.

“You can tell Uzui you fulfilled your bothersome duty. Now leave”.

Sanemi sharply inhales through his nose. Yeah, he should’ve guessed that’d be the one thing you’d fixate on.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot”.

And by the way, when did you even start addressing that dumbass so casually?

It’s silent again, which makes one of his brows twitch.

“Oi. Stop being stupid, I’m serious”.

No sign of life. Fucking hell.

Sanemi shuts his eyes, relaxes his shoulders. He thinks of what it must’ve been like for the past months, being so lonely. You never enjoyed being on your own, one time you confessed that being with other people helped keep your fears at bay. He remembers your hushed voice, tender, vulnerable, and how he pulled you closer in the darkness of his bedroom.

You must’ve hurt a lot. Clumsily treated wounds that only a professional like Shinobu should’ve checked, probably spent entire nights wide awake, nightmares chasing you whenever your body would give out to exhaustion. A self-imposed seclusion that added on to your physical pain and yet you still refused to abandon your duty as a pillar.

“I should’ve been here”, he says, voice low, barely a murmur, “I should’ve checked on you every day. I told myself I was giving you space but it was a bunch of bullshit. I just wasn’t brave enough to come”, he pauses to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you needed me, or maybe you did, either way I need to know you’re okay. Whether you come out or not, I’ll be here. I’ll come every chance I get, hell, maybe I won’t leave until my next mission. Just talk to me, from time to time. Or tap on the floor again. Whatever you want”.

Sanemi attempts to swallow the lump in his throat before speaking again.

“Who gives a shit about Tengen? I’m not here for him. You know why I’m here, despite how bad I am at showing it”.

He listens to his own breathing in the quiet of your house, relaxes the fingers that were once again gripping the fabric of his pants. Part of him is comforted by the fact that you’re fine enough to go on missions but it’s a comfort that pales before the sense of guilt he feels for having lost so much time. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to believe you needed him in the first place but he realizes it hardly matters now. He failed to remind you he’d be there for you, whether you wanted someone to be there for you or not. All he had to do was show up and he refused to do that. His life is such a broken record of wrong choices, it makes him sick.

And then, suddenly, incredibly, the shoji doors of your bedroom slide open. He looks up but doesn’t get the chance to meet your gaze because you don’t linger there, but instead walk to the low table you always enjoyed having so many people sitting around. Sanemi observes the way you carefully sit on your heels and, even if you never turn to look at him, he understands it’s a quiet invitation. His heart is beating loud in his ears when he rises from the tatami floor, legs once again unstable as he shuffles to where you’re sitting. He doesn’t sit across from you, as he usually would. Instead, he stays close enough for his thigh to be almost pressed against yours.

“Hi”, you say, and it sounds so delicate, so frail, it breaks his heart.

“Hi”, he says back, quiet and hopeful. Sanemi meets your gaze, through the one eye that is not covered in bandages the way your neck, half your face, arms are. Your yukata is loose enough for him to see that your chest is wrapped in bandages as well.

“Are those still necessary?”, he asks, well aware of what the real answer is.

You shake your head no.

“Can I see?”, Sanemi’s voice isn’t but a murmur, “don’t hide from me”.

“There’s nothing to see. I look hideous”, you’re quiet too, left eye uncharacteristically dull.

“Don’t say that”.

“It’s true. I can’t look at myself anymore”.

His chest aches. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time but he remembers it with shattering clarity. Events taking his sense of self away from him, the inability to recognize his reflection in the mirror. A Sanemi Shinazugawa that belonged to the past and couldn’t be brought back no matter how hard he tried.

“Let me?”, he lightly grazes one of the bandages covering your wrist. It’s a plea, more than a request.

Your gaze shifts to him and somehow softens. You wish to extend the moment in time in which Sanemi is looking at you like this because it will hardly ever happen again.

With a small nod, you give him permission and his heart swells. This isn’t something you’d trust just anyone with, the fact that you’re willing to let him of all people see you, actually see you, carries the most special meaning in the world. His world, at least.

He’s the most gentle he’s ever been as he carefully unwraps the bandages. Sanemi can’t help the way his jaw tenses at every scar he uncovers: they’re everywhere. You’re covered in them. Some are part of the natural healing process after your skin was cut so deeply, so many times, others are the result of poorly stitched wounds you certainly handled yourself.

You tremble underneath his touch and he so badly wants to take your hand, kiss each knuckle to calm you. To ground you. To promise that it’s okay, it really is.

Still, Sanemi is not prepared for the sight of your lost right eye. It’s still open but with an unnatural, opaque milkiness to the pupil and iris. This side of your face has been clearly lacerated as well, one particular scar turning the corner of your lips slightly downwards.

You’re looking at him with a gaze that is daring, incandescent with quivering dignity. He knows what you’re thinking: I told you, happy now? I was right. Hideous. Now you can see it too.

“Can I touch you?”.

“No”, you whisper.

Sanemi exhales slowly when you start crying. You never allowed him to see you cry, he’d sometimes hear faint sobs when you’d hide at the butterfly estate, after a mission or before a meeting, but this is the first time he’s witnessing your pain in such a raw way.

“I’m so ashamed”, you hiccup, take your face in your shaky hands, “so many of our comrades are dead, innocent people are killed every day. Fuck, maybe soon I’ll be dead too. And this is what I’m upset about, my appearance. But I can’t help it, you know? I tried. I really tried. It’s just so hard, I look like a monster”.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?”.

Your head snaps up and the sight of your cheeks, wet with fresh tears, makes his stomach clench.

“Of course not. It’s different!”.

“How is it different?”.

You sniffle, then gesture vaguely with one hand.

“You’re a man. Your scars are proof of how strong you are, how valiant. On me? They’re just a reminder of my weakness. They’re ugly, I’m ugly. Something ruined. I wish they could’ve just killed me that day, I wish Gyomei didn’t-”

“Don’t fucking say that”, Sanemi hears his own voice vibrate with rage, “you’re not weak and if anyone ever dares imply that I’ll stick my blade through their neck. You’re strong and brave and a survivor. We all are. I’m looking at you right now and I just see you. I’m so fucking relieved, actually, because I still get to see you. Not a thing and definitely not a ruined thing. You’re still you and you’re still here and you’re allowed to feel shitty about it but what the hell. I’m here too and I won’t let you face this alone”.

He leans in closer when you don’t reply and refuse to meet his eyes, shoulders rising and falling rhythmically as you keep crying.

“Can I touch you?”, Sanemi asks again, slowly, carefully, but more determined.

Instead of replying, you place you head on his shoulder and nuzzle further into his neck when he wraps his arms around you with a relieved sigh.

Sanemi lets you shake, lets you wet his haori and grip it like your life depends on it. He whispers sweet reassurances in your ear, kisses the crown of your head, does everything in his power to stop himself from crying with you. It’s surprisingly hard, witnessing one of the most resilient fighters he’s ever met, crumble in his arms. While his inability to do anything to make it better is what makes it so difficult, what really surprises him to the point of almost choking on his own tears is the fondness he’s able to hold you, reassure you with.

Sanemi can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be the old version of him so openly, the one he thought he had successfully buried with his mother and siblings so long ago. He didn’t know it still existed fiercely enough to manifest in broad, knowing daylight but of course you’d be the one he’d be willing to lay it bare for. He’d give you every part of himself, so long as you asked.

The pads of his fingers delicately skim across your arm under the sleeve of your yukata, then caress your wrist, rise to the side of your neck. The fibrous tissue feels familiar and foreign under his touch, it’s different than his own, more painful.

The agony etched across your beautiful features doesn’t subside, not even when he carefully traces your jaw with his thumb as he delicately holds you. He hates that this happened to you. Selfishly, he hates it. Even if he knows slayers, pillars, masters, aren’t above suffering or grief. Why would they be? They’re not special. They’re not better than any civilian. And yet, Sanemi’s rage for what happened to you could burn down villages.

“I wish it was me”, he says and he means it. He doesn’t say the worse thing, doesn’t voice the terrible thought actually swirling in his furious mind.

I wish it was someone else. Anyone but you.

You lean into his touch and idly shake your head.

“You’re already handsome enough. Gotta stop at some point”.

Sanemi can’t bring himself to chuckle as he usually would, he barely manages to let out a huff of air through his nose. But you cracked a joke and it’s enough to momentarily placate the enraged beast floundering in his chest.

“Come stay at my estate”, his thumbs skate over the skin underneath your eyes to brush off what wetness remains, “just for a while. I’ll send away all the helpers”.

You’re similar to him in more ways than he’d like you to be and Sanemi knows you’ll hesitate. Because you don’t remember how to let someone take care of you.

“I can’t”. 

“Yes, you can”.

“What difference would it make?”, you chuckle bitterly, “I’ll still look disgusting, whether at my estate or yours”.

