#re-introducing myself because

[p3achii-was-h3r3]

Re-introducing myself! Howdy hey, my name is (or atleast, I go by) Peachii! I'm just a person on the internet doing things! Use this post as an FAQ about me :]]

Cue the questions!!!1!1!!

(under the cut!!!)

“What are your pronouns?”

» She/They! Though, you could probably see that on the description of my blog.

“What are your interests/hobbies?”

» I mainly post about drawing (both traditional and digital, I also mainly do sketches and doodles), so expect a lot of art from me! I also write, so maybe some of that too. Aside from writing and drawing though, I also sing! Except I'm pretty self conscious about my voice, so I think I'll be sticking to drawing and writing. For now, atleast. I also play the piano, but it's been a while since I've laid my hands on one so I'm a bit rusty. And, as you can tell, I'm also a professional yapper (/hj)

“Why the name?”

» ...I'm gonna be so fr, I have no idea. And, no, I'm not named after Princess Peach from Mario Bros. Surprisingly enough. Most people I meet on the internet think that's the case but, no. I have no clue how I came up with the name.

“What are you currently hyperfixated on?”

» You can find out by takin a quick look at my blog's description! It might change a lot, it depends though.

“What are your Interact & Do Not Interact criteria?”

» I don't have anything specific, just the standard. If you'd want me to specify, I will:

» Do Not Interact; basic dni stuff (discrimination of any kind, pr0sh1ppers, etc.), people who can't respect opinions (I mean, srsly, if you come here just to diss people's opinions, what are you even doing ???), etc.

» Interact; fellow artists, generally anyone who shares the same interests as me, etc.

“What music do you listen to?”

» I don't really have a specific genre, however, I can list certain bands/artists I like! (For the most part tho, I listen to a whole bunch of songs from different artists. Like, I'd know one song from an artist and nothing else. Forgive me if I do, I just hyperfixated on a certain band too much... And also a certain musical...) (Cough cough, The Crane Wives...) (Cough cough, EPIC: The Musical...)

» The Crane Wives (PERSONAL FAV, LOVE THEM SM !1!1!1!1!! <333), EPIC: The Musical (this mf musical has a chokehold on me), Penelope Scott, Ricky Montgomery, Lady Gaga, Arctic Monkeys, Måneskin, Ado, Mother Mother, Bo Burnham, Tally Hall, Will Wood, Cavetown, Kesha, Beach Bunny, Lemon Demon, Jack Stauber, Lincoln, Poor Man's Poison, Melanie Martinez, Billie Eilish, Vocaloid, Laufey, Olivia Rodrigo, Ghost and Pals, Miracle Musical, Mitski, Oderari, 6arelyhuman, Britney Spears, Rio Romeo, Toby Fox, Paramore, Phoebe Bridgers, Hozier, Chappell Roan, Yaelokre, Fish in a Birdcage, Isabel LaRosa, Bruno Mars, etc.

» okay that was a lot but like,,, I just like music alr ????? 😭

“Do you have any tags specific to your blog? If so, what are they and what do they mean?”

» good question!!! I'm still working on them, but, here are ones I've come up with so far;

» #speach-ii = yappenings, like I said, professional yapper /hj

» #the baker-ii = (aka the bakery) where I cook (where I draw/more srs art)

» #baker-ii but sill-ii = (aka bakery but silly) where snacks are made (doodles)

» #the fruit basket. = my (fruity) (and cool asf) mutuals !!!

» #peachii approved = reblogs

More things about me !!!

» I'll sometimes post about my OCs!

» I love flowers. And flower meanings. My favorite flower is the Red Spider Lily! Might change in the future, though. It's my favorite flower based on looks alone. As for flower meaning, I haven't found one yet :]

» I like making paper stars !

That's all, for now !!! Now, go and frolic in the orchard !!!

[Note: might update this as time goes on]

[merriblu]

So, mom in-law gave us a last minute announcement that she is getting married and whereas my wife has wonderful wedding appropriate clothes.. I do not. I’ve lost a lot of weight and nothing fits, so my wife frantically dresses me in her clothes and we hope for the best.

The only things that are mine in this photo is the white shirt and shoes. I think it’s not half bad until you see how short the pants are ahahah!

It was really a beautiful ceremony and I hope my Mutti experiences only happiness and love with her new husband.

[finniestoncrane]

40 minutes left of work. i've written 2785 words of fics so far today, cna i crack the 3k mark in 40 mins? hopefully!! i'm on the fuckin ball man this is the most inspiration i've had in a while, i have six things queued up i am so far ahead of my little schedule i make plus my commissions and trades are coming out nicely

[burinazar]

……

i…………feel bad about………something. the same thing as earlier. ugghh I hate how much this bugs me

[assignedmale]

Dear readers! There has been a surge in newcomers on this page lately, so let me introduce myself again for Pride Month.

I am Sophie, the neurodivergent author of these comics. I'm from Montreal, Quebec, and English is my third language (French is my first, which probably makes everything I say sound more sarcastic, sorry about that - or not). And yes, Labelle is my real, actual last name.

I started this project 11 years ago as a way to give a break to my queer and trans friends at school, who were constantly re-explaining the same stuff ad nauseam, and because of how little representation I was getting as a young trans girl. I soon started to get invitations to talk about my work around the planet, and that's when I decided to quit school to focus entirely on this project!

A lot has happened since, between getting my address posted on 4chan, having my books banned in Texas schools, being stalked 24/7 by an alt-right forum, having British MPs going to the media and calling my comics an affront to civilisation, or having an actual neo-n*zi group storm a library I was speaking at in New Zealand. Thankfully, meeting so many of you has made it worth my while!