Sanemi gently bumps his forehead against yours.

“I’ll let you plant those flowers you always ramble about, the ones that’d look good by the gate or whatever”.

“Damask roses?”, you attempt a smile and he swears his lungs start expanding once more as they get their fill of oxygen.

“Whatever you want”, he softly runs his index finger over the bridge of your nose, “we’ll have breakfast together, I’ll run you baths. I’ll wait for you to come back from missions and you’ll wait for me. Does that sound so bad?”.

You hum as he keeps exploring your face with gentle touches. You let him. He’s too much of a coward to just kiss you but hopes his hands, the pads of his fingers, are getting the message across. You could never look disgusting. You’re everything I want to look at, the one person I hope to always see. I’m so lucky I still get to see you.

“I’ll come”, you whisper, “if Genya comes too”.

Sanemi heaves a deep sigh. Gods forbid you stop thinking about other people’s feelings even for a moment.

“Pushing it”.

“You’re actually denying me right now, Sanemi?”.

Ah, there it is. The premise of every single one of his downfalls.

“Genya can visit. He can come but he won’t stay”.

You scoff.

“Fine”.

“Good”.

He guides you to him once again, with a hand that cradles the back of your neck. Sanemi rests his chin on your head as he strokes your hair and you sigh softly, the puff of warm air so close to his throat.

“Shinazugawa accepting guests. I feel pretty special”, you murmur, humorless.

“Don’t let it go to your head, I just like your ohagi”.

“Really?”, you click your tongue, “I’ll spit in my next ones, then”.

He smirks.

“Bold of you to assume that would deter me from eating them”.

There’s a pause, one he doesn’t give much meaning to as he keeps absentmindedly stroking your hair. But then he feels it, the way you tense against him and under his touch. When you pull back to fix him with an uncertain look, he fears he already said something wrong.

“What?”, it comes out gruff, watchful.

You hesitate for a second, then let your shoulders drop.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if…”, another pause, then you take a deep breath, “it’s okay if you find someone else. For relief, I mean. Don’t feel pressured to… like, it wouldn’t make me upset or anything. You can bring them to your estate too, I’ll just find myself somewhere else to be for a while, it’s-”

Sanemi gently but firmly presses his thumb to your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw again and tilting your head up, to make sure you look at him.

“I already told you”, he lets his thumb follow the curve of you bottom lip, “to stop being a fucking idiot”.

You shake your head.

“And I’m asking you to consider that you’re a normal man with normal needs”.

“I am. I need you to shut up”.

“You don’t understand. I might not be able to let someone see me, touch me like that, ever again. Not even you”, you lean forward to press your forehead against his shoulder because there’s only so much courage you can rely on while facing that violet gaze, especially when filled to the brim with weird adoration you can’t interpret the right way.

“I don’t care”, he murmurs. Then, much softer than you’d expect, “we go beyond that”.

It’s weird, hearing him say that. It makes your heart flutter against against your ribs because in no way you wished to imply you are important enough that he’d have to consider your feelings or whatever, in case he wanted to seek relief elsewhere. It’s his right to, as it’d be your right to.

The last thing you want is for him of all people to hold back out of pity. You can’t imagine any man finding you desirable anymore, anyway. It’s pretty easy to come to terms with that. But you wouldn’t be able to tolerate the idea of Sanemi depriving himself of a normal life, whatever normal would look like for you all anyway, because of poor, debilitated you.

“It’s not fair, being stuck with me. Don’t do that to yourself”, you whisper into the fabric of his haori. He scoffs.

“You know what’s not fair? How much of a dumbass you’re being”.

You pull back with a scowl.

“I’m serious, Sanemi”.

“Well, stop that”, he lightly flicks the portion of your forehead that is not covered in scars, “I’m not stuck. I’m where I want to be”.

He then tilts his head to the side, as if to consider something he failed to bring up until now. “What do you want?”.

You blink.

“What?”.

“Yeah. You run that mouth a lot about what I should want but what do you want?”.

In any other universe, this entire conversation wouldn’t exist. It probably wouldn’t have existed in this universe either, if not for you getting almost killed by a hoard of demons. He would’ve stayed the man you share a few of your nights with from time to time, when neither of you can keep pretending want and need and mutual attraction aren’t about to claw their way out of your chests. He would’ve stayed your comrade and the one man you’d trust your heart with, as long as he never finds out.

But now? You’re not sure what this is. You don’t know how to trust anything ever again.

“I want to know”, you murmur, “that you’re not moved by compassion. I want to know that you’re still you and whether I can ever be me again”.

Sanemi’s gaze softens. He’s finally able to take one of your hands but, instead of bringing it to his lips, he presses the palm against his chest. The skin feels warm under your palm.

“I am me and I will do everything I can to help you find you again. And if we never do, that’s fine. There’s time to get adjusted to the new you who, by the way, is still one hell of a fighter. Which is what I always liked in the first place”, he clicks his tongue, “that’s what moves me”.

There’s one thing Sanemi doesn’t say, which is that maybe the journey of helping you find yourself again will also help him find part of himself too. Whatever that could mean.

“Okay”, you say and sound so tired, completely spent when you let yourself rest in his arms again. You don’t have any energy left to question or resist. You’ll pack your bag, the same one you used so many times on missions with either Sanemi or the other pillars, spend some time in the quiet of his estate. You’ll sit in his garden and maybe drink tea on the engawa. You’ll have to find out if you’ll be able to allow him to get close, to take care of you the way you took care of him when he allowed you to get close too.

Sanemi once again wishes for a world where his sole purpose could be to keep you and what’s left of his family safe. He wishes he didn’t have to deny himself tenderness and affection, relentlessly push away the idea of naming whatever it is he feels for you. Whatever has been persistently pulling him in from day one, like a tide that goes out only to go in again, a current he can’t fight and isn’t entirely sure how to navigate.

But it’s fine this way too. Because he’s still him and you’re still you.

“Okay”, he agrees.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Baby! Headcanons

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader (+ platonic ateez x reader)

Baby Series !

➯a/n: my hyperfixation on this au will not go away 😩😩😩 another chapter is coming soon but for now i just had to get these out of my brain and i wanted to try something a little different ! (members first, then mommy!hwa because there is wayyy more for him (duh lol))

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, headcanons

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not grammatical correct, captivity, forced little space, talk of violence, anxiety, guilt, bribery, lima+stockholm syndrome, all the usual baby warnings, only briefly proof read

♫ Baby Playlist ♫

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. everyone in this story needs therapy and LOTS of it.

MDNI.

✧JOONIE!✧SANGIE!✧YUYU!✧

✧joonie! gave up on telling you that you are pronouncing his name wrong a long time ago. he's already responding to "joonie" and if he's honest with himself... he thinks it's a little cute but-

✧joonie! is a little bit scared of you after you tricked mommy!hwa into hurting him (but he's forgiven you for that and you've probably forgotten all about it with everything else going on). he still gets the heebie jeebies when he feels you staring at him with your tiny death glare (that wooyoungie! taught you and is very proud of)

✧joonie! doesn't have anyone to talk to about this whole situation — the members, sure. but they need him to be strong and get you ALL through this. so he channels his emotions into writing and producing. ironically, those song are the ones that he goes least insane making but still end up being amazing

✧joonie! knows that you don't like him because he's mommy!hwa's best friend, and he's a-o-kay with that. it means he gets to keep his distance from you more than the members that you have a preference for

✧joonie! is the only member that mommy!hwa fully 100% trusts so unfortunately for the both of you, when your mommy is busy with an individual schedule — joonie! is your caretaker. but he doesn't like that, and neither do you. so you kind of just sit in the living room and do your own separate things. if its near bedtime, because mommy!hwa insists you always have a shower or bath before bed, joonie! lets you do it on your own. that little bit of freedom and dignity he gives you earns him some brownie points brownie crumbs and neither of you tell hwa when he gets back. an unspoken agreement of "you don't tattle and neither will i"

✧joonie! , also because he's mommy!hwa's best friend, he's less likely to be hurt in the line of fire (stuffed raccoon debacle aside). so he is one of the members that steps between you and hwa when he's being especially overbearing or strict or clingy and making you freak out

✧joonie! becomes your partner in the never ending tournaments of uno that move through the apartments and its one thing that you both bond over, you actually can have fun together. it makes mommy!hwa smile when he sees you both celebrating together, arguably the two most important people in his life finally getting along

✧yuyu! will always give you a piggy back ride when you ask him. so that you can feel big for a moment and joke about how strong you feel from "way up here !"

✧yuyu! sits next to you when you're looking particularly sad at the company building and opens up his phone, scrolling through tiktok and "accidentally" letting you watch with him

✧yuyu! is one of the main culprits of spoiling you, he can't help himself ! a combination of guilt and affection makes it hard not to. he will reach up into the closet and get the sweets box and share a candy bar with you and then tell mommy!hwa he took one cause he ran out in his apartment. he will ask you what kind of cartoon you're into at the moment and then immediately go online to find coloring books or stuffed animals of it

✧yuyu! lets you put your head in his lap and play on his phone when he's over, and mommy!hwa allows it as long as he puts a password on the social media and phone apps

✧yuyu! learns how to do hair so that you can have another person to ask besides mommy!hwa, and he's actually pretty dang decent and makes sure to be extra gentle

✧sangie! always comes out of nowhere and snatches you up with the excuse of "i'm babysitting! take a break, hyung!" when really — he knows YOU probably need a break from everything

✧sangie! lets you do anything you want (except leave, duh) when you're with him. want to watch a horror movie ? sure. want to eat junk food ? let him get it. want to scream and yell and punch his pillow ? he will let you vent all of your emotions without hovering over you like mommy!hwa does

✧sangie! can't look at you without wanting to break down and confess his sins to the nearest stranger, even after all this time. he still sees you as his friend, as the woman with a whole life outside of mommy!hwa... and that's not the case anymore. but he forces his feelings down his throat and he tries to keep true to his promise to make things slightly better for you

✧sangie! understood when you didn't look at him for a few weeks, he'd feel betrayed too — but then when he got over himself and drug you to his apartment for a break from mommy!hwa, he felt a bit relieved when you hugged him. and then that made him feel all sorts of messed up. he shouldn't be happy that you still had warmth in your heart for him, he should want you to be mad at him and remember how fucked up this is ! but then you started crying, and he did with you, and you both knew you were still something of "friends" and you cared for each other. he just happens to care for hwa and for his career more, and that's another thing he fights himself about

✧sangie! is afraid to stand up to mommy!hwa to his face, but he will do it to protect you. no matter how much he loves hwa, no matter how scared he is that the cover will be blown off this whole thing, he will not let mommy!hwa hurt you — not while he's around. his muscles aren't just for show

✧sangie! , after protecting you in the heat of the moment when mommy!hwa might have hurt you, has to deal with the confusing ass emotions that come with hwa saying that he's sorry and that he didn't mean to upset anyone. he wants to hug his hyung and tell him its okay; but it certainly is not

✧BIG BEAR!✧WOOYOUNGIE!✧

✧wooyoungie! treats you so sweetly when you're in little space — because you remind him of his little brother. he loves kids, and while you aren't reallyyyy a kid; you might as well be to him. he cant stand to see you sad, he will do everything in his power to get you to crack a smile. if you said you would smile if he walked across hot coals or did a handstand at the bottom of the ocean, he would do it for you

✧wooyoungie! lets you nap in his bed whenever you want, so you can get a few hours of shut eye without mommy!hwa's arms around you. if you're little, he'll tuck you in and give you a smile before closing the door behind him. if you're actually you and not the baby version of you, he wraps his arms around you as you vent your emotions and cries with you until you both fall asleep of exhaustion

✧wooyoungie! hates his hyung. well — more specifically, he hates what he's done. he still has... something in his heart for mommy!hwa. they've been through so much together and he will always be apart of him. but thinking about what he's done to you makes wooyoungie! sick. especially because his attachment to him made him be apart of it

✧wooyoungie! shows his anger with the man in ways that make it clear where he stands. he opens the door to the bedroom and tosses you some junk food; he cares about you. he does so while glaring daggers at mommy!hwa; he doesn't care about his rules. and then wooyoungie! starts "infecting my precious Baby with bad habits" (hwa's words, verbatim) by saying "i got it just because it reminded me of her ! let her have it just this once !" and gets you agreeing; "yeah, mommy ! he went out of his way ! it would be rude for me not to eat it ! you said i can't be rude !"

✧wooyoungie! does that at least once a month, despite his words of "just this once". he times it perfectly with when he realizes that you're needing a pick me up, when you want a way to disobey mommy!hwa without getting in trouble

✧wooyoungie! does art and crafts with you and ming! a lot, but also spends a good amount of time doing flash cards with you so that you don't forget things like math and "big girl" words

✧wooyoungie! lets you paint his nails and wears it around proudly, and you do the same for him — showing your mommy how well you both did with a smile so big that he can't even be jealous

✧big bear! is your (mostly) loyal guard dog ever since the beginning. whenever you are scared for any reason, be it mommy!hwa being angry or a thunderstorm or a nightmare, he will let you hide behind him and he won't let anything get close enough to touch you until you calm down

✧big bear! gives you the most gifts by faaar !! at least twice a week he's bringing you a snack, at least once a month he's bringing you a book to borrow, he's always giving you things to make you smile

✧big bear! helped you make a stuffed bear with a kit he got online, and he almost cried when you gave him the biggest hug ever while declaring its name to be "hoho"

✧big bear! gave you one of his shirts after you split something on yours while in his care and it quickly became your favorite sleep shirt (to mommy!hwa's dismay)

✧big bear! has very conflicting feelings about you from time to time, but he never shows them because he wants to be an ever present rock for you. its the least that he can do after being apart of this, really

✧big bear! is always the one that you go to when mommy!hwa is scaring you. he won't push hwa away or fight him, he just stands like an impenetrable wall between you until one of the others can get him to calm down; reaching back and holding your hand the entire time

✧big bear!, when he sees something winnie the pooh themed, has to get it for you. he always watches it with you, even if you've seen it a million times before. at least every few days, your head is in his lap as he plays a cartoon of the bear

✧SANNIE!✧

✧sannie! risks being caught every single day to tell you headlines in the hallway even after mommy!hwa told them not to let you read or listen to the news

✧sannie! , while you were forced to kneel facing the wall as a punishment, caved after the second day of seeing you there and would run over everytime mommy!hwa left the room to place his hands under your weight and give you a short break

✧sannie! likes to do things with you that are slightly less "baby", because he knows that you would (and do, when you're big enough to notice) appreciate it. an almost difficult puzzle, a scary kids movie, giving you a cup without a lid — the smallest things make a huge difference and he helps to keep you from breaking completely when he asks YOU what you want to wear whenever mommy!hwa is rushing and puts him and ming! in charge of getting you ready

✧sannie! still comes into hwa's room as much as he did before (now that he's come to terms with you being there). he'll flop on the bed with you both while you're watching videos, he'll sit on the play mats in the corner with you, he'll come bug hwa when he's trying to do laundry. and more often than not, when mommy!hwa is streaming, sannie! is in the corner with you to keep you quiet company

✧sannie! tries to protect you, in a different way than the others who are brave enough to get physical. he tries to keep things from escalating to the point where someone needs to step between you and mommy!hwa in the first place. like calming you down before hwa gets home or rubbing his arm to ground him before he snaps

✧sannie! calls you "peanut". he doesn't know why, and it doesn't really matter. all he knows is that it leaves a sour taste in his mouth when he refers to you as "baby" but calling you by your name doesn't feel right either

✧sannie! always saw himself having a daughter, and sometimes he finds himself thinking of you as such before he realizes how fucked that is. but still...

✧sannie! can't help but wipe your face if he notices something on it before mommy!hwa, or to hold your hand when you go down the stairs. his instincts kicked in when you dropped a plate while doing the dishes and he picked you up in a second flat so you couldn't step on any glass. he, like hwa, is almost supernatural when it comes to his "baby senses" only he calls it "peanut senses". sannie! can be across the apartment and then- "my peanut senses are tingling" and he's running to help with whatever's got you upset

✧sannie!, when push comes to shove, will still ultimately end up shoving you. no matter how much he cares for you and wants the best for you and doesn't want you to become a shell of your former self and thinks of you as a child — he won't ever put you before mommy!hwa, before their career and livelihoods. and that messes with him deeply. he knows that it shouldn't be the case. he does have sympathy for you. but when his mind is telling him to just take your hand and lead you away from this cage of an apartment; his body won't move no matter how hard he tries

✧sannie! broke down crying the second he saw his parents when he went to visit them; crying like its the end of the world type of crying. when he finally caught his breath and they asked him what's wrong, the only excuse he could come up with was that he missed them because;

✧sannie! couldnt very well tell them that he was partially responsible for holding a missing woman captive in his apartment and might be developing lima syndrome because he found himself patting your cheek affectionately before he left

✧MING!✧

✧ming! , as someone once said, is the caretaker that baby really deserves. he babies you in a way that's not suffocating (cough cough mommy!hwa cough) and he provides you with every possible ounce of comfort you could ever need — which is what little space should be; a place of comfort

✧ming! , when given the chance, always asks what YOU want ! just like sannie! he wants to give you at least a bit of choice. if its his turn to be in charge of food, "what do you feel like ?" if its movie night, "what kind of genre are you into today, shortcake ?" always, he's asking you

✧ming! always keeps his door open so that you can come to him to get away from mommy!hwa, even if it's just for a minute. and so that he can hear if you call for him, be it for help or to play or literally anything; he'll be running at the sound of your voice

✧ming! plays games with you at least once a day, every day, without fail ! uno, go fish, checkers, tick-tack-toe, battleship, if you can get your hands on it — you have played it at least once with your best friend ming!