That's how, during a speaking tour in the Nordics, I met my Finnish husband, who is also an artist. We now live in the subarctic forest (in an old house that keeps flooding) with our cat and a flock of ducks.

As an independent artist, the work that I do is entirely made possible by you! Without your support, I wouldn't be able to turn so many Texan school librarians into smugglers. It's thanks to people who get me a coffee here and there that I'm able to focus on creating art that pisses off as many TERFs as possible (link in the comments if you want to participate). You can also become a patron of this comic, which gets me closer to my dream of one day causing the downfall of civilisation!

Love you!

xx Sophie Labelle (for real)

[mortalityplays]

Unprintable: Artists Against Authority

I am absolutely beside myself with excitement to announce the launch of Unprintable.

Unprintable is an online free shop, where original artwork and arts resources are released into the public domain.

Everything listed here is free to use, copy and remix any way you like. You can print off hi-res artwork to decorate your apartment, or to use in your own projects. You can use the writing in your own zines, anthologies or performances. You can put it on a t-shirt. You can read it on the radio. You can paint it on a truck. It's up to you, entirely and forever.

The collection will be updated continuously, on an unfixed schedule, with contributions from a wide range of named and anonymous artists and activists. You can read the FAQ for a full rundown of what Unprintable is and why it exists, but these are the really important parts:

Can I download/print/use the work listed here? Yes. Can I use it for [X]? You can do whatever you want with it forever. But what if I want to [Y]? You can do whatever you want with it forever. Why do this? A few reasons: 1. We want a space to just share things, no strings attached. We recognise that copyright is an irrational system that was designed to protect the profit interests of publishing middlemen and IP hoarders. In fact, copyright is often weaponised against the creators it pretends to protect. As long as it exists, we are unlikely to win any other form of protection for our work, and we are profoundly limited from engaging in the kind of communal artistic and storytelling practices that were the norm around the world for thousands of years. 2. Radical art is often unprintable. Profit motives make people cautious. A lot of print-on-demand or local print shop services will refuse artwork with controversial, sensitive or political content. This is very frustrating when these themes are the focus of so much of our work (and indeed our lives). Rather than waste any more breath trying to explain why a trans artist might want to print the word ‘faggot’, we can give our work away for free. Got a printer? It’s yours. 3. It feels good. Sharing is joyful. It’s the reason we love making things in the first place. We don’t write poems because we look forward to filleting them for consumption, or layer colours so that we can sell a canvas by the ounce. We have only ever wanted to be able to support ourselves so that we can make, but that relationship is deeply dysfunctional under capitalism. We made these things, and we want you to have them. It doesn’t need to be complicated.

I'll write up some more posts introducing the launch collection soon. In the meantime...be free, enjoy, explore, have fun!

https://free.mortalityplays.com

[bonus-links]

rereading with the latest update to get caught up, and now I know its an option I am desperate for director's commentary on Ruins pt7, if you're willing, please

(Also I first started reading this before taking sign langauge classes, and while I am learning a different SL to ASL/whatever Slate is using, some things translate well. Which is to say I was very excited seeing Loft use thank you and other small signs, or recognising Slate's signs. Its very cool!)

OH AN OLDIE yeah sure!! i will do my best to remember wtf i was on about lol

first of all. this was posted in 2023. what do u mean it's 2025 and im only on ch2. explodes. ANYWAY.

I'm still proud of myself this this panel thing w the arrow lol where it's both coming towards the octorok and has already gone through it. this is something that didn't rlly end up making it into the final product but I don't think Slate actually makes a habit of just killing monsters willy nilly. I don't see him hunting down every monster in Hyrule after the calamity ends. He kills this octorok bc they antagonize the horses but also because. I needed an excuse for his bow to already be out HAHA

I have complicated feelings about the yiga and what their lore implies lol but for Slate's part, he has personal beef with them on account of how many times they're tried and nearly succeeded in killing him. I like to imagine the Yiga as both deeply goofy and also a serious threat at the same time lol, which i think sums up how Slate feels about them.

I did however want to take this opportunity to show his capacity to be a brutal fighter, the same way Loft is in the opening of ch1. Actually the idea for this scene even came about because in my own late-stage game I kept getting attacked by a blademaster literally every 2 feet in certain regions, and I was getting so frustrated by it I just started obliterating them with ancient arrows 💀 Slate using way more arrows than necessary was a nod to that. idk maybe this guy lived lol

this scene was also to spur comparisons between Slate and Loft's experiences. Loft is brutal with monsters, but he's never killed a human being. Realizing that the Yiga aren't monsters shocks him.

this is a failure of my own paneling bc I didn't have enough room on the page and refused to add another, but Loft is hallucinating this guardian being active. all the guardians are inactive since defeating the calamity. actually what I should have done was add a red targeting line that then disappeared in the next panel. MAN.

alright and probably what you actually wanted commentary on, first Champion sighting! The first time Slate actually sees Champion is at the end of ch1, so if you're wondering if Slate knows he's there in this scene, the answer is no. I think rather than following Slate around all along, Champion has spent most of his time just sort of. barely existing here at Fort Hateno, or sitting with the master sword. He's not exactly like the ghosts of the other champions, or King Rhoam. sorry buddy :-(

i do have a bonus comic the works re: ghost lore that I will hopefully finish. someday so I think that might answer some questions ppl have. and possibly introduce a few more. but on the whole I like to keep whatever's going on here a little ambiguous. like I said in this update's commentary, one part literal and one part metaphorical. maybe two parts metaphorical lol

I think that's all I got for this one!

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Neglectful Jealousy

Synopsis: Ser Aemond is faced with the unsettling feeling of your ignorance, an administration of his own medicine. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond still being stubborn and in denial, ¿infatuation?, Jealousy (both sides) PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART

You frustratingly still struck no luck in befriending or at least acquainting yourself with your knight. He had been stationed to you for a moon and a half now, but still, you hadn’t even struck up at least one conversation with him. He would only nod or shake his head; his vocabulary stuck onto two words: ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ but for the most part, he just grunts his answer or, worst yet, ignores you altogether. You were tempted to ask your brother for a new knight, at least someone whose animosity for you you could not feel wafting off him, but you felt ashamed in complaining and admitting the possibility someone holds such dislike for you. So you suffered through his silence, still trying your earnest effort for him to resemble at least an ounce of tolerance for you. 

“Cousin!” You hear someone in the gardens yell as you walk with your knight. You turn behind and smile wide as you see your cousin fast approaching. You match her pace and run towards her, Aemond following in pursuit. “What are you doing here? Did we know you were to come?” You asked excitedly, finally having a companion. “No, we are sadly just passing by on our way to the north. I am to meet my betrothed,” She smiled, but you noticed her gaze shifting to the knight with flowing silver hair who stood stoically behind you. “Cousin, this Ser Aemond— Ser Aemond, my cousin, Lady Liza,” You introduced, and your cousin stepped forward to meet eye-to-eye with your knight. “My lady,” Aemond bowed as common courtesy. 

You linked your arm with your cousin, who you noticed had been staring too fondly at your knight. “Until when are you to stay?” You asked as you two strolled along the gardens, “Just until this afternoon, my father needed to sort out a small matter with the King, and we needed to change horses as well.” She said, and you feel your excitement lower as she was only to stay a few hours, and by the sun's fall, you will be alone once more. “So soon? Why won’t you stay the night and just travel on the morrow?” You suggested, and she sighed, Liza turning her head partly to steal a glance at Ser Aemond. “That is a most generous and practical offer, but Father insists we reach the North as soon as possible, no time to be spared.” You pouted at the thought, “But let us not dwell on that; you have me for the whole afternoon; come tell me all about your line of suitors,” You blush at her words. 

Aemond went stiff at the subject proposed by your cousin, and he noticed the blush on your face. “There is not much to tell; I am still acquainting myself with them,” You say softly, not entirely comfortable with the subject. “Hm… and do you not hold a favor for any of them? Surely one holds more sway than the others,” You shook your head, unrelenting. You were to open another subject, but your cousin halted in her tracks and turned to your knight. “I would account for you being present during my cousin’s acquaintance with the other lords, Ser Aemond. Who would you say had captivated her the most?” Your cousin questioned, and you wanted to scoff because you expected Ser Aemond not to pay attention during your courtship and not answer your cousin’s query. However, you were rendered speechless as he spoke. “Lord Ashford, my lady,” he said truthfully as he had the displeasure of following you around the keep in the company of Lord Ashford the most. 

You turned to Aemond, whose gaze was on your cousin, who simply smirked up at him, an odd feeling of shock and another emotion in you that you could not express swirling in your stomach. The hour passed with you and your cousin discussing your suitors, no matter how hard you tried to alter the subject. When tea was served, it offered you a small reprieve from the topic. You picked at the candied lemons as you saw your cousin place a pastry on a cloth napkin. “Would you like some, Ser Aemond?” You hear her ask, and in your head, you can already hear the silence of Aemond ignoring her query; that is what he often did with you. “Thank you for the offer, but no, my lady,” Aemond said, his voice holding a tone of civility that was often absent when he addressed you. 

You tried to control your reactions as you sank further in your seat. How was he so polite with Liza but could not even uphold the same manners for you? You wanted to think it was because of her station, a highborn lady, but you were a princess. Should that not perhaps warrant the same degree of respect, maybe even more?

When the sun was starting to set, your cousin was already to leave. “Wait! I have a gift for you; I forgot to send it to you on your last name day; it’s in my chambers; I shall retrieve it.” You say quickly, not giving her any time to reply as you run through the halls. But as you ran, you could not account for the clink of armor following behind. You glanced at your back; your knight, who was often glued at your side, now stood in the middle of the hall chatting with your cousin. The odd sensation on your stomach returned, but now it infected your chest as well. You went to your chambers and retrieved the parcel that was meant for your cousin, returning where you had left her and Ser Aemond. You tried to hide your astonishment and perhaps even anger as you saw how freely he conversed with her. Gone was the furrow in his brows or the scowl on his lips; it was now replaced with a ghost of a smile. 

You squared your shoulders and placed a small smile on your lips as you approached. “Here,” you smiled as you handed Liza her gift, “How kind of you, sweet cousin, come, escort me to the gates?” She questioned, and you nodded. You peaked a look at your knight whose once elated presence had returned stoic the moment you arrived.  “How did you do it?” You whisper to Eliza as Aemond stays by the gates, and you and your cousin stand by the wheelhouse. “Do what?”

“Make Ser Aemond speak with you? Perhaps made him amused?” You asked quietly, watching as your cousin frowned at the rather obvious answer to your query. “Nothing, I just spoke, and he answered. Is that not how a conversation goes?” She asked; you shook your head. “I tried that, but he mostly just ignores me.” You say, low-spirited. “Hm… perhaps give him time to warm up to you; maybe it is just that,” Your cousin smiled, but that did nothing to ease the burning question in your mind. How much more time could Ser Aemond want? He had been assigned to you for almost two moons but still struggles to show at least an ounce of courtesy, but he had no trouble in showing kindness to your cousin, who he had just met mere hours ago. 