✧ming! loves to do arts and crafts with you, you've both amassed a large tote of supplies neatly tucked away in the corner of his room. he won't tell anyone, especially not mommy!hwa lest he get jealous, but he keeps a little finger painted heart in his wallet that has your finger print as a signature

✧ming! , who's special talent is "sleeping", always takes naps with you; you are each others personal teddy bears ! wether its on the couch where you are sprawled ontop of him, in you and hwa's bed where ming! is the biggest little spoon ever, or in his where you curl up so small that its almost hard for mommy!hwa to spot you between being held in ming!'s arms and essentially buried in the blanket

✧ming! can tell when you're about to have a panic attack, and you can tell when he is too. you're both absolute wrecks and you can read each other, because you're two pages in the same book. not a word has to be spoken as he places a hand on your head to ground you, or as you grab his sleeve to pull him back to the present

✧ming! , because of your shared anxiety, acknowledges it and takes care of it the best he can; especially when mommy!hwa isn't around to do it. even when he is, he lets the two of you help each other. rubbing knots from one another's shoulders from the ever present tension, holding hands backstage when things are moving a million miles per second, coloring on the floor in complete silence to take time to digest the day — mommy!hwa wont take away his dear friend and his precious baby's comfort

✧ming! has connected to you in a way that none of the others have or ever could. because he, in a way, knows what it feels like to be mommy!hwa's baby. he doesnt age regress or anything like that, but in their early days he always needed more comfort and support than the others — and hwa took care of him. mingi! knows the pain you must be feeling when torn between wanting to bask in mommy!hwa's attention and sweetness, and wanting to disappear when he looks at you with a disappointed or angry face

✧ming! tried to help you escape and got caught red handed, looking in your eyes as he did so. both of those things sent mommy!hwa into a fit of rage and poor ming! got the crap beat out of him but that didn't stop him from sitting beside you the next day and holding your hand under the table because...

✧ming! is your ride or die

✧MOMMY!HWA✧

✧mommy!hwa keeps all of his promises !! no matter how insignificant or silly they seem, he will never break a promise he makes to his baby. never taking your comfort items (we see how that panned out when he thought joonie! did), never touching you without your consent, "i promise i won't let you go hungry again" and he won't !

✧mommy!hwa carries around your favorite snacks just incase you get hungry at the company or while waiting for them to finish their performances

✧mommy!hwa actually carries an entire bag ! your favorite pacifier at the moment, a few different snacks, chapstick, headphones in case things get too loud, fidget toys, honestly he has thought of everything. he's like mary poppins sometimes — you all need some hand sanitizer before you eat ? wham ! mommy!hwa already has it out. "are you crying baby-ya ?" bam ! mommy!hwa has the travel sized tissues out in a second flat and cleans you up no problem. one of the members aching ? ming!'s back hurting ? your foot acting up ? oh, wait a second- guess what ? boom ! here's some tylenol and icyhot, curtesy of mommy!hwa's paranoid nature and need to be prepared for anything

✧mommy!hwa reallyyyyyy thought about banning you from watching music videos after you watched "seventeen" videos for your entire hour of screen time. he can't help if he got jealous ! but when you started singing quietly to your stuffed raccoon "scoups", he knew he couldn't take that away from you

✧mommy!hwa absolutely adores all of your art. even if you aren't very talented; painting and drawing and coloring are things you can always do (because they don't require an internet connection or anything sharp enough to hurt yourself with) so he has an entire shoe box full of your creations — all neatly folded and placed with care

✧mommy!hwa hates leaving you for any reason whatsoever, he will jump through hoops and do backflips and walk on his hands if it means you're waiting for him when he's done doing whatever it is that's got him away from you in the first place. if you're in the van outside, backstage, down the hall when he's recording, it doesn't matter as long as he can run to you at a moments notice

✧mommy!hwa has gone on stage with slightly smudged lipstick a few dozen times because — before any performance, no matter how big or small, he kisses you like it's the last chance he'll ever have to. cause in his mind, maybe it is

✧mommy!hwa loves picking your clothes out and doing your hair and overall taking care of you, he gets a sense of accomplishment after he gets you ready for the day and then again when he gets you ready for bed

✧mommy!hwa learns soooo much just to take care of you better. how to cook more meals so you can have a balanced diet, how to properly tend to injuries, ect ect. if you have a disability or disorder, he researched the fuck out of it and has asked you every question he could possibly think of. if you're on medication, suddenly he is too after he slides an envelope to a doctor (yeah, he bribed them to prescribe him your medicine, he isn't above that. he isn't above anything when it comes to you)

✧mommy!hwa loves your hair. he loves washing it, playing with it, styling it. he loves it. if you like to keep it short, he learns how to cut hair. if you have curly hair, he learns how to take care of it. you like dyeing it, he can do that too ! he puts cute clips in your hair almost every day and kisses your head when he's done, saying how adorable you are

✧mommy!hwa, even when he's exhausted from nonstop practice, sets aside time to stretch and exercise with you so you can stay active

✧mommy!hwa loves singing to you, he's fangirling over you when you start swaying lightly to his voice, he's almost flying ! he would sing until his throat was bleeding if you asked him to, but you're satisfied with asking him to sing your favorite disney songs

✧mommy!hwa worships his baby, don't get me wrong, but he doesn't want you to become spoiled either. you can have anything in the world (save for freedom or autonomy) but you only get it if you do what he asks — and honestly, mommy!hwa doesnt ask a lot

✧mommy!hwa has a spreadsheet on the fridge for who does what chores around the apartment each week and your name only ever has a few. the dishes, help him fold clothes, pick up your things. he wants you to have the same sense of accomplishment and purpose he gets from taking care of you and your home

✧mommy!hwa tries to make sure the punishment always fits the crime. he isn't cruel (on purpose) ! looking at someone in the eyes ? into the corner you go, if you can't keep your eyes where they belong — you shouldn't look at anything, actually ! throwing things ? say goodbye to them for a while while they visit the top of the closet. if you can't respect your things, you don't deserve them (save for scoups and hoho, who he promised he would never take). tried to run away ? have fun trying to walk.

✧mommy!hwa gets... scary when he's mad. he's an entirely different person when you try to escape or someone pushes him past his limits. not a single trace of his usual soft and nurturing self as he set things straight

✧mommy!hwa always ''makes up'' for it, though ! depending on how bad you've been, he might take a little longer to cool down before coming back and comforting you but he will never ever everrrrr dish out a punishment without taking care of the aftermath

✧mommy!hwa has an almost supernatural sense for when you're upset or acting out, it's weird ! when you were talking with yeosang and casually dropped the word "hate", NOT EVEN REFERRING TO A PERSON MIND YOU, he whipped around at the other side of the room ready to discipline you

✧mommy!hwa also uses his "baby senses" to try to stop your tears before they even start, holding you extra gentle and whispering extra sweet words when he can tell you're about to breakdown

✧mommy!hwa wears a lot of fluffy sweaters because you like to play with and feel the fabric and he takes every single touch he can get

✧mommy!hwa wakes you up every morning the same way. after admiring you for a moment; making sure he's not dreaming, a soft rub on your back and a gently spoken "rise and shine, baby"

✧mommy!hwa lets you pick from the sweets box after a hard meltdown. he knows he shouldn't associate bad feeling with things that make you happy, but after you have a particularly rough time he can't help himself !! the tiny smile you give him is worth it

✧mommy!hwa's camera roll is filled with pictures and videos of you and the members (mostly you, you and ming! playing games, you getting carried on yuyu!'s back, sannie! wiping your tears after a sad movie, you sleeping, you in the corner of the practice room coloring, you— you get the point). wether or not you're aware he's taking it, he's going to do it regardless. some of his favorites have been taken when you had absolutely no idea

✧mommy!hwa cried the first time you said "i love you" to him first, and he repeated it over and over while he kissed every inch of your face

✧mommy!hwa raaarely initiates anything sexual with you, but when you do; he can't deny you ! he makes sure to show all of his love when you ask for it, because he has just so so so much stored up

✧mommy!hwa needs you like he needs air ! he seriously has no idea what he would do without you, that's why he can never let you go. he would rather first die than to ever sleep without you in his arms again;