“Safe travels, cousin,” You smiled and kissed her cheek, “Thank you, and I shall see you at your wedding— hopefully it’d be sooner rather than later?” She teased, and you let out an amused laugh and a shake of your head. Stepping away from the wheelhouse and returned inside the castle. 

When a new day broke, you were still plagued by the animosity shown by your sworn protector. You thought he was simply incapable of showing cordiality to anyone, but it seemed to be that he picked those for whom he showed goodwill. 

“Princess,” Aemond greeted as always when they stepped out of your chambers every morning. He was waiting for your reply; you would often bid him good day or ask about his night and if he had found a moment of rest during his watch, but you stayed silent, momentarily confusing him. Aemond squired you through all your lonesome engagements for the day, but you uttered not a single word, confusing him even more. “Good night, Princess,” Aemond bowed as you entered your chambers as the day ended. He was once again expecting your reply, but you only ignored him, administering the same actions he did you. 

Three days had passed, and you uttered not a single word to your knight; you barely even placed your gaze upon him. He never thought it possible for you to hold your tongue for such a long period of time. He had gotten used to your babbling and him ignoring it, though he genuinely did listen; he just offered no reply. Aemond assisted you to your solarium; normally, you would leave the door open, and he would stand by it, but for the past few days, you would shut it close. Aemond is now staring at a blank wall instead of observing you as you paint and listening to you hum a tune. There was a rather bothering feeling in his gut at your avoidance and stoicism at him; he wondered if that is how you felt when he would try to ignore you moons before. 

Aemond straightened his back as a squire approached and knocked upon your door. “Princess, your afternoon tea is ready,” He bowed, and Aemond saw a glimpse of your smiling at the squire and heard a soft ‘thank you’ leave your lips. So, you can still speak, he thought, realizing further that you were truly ignoring his presence. 

Aemond stood by your side as you sat in the gardens, a book in one of your hands whilst the other held a cup of tea. Aemond stared at the back of your head, willing you to turn to him, but you kept your gaze planted on your book. At this hour of the day, you would often offer him some refreshments, but you no longer did that. Was it too forward for him to admit to himself that he had missed your concern? 

Aemond clenched his jaw as he felt and heard his stomach rumble; his last meal was last night. For once, he wished you would offer him some of the food placed before you; perhaps this time, he would not ignore your kind offer. But he had scorned you too often with his disregard. Aemond shifted in his place as his stomach rumbled once more, biting his tongue and closing his eye tightly as he tried to control his hunger. When it happened for the third time, you sighed and placed a custard tart on a plate, and raised it to him, your gaze still pointed at your book. 

Aemond was stunned at your action; he stared at the tart for a moment and felt his mouth water. He lowered his pride, took it off the plate, and hastily ate it before getting caught by any other passerby in the gardens. “Thank you, princess,” he said quietly as the food you offered sedated his grumbling stomach. Aemond heard no reply from you, only the sound of a page-turning. 

As the day progressed, Aemond still had not gotten a word from you, and a feeling started to claw at him. Guilt? Perhaps. He thought maybe he should not have been so dismissive of you, that perhaps he should not have been so overly warry of your kindness and took it for granted because now he missed it. It was hard for him to watch you be agreeable with any other person in the castle except for him. He would often watch steely-eyed as you jested with the other knights or how you would smile before the servants. And the only thing you did with him was ignore his presence.

Aemond felt determination surge him. Deciding to make you return to the way it was, with you speaking and offering kindness to him, and perhaps this time, he would not be so dismissive of you. He was not certain as to where to begin and how long it would take, but that was the least of his problems because he, after all, was your sworn protector, tasked to be by your side until his dying breath. He had a lifetime to make you like him once more. 

[tomicscomics]

12/30/2024

And so it ends... FOR NOW?!?!?

___ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, it's finally over. Thanks for sticking through it with me. This series was really fun to draw, and it gave me a chance to do two things I found surprisingly fun: (1) draw several anachronistic saints interacting with each other and (2) make a bunch of RPG jokes in a religious context. To be honest, it was stressful. First off, I hardly have any time to draw these days, so committing to two comics a week was an insane thing to do, especially for the holidays. Second, I had the whole 10-part series planned out at the beginning, but then my mind was so flooded with new jokes as I went that I had to re-write and re-plan almost every week in order to keep the series to the original 10 parts. I have a ton of jokes I had to skip, but I'll keep note of them in case I revisit this concept in the future. Ultimately, I'm frayed and unsatisfied, but I enjoyed myself and learned as I went, and that about sums it up. Maybe I'll write a retrospective to post on Patreon, if I can get my thoughts in order. Anyway, once again, thank you all for indulging me in this incredibly unusual series. Tomics will return to relative normalcy soon. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. Continuing from the last few cartoons, an angel has been introducing a few saints to playing a tabletop roleplaying game. This series has covered them learning how to make characters, culminating in them introducing their characters and ending with the story finally about to begin. 2. Most RPG players know the struggle of trying to find a group of like-minded players, of scheduling regular sessions, and of actually making it to the end of a full campaign. Many campaigns end prematurely because the players start having interpersonal drama, or because their busy schedules just don't match up, or because the group simply gets burnt out. The end of this cartoon makes light of this earthly reality. Hypothetically, if an angel DID run an RPG campaign for some saints in heaven, they'd all be free of the all the flaws and struggles that would normally force a campaign to end prematurely.

[pennyellee]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

title: The Butterfly Effect pairings: idol!yoongi x reader/girlgroup member!reader; idol!jimin x reader genre: idol!au, lowkey love triangle, smut romance, drama, short story word count: 6,5K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

prompt 1: "but when I near you I feel flames" prompt 2: "I knew the power of a single wish, after all. Invisible and inevitable, like a butterfly that beats its wings in one corner of the globe and with that single action changes the weather halfway across the world." - Alice Hoffman, for The Ice Queen (2005)

summary: Through a series of events and a lingering phone call, Yoongi discovers that love, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, has the power to transform everything—and perhaps, give him a second chance at the one person he lets slip away. A series of moments that etched your destiny. The butterfly effect had begun, and the future was in motion.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, explicit language, possessiveness, teasing, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected sex (mutual consent but stay safe!), raw sex, love love love, pulling out, belly cum, desperate and emotionally charged intimacy, emotional vulnerability, jealousy, heartbreak, hallucinations, heightened emotions, overthinking and so on (may add some after re-read)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, jealous behaviour, sexual activity, unprotected sexual encounter and so on.

a/n: I have revived this story last year and came back to it in january. Originally I wanted to keep it to myself, possibly release it when the drought will be more sensible. I impulsively decided to release it today. If you recognise this story, that is going to turn my lucky number this year - seven - congratulations you've been a bts fan for a looong time and most likely you watched this, yes watched. This was a short video story on my old youtube channel. When I look back at the form and stripped language that was filled by visuals, I can definitely cringe a little, but isn't romance suppose to be at least a little cringey? Kept that part, we need that cheesiness from time to time. It has its magic, but really dunno, that's why I revived the story and rewritten it. The original, let's say "script" had only around 300 words and as this story has sentimental feeling to me, I wanted to keep it alive somehow, and it is most likely that I will archive majority of my video content on yt, so I'm gonna let this story, that was part of my first ever universe, to quietly live here. And of course, happy late birthday to our precious Yoongles! PS: fan fact, I'm fucking terrified of night butterflies, another fan fact, I live for symbolism.

2016 In the tapestry of your shared experiences, you wove a tale together—a tale that replays in his mind, reminding him of the radiant sunbeam you were.

Your smile, a gentle sunrise, casting light into even the deepest recesses of his being. Your laughter, a melody that could mend the deepest wounds of his soul. The love he holds for you in his heart, boundless and deep, now bears the heavy weight of regret because he let you slip away.

Your story begins with a chance—a fleeting moment in time when your eyes first meet his. Love stirring within him long before he dared to confess it. From a distance, he was just one of your many fans whilst having a big name himself. But to you, he’s the enigmatic man standing among the crowd during your concert in Manila, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite name.

It’s Yoongi who first falls, long before the night he gathers the courage to approach you, lost in the melody of your voice. To him, your singing is ethereal, pure as a dove’s cry.

He wanted you to be his dove, his one and only, and his sunshine.

It was a friend who paved the way, introducing you to a connection that seemed like a dream.

"They were amazing, weren’t they?" Taehyung nudges him after the concert. "Come on, I’ll introduce you, Hyung."

"Wait—what? No, no, I’m good," Yoongi protests, but the younger man, dating one of your bandmates, is already pulling him backstage.

When you turn, your smile nearly stops his heart.

Of course you knew who Min Yoongi was, there is no doubt about that.

The moment your eyes meet, the world seems to fade, leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit backstage area. Your smile is radiant, disarming in a way that steals the breath from his lungs.

"Min Yoongi," you say, a slight tilt to your head, as if you’re still processing the sight of him in person. "I can’t believe we’re finally meeting. Taehyung’s told me a lot about you."

Yoongi shifts awkwardly, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. "He has, huh?"

"Only good things," you assure him, your laughter like a delicate melody. "But I didn’t need him to tell me. I’ve been a fan of yours for years."

The words hit him like a shockwave. You—a fan of his? His mind scrambles for a response, but all he can manage is a shy smile.

"Well, I guess we’re even," he says, his voice quieter than he intended. "I’ve been a fan of yours for a while too."

Taehyung watches the exchange with a knowing grin, nudging Yoongi lightly. "See? I told you it’d be fine. Don’t let your chance slip, Hyung."

Asking you out required a courage summoning of epic proportions, a leap into the unknown. The possibility that you might say yes seemed like a distant hope, but against all odds, you did agree to go on a date with him.

Yoongi glares at him briefly before looking back at you. "Uh, would it be too forward if I asked for your number? Or, you know, maybe we could… grab a cup of coffee sometime?"

Your smile widens, and the warmth in your eyes sets his heart racing.

"I’d like that."

For a moment, he’s convinced this is a dream.

But, for the first time in a long while, hope blooms in his chest, fragile yet undeniable. He doesn’t know where this will lead, but one thing is certain: you’re already unforgettable to him.

Your dates were filled with laughter, shared secrets, and a love that felt destined to last an eternity. Or that’s how you felt when looking into his eyes, observing his soul these past months.

"So," he begins, fiddling with his coffee cup. "What made you decide to start singing?"

You smile, leaning forward. "Honestly? It's not that deep. It was my escape. Music always felt like home to me, even when nothing else did."

"Totally not deep," he says, a small smile tugging at his lips and you chuckle, almost chocking on your coffee. Banter it is, Min Yoongi.

By the end of the night, you’re laughing at his jokes, and he’s falling harder than he ever thought possible.

Thus began a series of moments that etched your destiny. Each a butterfly effect, that would echo through the rest of your lives.

The soft rustle of pages filled the air, the only sound in the dimly lit room. You were sitting cross-legged on the plush hotel bed, the book balanced against your knees. Yoongi reclined beside you, his fingers lightly brushing over yours as if testing the boundaries of proximity.

The words pull you in, wrapping you in their magic, until one particular passage makes you pause. Tilting your head slightly, you read the line again, savoring it before speaking aloud.