✧mommy!hwa lets you bite, kick, scream, cry, whatever you need to do to wear yourself out when you don't want to lay with him. you will be sleeping in his arms. bedtime is the the only time you won't get in trouble for putting up a fight, because he knows all it does is make you tired enough to give in

✧mommy!hwa is an excellent liar, its almost scary how easy he lies to everyone but you. cops, fans, strangers, other idols, even family. he has zero problem coming up with a lie on the spot but when he looks at you its like he's been injected with truth serum. no matter what he's trying to hide from you, it comes out the second he looks at you; "i'm an idol", "i killed your ex", "i accidentally ripped your blanket in the dryer", "i had a dream about you" anything and everything comes tumbling out

✧mommy!hwa has killed for you and he has no problem doing so again. if someone manages to hurt you while you're in his care, they will not see the light of another day. it doesn't matter who, if they cross you he will set it straight. his baby will always come first, he's made it painfully clear. when he thought joonie! took your stuffed animal, for example. even his best friend doesn't get a pass. nothing fucks with his baby

✧mommy!hwa calls you his sweet girl, precious, starlight, sweetpea, little angel, baby doll — literally every sweet pet name under the sun has left his lips when referring to you. but above all, you're always and forever "My Baby"

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Lie

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary Sam never stopped wanting you. So when Ruby possesses you for a case and offers you to him, is he strong enough to say no? CWs: non con/extreme dub con! Do not read if that makes you uncomfortable. Scheming Ruby. Sam at his darkest. Possessed!reader. 18+. 1.9k words

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

It’s a bad plan, that much is clear, but it’s the only one you have.

When Sam shows up at your door, a year after you’ve last seen him, after what you had has ended, when he tells you his brother is in hell and that he needs your help, you should have shut the door in his face. But of course you don't.

Then, when you see her, the beautiful she-demon with the long dark hair and the face straight out of a classical painting, you should turn around on the spot. But again, you don't.

Why? You don’t know. You don’t know if you still have feelings for Sam, but the bittersweet pain you feel around him is somehow drawing you in, making you stay, making you help him. You see the two together and suddenly it’s clear, clear that there is something between them. Sam and Ruby. Ruby and Sam. You want him, and you hate yourself for wanting him.

At one point, you and Sam get into an argument, because you’re being dismissive of him and at the end of it, you look him up and down, disgust on your face.

“You’re so broken,” you say, and something sets in his face, something deep and violent.

The details of the plan aren’t important – the gist is that Ruby needs to not look like Ruby for a little bit, meaning that she needs to possess someone else. Sam’s against that, because of course he is, because he can never get off his high horse. The thought sneaks up on you before Ruby’s dark eyes even land on you.

“I could use her,” she says, and a shiver runs over you.

Which is how you end up willingly letting her in – not that she needs you to say yes, but she makes it a whole spiel that she wants you to. She disgusts you, but also you can’t deny that the double-meaning behind her words is making something twist in you. With Sam there in the same room, the air feels like it’s on fire.

So Ruby possesses you. She gets done what she needs to get done and then comes back to Sam, still in your body. You don’t know about any of this, because you are slumbering deep inside yourself.

Maybe it’s for the best.

Ruby doesn’t miss the way Sam scans your body when she walks in. She hasn’t missed any of the times he’s looked at you.

Is she jealous? No. She wants Sam for purely practical reasons. She needs him desperate and isolated. With Dean gone and the demon blood, he’s already pretty ruined. But she thinks there’s more to be done, there’s room for improvement. She needs him broken.

She tells Sam the work is done, and he says that means she can stop possessing you.

“Or,” Ruby says in your voice, “I could stay a little longer.”

It’s not like Sam couldn’t exorcize her with how strong he’s been getting. But he just frowns, not understanding, and Ruby wants to cackle. God, he is so predictable.

He’s gonna pretend he doesn’t want any of this, that this is wrong, etcetera, etcetera. He was the same when he started fucking her in her other body, the brain-dead one. But as usual, Sam Winchester will break sooner or later. That’s what always happens.

Ruby makes her intentions clear when she walks your body towards where Sam is sitting. Hips swaying, looking at him through your lashes. She’s basically offering you up on a silver platter, and Sam doesn’t move, pretends he has no idea what’s going on, the innocent lamb, until you’re right in front of him, run your hand up his sculpted chest, cup his face. Sam jerks back, horrified, disgusted.

“What are you doing?” he asks and his voice is actually shaking. Ruby could squeal.

“I know you miss her,” she says in your voice, then corrects herself: “Miss me. I miss you too.” Sam shakes his head.

“She wouldn’t have to know,” Ruby says, voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can hide it from her, Sam. She never needs to know.”

Sam’s eyes widen. If he was wearing pearls, he would be clutching them now. Ruby likes this game, but sometimes she needs to fight tooth and nail not to roll her eyes at the sensitive hunter.

“No!” Sam says, getting up, walking away from her to the other end of the room. But Ruby knows, she can see. She knows Sam’s body well enough to see that he’s already responding. Maybe she’ll make him drink from you. She’d have to think of a lie to cover up the wound, but it might be worth it to drag Sam deeper into the arms of depravity.

Now Ruby switches her approach. She mimics you, your proper and decent and good ways, the way you are so fucking earnest, just like Sam. It makes her want to barf.

“Sam,” she says, and it’s coming out the way you say it. “It’s okay. Just be with me.” Sam’s eyes narrow at her and Ruby smiles softly.

To give Sam some credit, he holds out for a long time. Ruby almost begins to wonder if he’s not gonna do it. But when she drops you to your knees in front of him, begging to be touched, to be fucked, it’s more than even he can take.

Sam grabs your arm, wraps a large hand around your biceps and pulls you up, lips meeting in a hungry battle. She makes you hold his face and give a heady moan when Sam presses his mouth against your jaw, travels along its line.

She can see the turmoil in him in how to do it. He hates Ruby and always fucks her roughly in the other body, like he hates her guts. Uses her like she’s just a thing – oh, she would love for you to see him like that, to see your sweet Sam so depraved, so selfish. Ruby doesn’t feel any of it so she couldn’t care less, but if there was a real girl inside her, she’d be walking sideways the next day.

He loves you, though, or something like it, and the want and yearning and neediness comes out. His hands rip at your clothes, so desperate is he to get to the flesh and skin underneath, and Ruby makes a mental note to hide the clothes, or throw them away so you are kept in the dark.

That, or leave them for you to find. God, she’s a genius. Lilith would be so proud.

Sam fingers you open, then drops his mouth to your pussy, eats you out like a man starving. Ruby does her best porn star impression, throws your head back, grinds against him, moans, yes Sam, don’t stop, oh God, please don’t stop, yes, you feel so good, you’re gonna make me come so hard.

She fakes an intense orgasm, makes you whimper and your thighs twitch. Makes you grab the back of Sam’s head in the hope of somehow bringing him closer. He gives a deep groan, mouth still clamped to your cunt, and she feels the vibrations of it, even though they do nothing for her.

Then he lays you on your back. He takes his time grinding into you, careful not to hurt you but then Ruby makes you roll your toes, bite your lip, squeeze him inside of you, and he loses it. Starts fucking into you roughly, and with his considerable size, Ruby knows you’ll feel him tomorrow. She can’t help but smile at that and Sam, humongous idiot that he is, dips down, kisses your lips.

“I miss you so much,” he pants and Ruby wraps your arms around his neck, pulls him in because it’s the only way she can hide the broad grin on your face.

When Sam comes he wraps his hand into your hair, presses his forehead against yours. Looks deep into your eyes as his balls pull up and he empties himself into you. Ruby makes you moan again, brows pulled together while she pretends you’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open. She runs your hands over Sam’s back, not using her nails the way she does usually.

Sam moves to pull out of you, but Ruby holds him close with one arm, while the other wanders between your two bodies and she starts petting your clit. The smile on her is genuine. You’re a soft thing, and if the circumstances were different, Ruby might have her fun with you. She keeps rubbing, Sam watching in rapt fascination.

This orgasm is real, and Ruby feels it all the way to the roots of your hair. She can’t always experience what her meatsuit feels, but this time she does. The desperate whine she draws from you makes her shiver, and it takes her a long time to catch her breath.

Afterwards, she pretends to fall asleep. Sam knows of course that she doesn’t need sleep, but he seems to crave the illusion of it, the lie. He lies next to your body, runs his fingers over you ever so gently.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and his voice is thick with tears and horror at his own actions. Ruby just keeps her eyes shut. You need your rest.

You wake up, stretch on the motel bed.

Jesus, you’ve never been possessed, but you didn’t think it would feel like this. Like a hangover, in a way. You feel soreness and you can’t locate it right away and when you do, it doesn’t make any sense.