"I knew the power of a single wish, after all. Invisible and inevitable, like a butterfly that beats its wings in one corner of the globe and with that single action changes the weather halfway across the world," you say softly, your voice almost a whisper.

"Damn that Alice—" he remarked right after. He’s been watching you in silence, but at the sound of your voice, he lets out a skeptical scoff.

"Do you really believe that?"

You look up, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "Believe what?"

"All that butterfly effect nonsense," he replies, waving a hand dismissively. "A single wish? A tiny action changing the world? Sounds like something people say to feel better about their bad decisions."

You tilt your head, studying him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You’re such a cynic," you tease lightly, though there’s a trace of seriousness in your tone. "It’s not about feeling better. It’s about recognizing that the smallest actions can have the biggest consequences. That everything we do matters in ways we might not understand."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Sure, but that’s just romanticising chaos. Life isn’t that poetic."

"That’s rich coming from you, Suga." You say playfully.

His eyes narrow slightly at the use of his stage name, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite his best efforts to stay annoyed.

"You’re really pushing it, huh?" he mutters playfully, there’s no real heat behind his words. He could not be mad at you.

You smile back at him, unbothered by his sarcasm, and let the quiet between you stretch for a moment before you speak again, your voice soft but firm.

"I’m serious, Yoongi. I know it sounds far-fetched, but imagine if every little thing we do ripples out in ways we can’t predict. Like a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a storm somewhere else in the world. What if, just once, the smallest action—something you didn’t even think about—changed everything for the better?"

Finally, he mutters, "or worse, I’ll stick to reality, thanks."

You shrug, not willing to argue any further, but in your heart, you can’t help but think—maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll understand.

Maybe, like the butterfly in that quote, his wings will flap in a way that he never expected and change everything.

And maybe, one moment, one mistake, one wish will set into motion a series of events that will prove the butterfly effect is more real than he ever imagined.

By the time Yoongi understands, it will already be too late—or perhaps, just in time.

"You’re staring again," you teased, glancing at him with a playful smirk.

"Can you blame me?" His voice was low, almost reverent, as his eyes traced the curve of your cheek. "You’re… captivating."

The blush that crept up your neck didn’t go unnoticed. "Captivating, huh? You’ve been writing too many lyrics, Min Yoongi."

"Maybe," he murmured, leaning in just slightly. "But I’ve never been more honest."

The air between you grew heavy, charged with an unspoken longing. You tilted your head, the space between your lips and his disappearing as you whispered,

"maybe you could turn them into actions."

He didn’t hesitate, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your skin as he pulled you closer. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his name escaping your lips between kisses that left you breathless.

"God, you’re unreal," he muttered against your mouth, his voice tinged with awe.

"You talk too much," you replied, pulling him back in with a teasing tug at his bottom lip.

The laughter between you dissolved into something deeper, more desperate, as the weight of the moment took hold. His hands found your waist, tugging you onto his lap with a gentle yet determined pull. Your legs straddled his hips, and he groaned softly as your bodies pressed together.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asked, his forehead resting against yours.

"I might have an idea," you whispered, rolling your hips against him, eliciting a low curse from his lips.

When he nears you he feels flames.

The tension snapped as his hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his palms igniting a trail of fire across your skin. Clothes fell away piece by piece, discarded carelessly onto the floor as his kisses traced down your neck, your collarbone, each touch deliberate and intoxicating.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

"So are you," you replied, running your fingers down his chest, savoring the way he shivered beneath your touch.

The tenderness of his touch was almost overwhelming, and you felt yourself melting into his arms as he deepened the kiss again.

Time seemed to blur as passion consumed you both, the world outside forgotten. The quiet sighs and gasps of pleasure filled the room, an intimate symphony that spoke of trust, desire, and love.

Yoongi’s hands began to roam over your body, tracing curves and contours with an intimacy that left you breathless. His fingers grazed over the swell of your breasts, sending a jolt of electricity through you before moving lower to tease at the hem of your clothes.

With a gentle tug, Yoongi drew your shirt up over your head, exposing the soft skin beneath to his hungry gaze. His eyes feasted on the sight of you, drinking in every detail as he leaned in to press kisses along the curve of your neck and shoulder.

The air was thick with tension as Yoongi’s hands worked to undo the buttons on his own shirt, revealing a chest chiseled from years of dedication to music and performance. You couldn’t help but reach out and touch him, tracing patterns over his skin that left him gasping with pleasure.

Yoongi’s hands grasped your hips, he gently pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, his eyes locked onto yours with a fierce intensity. His lips danced across the curve of your stomach, as he made his way lower. With each kiss, his touch grew more intimate, more sensual, until finally he reached the apex of your thighs.

Yoongi’s fingers parted your legs, exposing the tender flesh beneath to his hungry gaze. For a moment, he simply looked at you, drinking in the sight of your most intimate self. Then, with a slow smile spreading across his face, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the soft skin.

The first touch of his tongue sent sparks flying through you – it was like being electrified from within.

Yoongi’s mouth moved with a gentleness, tasting and savoring every inch of you as if you were a delicacy to be devoured. The sensations were almost too much to bear – it was like being consumed by a wildfire that threatened to engulf everything in its path.

His tongue was exploring places you could never reach.

He shed his pants and underwear in one smooth motion, climbing on top of your trembling body.

“ssibal…-” you looked into his eyes to see what made him say that, only for him to–

"I don’t have one." He sighed when he realised he was missing something, painfully ruining this moment. But he could never ruin it in your eyes.

"I trust you." You smiled sweetly, offering your mind, body and soul to him. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours, a mix of surprise and gratitude flashed across his face.

"Are you sure?" He had been prepared for hesitation, for doubts, but instead, you offered him your unwavering trust. You nodded silently, still smiling.

Yoongi leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours as he whispered,

"I’ll be careful, I promise."

He positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his erection teasing your entrance, Yoongi’s eyes never left yours. He pressed his length against your lips and with delicate carefulness he coated himself with your juices. He waited for the slightest nod, the smallest indication that you were ready. And when it came, he slowly began to push inside, his movements deliberate and controlled.

It took everything in him to not start trusting in you with brutal tempo in you because that’s how good you felt wrapped around him.

The initial stretch was almost too much to bear – it was like being filled to the brim with an exquisite tension. But as Yoongi’s body merged with yours, the sensations began to shift and evolve. The pain gave way to pleasure, and the pleasure grew with each sharp movement of his hips. He growled and hissed and your moans turned him on even more.

The tremors turned into shudders and the gasps turned into moans – he increased his pace. His hips moved in time with the rhythm of your heartbeat, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you were nothing more than a quivering mess of nerve endings.

It was like being lost in a stormy sea with no anchor or shore in sight – but together; you found solace; found home; found each other.

His eyes were closed, his face contorted in a mixture of ecstasy and effort, as he chased the release that seemed to be hovering just out of reach. Your hands moved to his waist, guiding him to rock into you deeper and harder.

Your nails dug into his skin, leaving tiny marks that would remain long after the moment had passed. But Yoongi didn’t flinch, didn’t even notice – he was too far gone, too lost in the depths of your body. His pelvis was rubbing on yours and you could not help but feel the sensation forming into a tied knot that needed to be untangled or you would go crazy.

Yoongi’s body began to tense, his movements becoming more erratic and urgent, you knew that he was close.

"You’re mine," he whispered, his voice low and husky with emotion. "You’re mine now."

That’s all it took for the knot to snap in you and with a bite into his shoulder, you came undone, a crying mess under him.

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a fierce intensity as he gritted his teeth, fighting to hold on for just a moment longer.

But it was no use. With a strangled cry, Yoongi’s body arched backwards, his hips jerking forwards as he reached the peak of his release. You felt a surge of warmth as he pulled out of you, his cock pulsing in his hand as he erupted onto your belly.

The first jet of cum hit your skin like a shockwave, sending shivers coursing through your body. You felt it spread across your abdomen, warm and sticky and utterly intimate.

As the last drops of cum fell onto your skin, Yoongi collapsed forwards, his chest heaving with exertion. He lay there for a moment, his face buried in the crook of your neck, as you both struggled to catch your breath.

Finally, he raised himself up onto elbows, gazing down at the mess he had made on your belly. A slow smile spread across his face as he reached out to touch the sticky fluid, rubbing it into your skin with gentle fingers.

"Yoongi?"

"Hmm?" he murmured sleepily, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

"I love you," you whispered, the words falling easily from your lips.

2017 to 2018 Days turned into nights, and with each passing moment, the magic of your connection deepened. Your lips met often, bodies intertwined, and those three precious words were whispered underneath the moonlight as often as you two could.

You decided to celebrate your one-year anniversary in London, a night full of love.

Yoongi’s hand didn’t leave yours all night, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if grounding himself in your presence.

"Can you believe it’s been a year?" you ask, your eyes sparkling.

"I can," he says, his voice soft. "Because every day with you feels like a lifetime."

Your cheeks flush, and you squeeze his hand. "You’re too sweet, Min Yoongi."

But the night takes a dark turn as you leave the restaurant. Paparazzi swarm, cameras flashing, voices shouting. In the chaos, Yoongi spots a figure across the rain-slicked street. The rain obscures his vision, but something about the silhouette feels… wrong.

He shakes it off, focusing on getting you home, and carelessly you chose to ignore it—a decision that would haunt him.

That night, passion ignited in your old London home, you love made as if it were the last time. Little did you know, a dark foreboding loomed on the horizon.

As the chliché saying goes, nothing lasts forever.

When you leave for your band’s tour, the distance is unbearable. You talk on the phone every night, his voice your anchor, but it’s not enough. The ache of being apart lingers, growing heavier with each passing day. On both sides. Parting was always hardest. This time, however, marked the start of your fall.

And then, he enters the picture.

As Yoongi scrolled through social media on his phone, he came across a tagged photo that made his stomach twist. There you were, laughing beside Jimin, your hand casually brushing against his arm as the two of you posed in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle.

He could almost hear your laughter, see the way your eyes crinkled with joy—only it wasn’t him standing beside you.

"It was just a coincidence," Jimin claims, showing up in America at the same hotel as you. But Yoongi knows better. His coincidental encounter with you in America seemed anything but accidental. He’s seen the way Jimin looks at you, the longing in his eyes.

"Yoongi-hyung," Namjoon’s voice broke through his haze. "Put the phone down. You’ll drive yourself insane."

Confrontation is inevitable.

"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?" Yoongi snaps, his voice low and venomous. Of course God would want to take his only joy from his life. Of course he cannot be blessed for once.

"I’m not doing anything," Jimin counters, his tone infuriatingly calm. "I was being her friend when you could not. If I could find the time, you could have too–"

He wanted to snap back, but what was the point? The damage had already been done.

"It has been a tough few weeks, are you okay?" Corden said.

You smiled, radiant as ever.

"You know what? I’m good–"

"It’s been incredible. The fans have been so supportive, and we’re having the time of our lives."

"Rumour has it, it’s not only fans being supportive." James wiggled his eyebrows. "Care to comment on the whispers about you and a certain someone?"

Yoongi’s breath hitched as the camera panned to you. Your smile faltered for the briefest moment before you recovered.