“Hey, sleep well?” you hear and look over. Sam’s on the other motel bed, laptop propped up before him. His words are casual, but he looks unwell. Shaky, pale. His smile is forced. As you sit up, you wonder if he’s coming down with something.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t remember anything from the moment when Ruby possessed you. As you look down yourself, you see your clothes and it startles you for a moment. You’re sure you were wearing something else. But maybe you’re wrong. Possession really is like a bad hangover.

Speaking of Ruby, she walks in from the bathroom, and just as you wonder what a demon needs the bathroom for, she smiles at you. A beautiful, soft smile, that could almost make you think she isn’t an abomination from Hell. You stretch your shoulders. Her eyes on you make you feel nervous. She won’t stop looking at you. Then suddenly she moves.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, and she’s also trying to sound casual. You look over at Sam, and he’s avoiding your gaze. Something blooms in you, something uncomfortable. Something you can’t name but it settles in you like a heavy stone.

Ruby leaves and then it’s just you and Sam. He drives you home, the work done, and when you arrive, you turn to him.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you, about you being broken,” you say to him, because it’s the only reason you can see for his strange behavior.

 “That’s okay,” Sam says, hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

There’s nothing more to say. You tell Sam to call you when he’s in the area. These past days have made it clear to you that there is still something between you two. And Sam really seems like he might need someone in his corner right now.

You get out of the car and look back. It might be a trick of the light, but you think you see tears in Sam’s eyes. Then he drives off.

You never hear from him again.

[abigailspinach]

Read it!!!!! It’s reallly gooooooooooood!!!!!

Maia is a lovely cinnamon of a protagonist doing a very difficult job with the help of the worlds most competent mail man turned secretary (of state almost)

Here…. A podcast episode touching upon The Goblin Emperor and also Jupiter Ascending and Person of Interest

M: Read the book! Get the book from your library!

A: It’s an amazing book.

M: Make your librarian buy five copies—

F: It’s a really good book.

M: —and build a display of nothing but this book!

A: Why would you need any book but this book?

M: Why would you need any book but this book? We talk sometimes about, like, a friendly coffee shop AU type of fantasy… this isn’t quite that, but it’s just so nice?

A: It’s so nice. It’s so good. It’s about, like, nice people being good, and well-meaning, and working hard to do good things in the world even though it’s, like, hard and tricky and they’re surrounded by people who are not as good and kind as they are.

M: But the thing that we have here is this young character who was never meant to be in power, and so has grown up into this kind, thoughtful, humble young man… and suddenly somebody plops a crown on his head and he’s like… WHAT DO? HELP?

F: I think that’s what makes it a very positive narrative is that in another book it might be about him becoming more cynical, and he does become more cynical in that he’s exposed to a wider range of people and motives and, I guess, evil-doing than he has before then, but his own goodness and niceness is such that the fabric of that world bends around him, eventually, and that’s the hieros gamos.

M: To… to me it’s that he is… [pause] His default action is kindness, even to people who don’t, according to those around him, merit his attention. And what we see is this kind of trailing ducklings of, uh, vassals that just sort of form around him and follow him around worshipfully.

A: Yes!

M: And he doesn’t even notice it happening?

A: Yes. YES. [Delighted laughter]

M: And it’s amazing. I just… the writing as well, the character development of every single individual character. You can parse out exactly why they’re doing it and how this noble liege has earned their fealty.

F: You’re right, in that the humbleness of Maia, the main character, is something that makes this an incredibly powerful narrative, but if you think about it from the point of view of the vassals, and the way the book is written you never actually get—correct me if I’m wrong, but—you never actually get inside their heads. You’re only inside Maia’s head, really. But, you… you can tell, as the reader, what is going on in their heads and why they have fallen into this duckling line of supporting him and believing in him, and you can tell that, from their point of view, there is almost an element of noblebright going on, or an element of glory, it’s just not in a way that they’d thought about it before. But they clearly idealize Maia by the end of it. But he himself is so humble, and that’s what makes it a really powerful depiction of this particular trope.

M: But my point is also that it is entirely a satisfying example of a platonic version of this trope.

F: WELLLLLL, I mean, there is some fanfiction that we… [A tries valiantly to restrain her laughter in the background]

M: No, no no, okay, okay, let me clarify myself: it is entirely satisfying, you can then extend it if you so choose. I’m not saying it has to be.

F: Okay, fair.

M: ANYWAY…

[A begins outright cackling]

M: The point is that… STOP CACKLING AT ME, ALEX. I HAVE NOT GOTTEN TO BE INCOHERENT NEARLY AS MUCH AS YOU DO, SO SHOUTING IS NOW.

The Goblin Emperor will teach you how to speak Elvish without you even realizing it because it so gradually introduces words, so halfway through the book you'll be saying shit like "I can't believe the Ethuverazhid Zhas's dachenmaza nohecharis has to commit revethvoran :/" with a straight face

[velvetinks]

A Day Like This

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: Subtle smut references (afterglow), parenting, major angst/Joel’s death implied at the end, heavy emotions, child character (age 2), deep love and loss

It was still dark when you felt the bed dip behind you.

Warm arms slid around your waist, pulling you in tight. A familiar nose nuzzled the back of your neck.

“You’re up early,” Joel murmured, voice rough from sleep.

You smiled into your pillow. “So are you.”

He pressed a slow kiss to your shoulder. “Can’t sleep without you.”

You reached down and laid your hand over his.

“Happy anniversary,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. “Mmm. Three years.”

“Two and a half,” you corrected, smirking. “You didn’t call it official until you asked me over pancakes.”

“You were already mine before that.”

He kissed your neck again, slower this time.

You shifted beneath the covers, turning toward him. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, his gray-flecked beard brushing your cheek. He looked younger in the mornings. Softer.

“Don’t wake her,” you said gently, glancing toward the small cot at the corner of the room.

But it was empty.

Joel followed your gaze, then sighed. “Shit. She already up?”

You both heard it at once—the light pitter-patter of toddler feet on hardwood just before your daughter’s small voice called out:

“Daaaaaddy!”

Joel groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “I thought I had at least another ten minutes.”

You laughed and kissed his temple.

“Welcome to fatherhood, Mr. Miller.”

Her name was Rosie.

Rosalind Miller, if you were being formal. But no one in town called her that.

She had your eyes and Joel’s everything else, his hair, his nose, his stubborn scowl when she didn’t get her way.

Joel was soft with her in a way you’d never seen. When she was born, he cried so hard you thought something was wrong. And then he held her, clumsy and careful, like she was something ancient and sacred.

She followed him everywhere now.

When he went to the stables, she toddled after him in boots too big for her feet. When he chopped wood out back, she’d bring him sticks and pile them beside his boots. When he sat on the porch, guitar in his lap, she’d curl up on his chest and hum tunelessly with him.

She was his entire world.

And he was hers.

That afternoon, you convinced Maria to take Rosie for a few hours.

“Anniversary, huh?” she said knowingly, eyes twinkling. “Go enjoy yourselves. I’ll bring her home for dinner.”

You and Joel walked hand in hand to a quiet spot outside the gates—a little rise overlooking the frozen river where the two of you had kissed for the first time.

You laid out a blanket and shared canned peaches, a chocolate bar Tommy had somehow bartered for, and a small flask of whiskey Joel pulled from his coat with a smirk.

“For old time’s sake,” he murmured, raising it to his lips.

“God, you’re romantic,” you teased.

He leaned over and kissed you—slow and deep, a little like goodbye.

You didn’t like the way it made your chest hurt.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re saying something you’re too scared to say.”

Joel looked down at your joined hands.

“I keep thinkin’ about how lucky I got,” he said. “How close I came to dyin’ alone. How I almost didn’t find you. Or Ellie. Or…”

“Rosie,” you finished for him.

He nodded.

“I spent twenty years losin’ people. Then suddenly I had a family again. I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“You learned,” you said, reaching up to cup his face. “You’re still learning. And you’re a good dad, Joel.”

He looked away quickly.

But not before you saw the tears in his eyes.

That night, Ellie came over for dinner.

She brought Rosie a carved wooden rabbit and let her ride on her back around the living room, both of them giggling like idiots.

Joel just watched them with this quiet, faraway look. Like he was burning every second into memory.

After Rosie fell asleep in her crib, you stepped out onto the porch with him, the cold air biting at your skin.

He stood behind you, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Didn’t think I’d make it this far,” he said softly. “Didn’t think I’d ever have a home again.”

“You do now.”

Joel kissed your temple.

“If anything ever happens to me—”

“Don’t,” you whispered.

“But if it does”

“Joel, stop. Please.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he held you tighter.

“I love you,” he said.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it.

But it felt different that night. Like he needed you to believe it more than anything.

And you did.

God, you did.

Two days later, he was gone.

The patrol. The barn. Ellie’s scream. The sickening sound of bones breaking.

You didn’t have time to say goodbye.

But you found Rosie in his flannel shirt that night, curled up in his chair like she was waiting for him to come home.

She didn’t understand what death meant yet.

But when she looked up at you with those big brown eyes and whispered, “Where’s Daddy?”

You broke.

Because how could you explain that he died protecting someone he loved?

That he died trying to keep the world gentle for her?

That he died with your name on his lips?

You buried his guitar beside the river, right under the oak where you kissed him for the first time.

Rosie leaves flowers there sometimes.

And when the snow falls soft and slow—quiet like that anniversary morning—

You swear you can still feel him wrap his arms around you.

Like he never left.

Like love, real love, doesn’t die easy.

[lady-arcane]

People Like Us Don’t Survive Love :

You met him when he was still almost whole.

Geto Suguru—with his easy smile and sleepless eyes, the boy who said the world was cracked like glass and still tried to carry it in his bare hands. Back then, he hadn’t yet decided to hate it. Not entirely.

And you—naïve enough to believe that love could be a soft place to land. That maybe, just maybe, you could be enough to keep him tethered to the light.

You were wrong, of course. But that’s the thing about people like you and Suguru.

You want to believe in beautiful endings even as you sharpen your teeth for the fall.

-----

He used to say things like:

“If we were gods, would you still love me?”

And you’d laugh, kiss the corner of his mouth, say:

“Only if you didn’t act like one.”

He didn’t laugh back. Not really—

-----

You knew he was slipping long before the massacre. Not by his actions, but by the pauses between them.

The silence after missions stretched longer. The way he’d stare at children with something like dread curdling in his eyes. His hands still touched you gently, but his words grew heavier, like they were being dragged out of a well.

He told you he was tired. He told you that saving people started to feel like holding sand with bloodied fingers. He told you that no one cared.

You told him you did.

That was the problem.

-----

When he finally broke, he didn’t shatter. He peeled. Like an old wall cracking in slow motion, truth flaking off with every breath. You watched him rot and rebuild in the same breath.

“You love me,” he said once, “because I haven’t hurt you yet.”

“That’s not true,” you whispered.

But it was.—

-----

The last night you saw him before he disappeared, the moon was hanging like a sickle in the sky. He wouldn’t look at you when he spoke.

“You make me hesitate,” he said.

You stood still, heart in your throat. “Good. You should hesitate.”

“No.” His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “That’s why you have to go. I can’t carry this part of myself anymore.”

And by this part, he meant you.

-----

But he didn’t kill you. He could’ve.

Instead, he left you alive with the softest kind of violence: the knowledge that he was still out there, being terrible, being brilliant, being lost—and that somewhere deep inside, he still loved you.

That was the cruelty. Not the leaving. But the not-quite.

-----

You dream about him sometimes.

In those dreams, he comes back. Not reformed—don’t be stupid. No, in your dreams, he’s still the Geto Suguru who believes the world needs fixing, but he’s tired and he crawls into bed beside you, smelling like blood and smoke, and he doesn’t say sorry.

He just touches your face like it’s still sacred.

You always wake up aching. You never tell anyone.

-----

When the world speaks of him, they call him a traitor.

You never correct them. What’s the point?

(You just nod and keep your mouth shut and bleed quietly in places no one can see.)

Because how do you explain that you were loved by a ghost long before he died?

How do you explain that you watched him become the villain, and still sometimes miss the boy who asked if you thought cursed spirits cried?

---

You’ve tried to hate him.

God, you’ve tried—

But how do you hate someone who was sick and brilliant and yours before the sickness won?

How do you hate someone who once touched your hand like it meant something?

How do you hate someone who almost stayed?

-----

And the worst part?

You understand him.

Not the killing. Not the cruelty. But the loneliness beneath it. The isolation of knowing too much, feeling too much. You’ve seen the way the system feeds itself—how kindness is disposable and the weak get left behind. You know how loud the silence is when you scream into the void and no one listens.

You just chose to survive it differently.

He burned.

You buried.

-----

You saw him again once. Years later.

He didn’t smile.

You didn’t cry.

But when your eyes met across that broken corridor—battle rising, blood in the air—you saw it again: hesitation. The ghost of the boy he was. The boy who once made you tea when you were sick. The boy who told you cursed spirits were just grief given shape.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

And then he left you standing there.

Again.

-----

Sometimes you wonder if he ever loved you.

If maybe it was all projection—an echo of his old self reaching for something warm before he extinguished the last light.

But then you remember the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing in a crumbling world that made him consider staying.

And that’s worse.

Because he did love you.

And still chose this.

-----

People like you and Suguru—

You don’t survive love.

You dismantle under it.

Because when you give yourself to someone who’s breaking, you don’t just lose them. You lose the part of yourself that believed you could fix them. That love could be an answer.

You survive the aftermath, sure. You keep breathing.

But you are never, ever whole again.

-----

He exists now only in half-memories, in the spaces between sleep and sobering clarity. You never say his name. You don’t need to.

It echoes anyway—

Suguru.

Suguru.

Suguru.

A name like a wound.

A god who tried to save the world and hated you for being the reason he couldn’t.

-----

[hamzahsbaby]

taking care of hamzah when he comes back from drinking with martin and he talks abt how much he missed you

when bestfriend!hamzah drunkenly admits that he missed you after a night out drinking with his friends ♡

warnings/notes: i had to make this bestfriend!hamzah cosss like yeah!!! you’re all he thinks about!!! even when he’s with his friends having a good time!!!

you paged through your textbook, nestled in your freshly washed sheets with a mug of green tea in hand, facemask on, all while your grandma pjs hugged you with a familiar sense of comfort. you weren't sure exactly what you were looking for in the textbook, some stupid source for a paper you were writing for your JAMS class. but having done enough reading for the night, you sighed and threw the textbook nearby on the floor, when your phone dinged. it was martin.

[ hamzah's bf ] : Hey. Can you come pick up Hamzah? I told him he could crash here but he just keeps saying he misses you. Won’t stop.

you stared at the message, blinking, like maybe you'd read it wrong. you didn't. hamzah told you he wasn't going to drink much tonight — "just one drink, swear", were his exact words. but apparently that was a lie and now he was back at martin's house, drunkenly begging for you. "really hamzah?" you mumbled to yourself before sending martin a quick 'on my way' and sliding on your slippers.

and twenty minutes later, hamzah stumbled into your passenger seat, his hood up and eyes glossed over. he didn't say anything at first, just let out a huge sigh, like with you was the only place he wanted to be. "thanks for coming to get me." he mumbled, his voice tired and rough.

"you're lucky i like you." you flashed him a little smile before putting the car in drive and pulling away. "no," he corrected you, laughing to himself, "you love me." you didn’t say anything, just kept driving. the drive was kind of silent, the ruffle of the engine and your playlist shuffling was all you could hear.

and when you made it back to your place, hamzah followed behind you, he was quiet and swaying just a little. he threw his shoes off, like he always did. “do you want some water or something?” you offered.

“i just wanna lay down,” he slurred out, rubbing his eyes and yawning. you nodded and led him to the couch, that was always where he slept if he ever stayed over. “can i lay in your bed?”

you were taken aback by his question, “uh, yeah.” hamzah had only slept in your bed one other time; the time you got broken up with and he held you as you fell asleep because he was the only one who knew how to comfort you. “thanks.” he stuttered, making his way to your bed, where he plopped down like it was his own bed.

you followed a minute after, bringing him a cold glass of water “thanks for always taking care of me.”

you giggled. “really? i feel like you’re always the one taking care of me. gotta return the favor.” you threw him a fresh t-shirt to sleep in from your drawer. “what?” his eyebrows furrowed, like he was genuinely offended. “you do so much for me.”

you opened your mouth to argue with him, but he kept going, his words were a little slurred but honest. “you make everything easier by just being you. even tonight —” he paused, swallowing thickly. “i missed you the whole time. even when i was laughing and having a good time, i kept thinking damn i really wish she was here.” he wasn’t even looking at you anymore, just carelessly throwing on the t-shirt you gave him. like what he said didn’t just set your heart on fire. “you’re my girl. you know?”

[alwaysalir]

Maybe I’m delulu but I really don’t think it’s that bad.

1. While the Rita & Nick scene was sad it’s very clear Nick is at his lowest. He feels like a monster but I do think what Rita says to him is foreshadowing. I think when she tells him don’t you wanna be the man who makes the right choice. It’s very much showing us what’s gonna happen and something else I just have to point out is June is never wrong. And this entire episode she constantly says I thought I could trust Nick while everyone else is telling her how stupid she was her trusting him and ultimately I feel like they are going to make her trust in him correct

2. I know a lot of people don’t like what Lawrence said about Nick but I think it was meant to parallel what Nick says to Rita about how no one in Gilead trusting each other. Like everyone is willing to sell out each other to get ahead and that’s what Lawrence is doing. He wants to be the one Gilead guy on the winning side

3. Luke is absolute trash and I will never believe they want us to root for a man who at his wife’s lowest chooses to twist the knife and make everything about himself. The way they had June go stroke his ego with her tail tucked between her legs was nauseating

4.June is very much still in love with Nick. I think that’s a huge part of her guilt. I don’t think this is the end for them. I think this reckoning needed to happen bc the fact that Nick is a commander has always kind of been the elephant in the room. Do I think the writers could have come up with something better, that made more sense that made June have to confront this fact…..absolutely. We need Nick to have to choose to completely abandon Gilead and he needed to lose June to do that bc that’s literally the only thing he cares about

[pseudophan]

not to use you as a sounding board for everything but have any of your followers with driving licenses have any It Gets Better stories bc i've had two lessons so far (i know!!! it's not that much!!!! barely 2 hours!! i just hate when i'm not immediately good at something and start getting suicidal instead) and i'm starting to be like maybe i should give up forever and also die. also i say your followers bc i think ? you don't drive but correct me if im wrong and ive forgotten crucial nora lore

LMAO yeah no i don't drive, could you imagine

i feel like most people i know took a while to get into driving, it's a bit much to get your head around. i'm sure someone here has some encouraging words, people who drive's favourite hobby seems to be telling those of us who don't that "it's not that difficult and/or scary once you get used to it" so this is your moment guys

[velvetinkbym]

Smoke & Starlight

Caitlyn Kiramman x fem! reader

Masterlist || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

a/n: i always have ideas for chapters but i don’t know how to actually write it down so this took so long but here you go lovely people🪽-mikayla💕

Chapter Four: Playing the part

The moment you step into the bar, you know you don’t belong.

The air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and something metallic. The neon signs above the counter flicker in and out, bathing the space in a sickly green light. The floor sticks to your boots with every step, and the heavy bass of whatever song is playing vibrates through your chest.

Zaunites of all kinds fill the room—tough-looking enforcers, shifty-eyed dealers, people who have lived their whole lives in the undercity. The energy is charged, the kind of place where one wrong move could start a fight.

Caitlyn must feel it too because she stiffens at your side, her sharp gaze scanning the room like she’s still on patrol. Her hands twitch at her sides, probably wishing for the rifle she had to leave behind.

Vi notices. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” she mutters, giving Caitlyn a once-over. “You might as well wear a sign that says Piltover girl in distress.”

Caitlyn bristles. “I’m being cautious.”

“You’re being obvious,” Vi corrects, a smirk tugging at her lips. “And that’s a problem. People down here aren’t stupid. They see a couple of Pilties looking tense, they start asking questions.”

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of the stares already lingering on you. “So what do you suggest?”

Vi’s grin turns almost too amused. “You two need to act like you belong. And lucky for you, the easiest way to do that?” She gestures between you and Caitlyn. “Be a couple. No one will question two girls getting cozy in a bar.”

Your stomach flips. “Excuse me?”

Caitlyn looks equally horrified. “That’s unnecessary.”

Vi raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you two look stiff enough to scream outsider.” She shrugs, motioning to a few people glancing your way. “You wanna risk someone getting suspicious? Be my guest.”

You glance around, realizing Vi’s right. There are already too many eyes on you, too many people watching just a little too long. You have no choice.

So you exhale and, before you can overthink it, reach for Caitlyn’s hand.

She stiffens. Her fingers are cold against yours, her grip hesitant at first. But she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she tilts her chin up and lets you lead her to an empty table near the back. Vi follows but quickly leaves you both alone, going to talk to someone near the bar.

You sit first, pulling Caitlyn down beside you. “Relax,” you mutter under your breath.

She huffs. “I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re about to interrogate someone.”

Caitlyn glares but doesn’t argue. Instead, she exhales slowly and—reluctantly—leans in. It’s subtle, but you feel the warmth of her thigh pressing against yours, the way her shoulder brushes you when she shifts.

Your breath catches for half a second. This is fine. It’s just an act.

A waitress drops two drinks on the table without a word, already moving on to the next customer. You take a cautious sip, immediately regretting it. The alcohol is strong, burning on the way down.

Caitlyn watches you with mild amusement. “Not to your liking?”

You scowl, pushing the glass away. “Tastes like regret.”

Caitlyn huffs out something almost like a laugh, but it’s gone just as quickly. She glances back at the crowd, still wary.

You sigh, nudging her knee with yours. “You’re still too tense.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightens. “I don’t make a habit of—” She stops herself. Of pretending to be someone’s wife?

You smirk. “Really? Because I seem to remember that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

She exhales sharply, then—finally—relaxes just a little. She shifts even closer, her arm brushing yours again, her body warm against your side. The heat of it is distracting.

Too distracting.

Your heartbeat is a little too fast. Your skin tingles where she touches you, and suddenly, it’s too easy to remember just how pretty she is.

You’re about to say something—anything—to break the tension when Vi suddenly reappears, sliding into the seat across from you with a grin.

“Well, well,” she teases, looking between the two of you. “Didn’t expect you two to be so committed to the bit.”

Caitlyn immediately pulls back, straightening. “Shut up.”

Vi just laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Relax, cupcake. You’re doing great.”

Caitlyn glares at her, but you notice the way her fingers twitch against her glass—like she’s still aware of where your hand had been just moments ago.

You don’t know what to make of that.

Before you can dwell on it, Vi leans in, her tone shifting. “Alright, here’s the deal. There’s someone in the back of the bar who might know a safe way out of Zaun.” She nods toward a shadowy figure in a booth near the corner. “But they don’t talk to just anyone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So how do we get them to talk?”

Vi grins. “Simple. You two keep playing the part, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Caitlyn frowns. “What does that mean?”

Vi’s smirk turns almost mischievous. “It means you two should probably dance.”

You choke. “What?”

Vi nods toward the small, makeshift dance floor where a few couples are swaying lazily to the music. “If you wanna sell this whole married couple on the run thing, you gotta look more convincing.”

Caitlyn scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

Vi shrugs. “Suit yourself. But sitting here looking stiff while I talk to our contact? That’s suspicious.”

You look at Caitlyn. She looks at you.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you push back your chair and stand, holding out your hand. “Come on, darling,” you say, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Let’s dance.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow. “I hate you.”

But she takes your hand anyway.

She exhales sharply, then—finally—relaxes just a little. It’s subtle, but you see it in the way her shoulders drop, in the way her grip on her drink loosens. She’s still tense, still calculating every possible exit route, but at least now she looks less like a lost Piltover officer and more like a woman out for a drink with her wife.

Your wife.

You swallow hard, the word settling uneasily in your mind. This whole arrangement has been a burden, something forced on you both—but right now, sitting here, leaning into Caitlyn like this, it’s different. Dangerously different.

And then she moves closer. Not by much, just enough to make it look real. Just enough for her thigh to press fully against yours, for her arm to brush yours in a way that feels too easy.

Your breath catches. You glance at her, about to say something, but—her eyes are already on you.

Blue. Sharp. Searching.

The moment stretches too long, something unspoken passing between you.

A distraction.

Someone nearby slams their glass onto a table, laughing loudly, and the moment shatters. Caitlyn looks away first, taking a long sip of her drink. You exhale, shaking your head slightly, as if that’ll somehow fix whatever just happened.

Get it together.

Vi returns a moment later, dropping into the seat across from you with a knowing smirk. “Well, well. You two look downright cozy.”

You glare. “Shut up.”

Caitlyn shifts back slightly, but her arm remains against yours, her warmth still lingering. Vi notices but, mercifully, doesn’t comment on it.

Instead, she leans in. “Got some info,” she says, voice dropping slightly. “There’s someone in town who can get you both out of Zaun undetected. Problem is, they don’t work for free.”

You frown. “And what exactly do they want?”

Vi grins. “A favor.”

You glance at Caitlyn, who straightens. “What kind of favor?” she asks cautiously.

Vi’s grin widens. “Ever pulled off a heist before?”

Silence.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow. “Absolutely not.”

Vi shrugs. “Suit yourself. But unless you got a better plan, this is the best shot you’ve got.”

You exchange a look with Caitlyn, a silent conversation passing between you. Neither of you wants this. Neither of you trusts it. But what choice do you have?

Finally, Caitlyn exhales through her nose, the tension in her jaw tightening. “Fine,” she mutters. “Tell us what we need to do.”

Vi’s grin turns wolfish. “That’s the spirit, cupcake.”

You sigh, already regretting this. But beneath the frustration, beneath the exhaustion, there’s something else—a quiet thrill curling in your stomach.

Not from the heist. Not from the danger.

From the way Caitlyn still hasn’t moved away.