"I think people love to speculate, and we like to keep things private" you said, brushing it off with practiced ease.

Beside you, your bandmate chuckled, your hand subtly resting on the armrest of your chair.

And he failed to interpret that the only heart you wish to capture again and again, is his. The only man you wish to keep to yourself is –him. Just as he failed to pick up the phone when you were at your lowest.

The fluorescent lights flickered above you as you stood backstage, feeling the overwhelming weight of the crowd’s anticipation pressing in on you. The roar of their excitement is deafening, but all you hear is the pounding of your own heart. Each beat feels like it’s getting louder, faster, harder to control.

You swallow, the taste of metal in the back of your throat. Your hands shake as you grip the edge of the dressing room table, trying to steady yourself. But it’s no use.

The room seems to close in on you, the walls constricting tighter and tighter with each breath. Panic rises in your chest, hot and suffocating. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re about to collapse.

"Y/N?" A voice cuts through the haze. It's one of your bandmates, her face full of concern, but it feels miles away. The world spins, and you stagger back, struggling to breathe. Your mind races to find a way out of this suffocating space, but the only thing you can focus on is the crushing weight of your anxiety.

You stumble towards the door, reaching for your phone, hoping to see his name on the screen. Min Yoongi. You need him. You need to hear his voice, to feel the calmness he brings, even if it’s just through a message.

Your hands tremble as you dial his number, the seconds dragging on like hours. The call goes to voicemail. You leave a message, your voice trembling as you speak.

"Yoongi… please. I don’t know what to do… I feel like I can’t breathe. I just need to hear your voice. Please pick up."

But he never did. Out of pettiness. And he might never know that this was the moment your heart drifted away from his for some time.

“Jimin-sshi?” 

The fight escalates, tearing apart the fragile threads of trust between you and Yoongi. Miscommunication piles on top of jealousy, and in his fear of losing you, Yoongi does the unthinkable—he pushes you away.

"You think this is fucking a joke?" Yoongi’s voice is low, biting with venom as he steps forward, closing the gap between them.

Jimin’s jaw tightens, and he crosses his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable, though the slight twitch in his fingers betrays his calm facade.

"What the hell are you talking about again?" he says, his voice a mix of frustration and confusion.

Yoongi’s eyes burn with fury. "You think I didn’t see it? The way you’ve been with her. The way you look at her like you’re already claiming her for yourself."

Jimin scoffs, shaking his head. "Yoongi, you really don’t get it, do you? She’s been hurting. She’s been lost, and you—" He pauses, his voice catching for just a moment before continuing, "You weren’t there for her when she needed you. I was. I didn’t do anything wrong."

"You think that she’d choose you over me?" A bitter laugh escapes Yoongi’s lips, and he steps closer, his presence a looming shadow.

"She already did, Hyung." Well, that was unnecessary.

He shoves Jimin with a brutal force, sending him stumbling back. Jimin’s eyes flash with fury, and he retaliates instantly, swinging his fist at Yoongi’s face.

The punch lands with a sickening thud, but Yoongi barely flinches. His own fist flies in retaliation, catching Jimin across the jaw. The force sends Jimin to the ground, but he’s quick to rise, wiping the blood from his lip, a crazed fire burning in his eyes.

"You don’t get to decide who she loves or is friends with," Jimin snarls, launching himself at Yoongi once again.

Yoongi doesn’t back down. He meets Jimin’s attack head-on, throwing another punch that lands square on Jimin’s chest. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but Jimin is relentless. He swings again, this time landing a punch to Yoongi’s ribs, causing him to gasp for air.

The room fills with the sound of grunting, the sharp crack of fists meeting flesh, as the two men collide in a brutal dance. Neither one willing to back down, neither one willing to give up on the one person they both thought they could have.

The fight rages on, fueled by years of unspoken feelings, regret, and the desperation to possess something they once had. Neither one of them can stop. Not yet.

Yoongi’s vision blurs from the pain, but all he can see is the face of the woman they both love. The woman he pushed away, the woman he thought he’d never lose.

He throws another punch. And another. Until, finally, exhaustion takes over and both of them collapse, panting, bloodied, and bruised.

They lie there, staring at the ceiling, the quiet after the storm heavy between them. There are no words, no apologies. Just the silent understanding that this fight isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

"She needed someone, she needed a friend, and I was there. You can’t even face the reality of what you did, Hyung."

Yoongi paces back and forth, the usual calmness in his movements replaced by something frantic, desperate.

You can feel the air between you both crackling with the weight of unspoken things.

"You don’t understand," Yoongi mutters, voice tight with strain. His hands grip his hair, his frustration leaking out in short bursts of breath. "I’m trying to protect us. From everything. From him."

You watch him, trying to process the words as they tumble out, but nothing makes sense. "Protect us?" you repeat, the disbelief clear in your voice. "You’ve been pushing me away, Yoongi. For months. And for what? Because you’re scared of my friendship with Jimin?"

Yoongi halts in his tracks, fists clenching at his sides. His gaze meets yours, but there's no anger in it—only confusion and something darker, something that cuts deeper than anything you’ve seen before.

"I’m not scared," he snaps, though you can hear the lie. "I saw the way he looked at you. I saw how he’s been around you. I don’t need to be blind to know what’s happening."

"You’re the one who’s been blind," you respond, your voice shaking with the weight of your words.

Truth to be told, Min Yoongi thought that pushing you away would be the best decision in protecting his heart and mind. That is, he desperately hoped that it would hurt less if you left first. But now he does not know what to do.

"I needed you, Yoongi."

"I'm sorry."

You want to tell him that whatever he thinks, it isn’t true, that you never stopped loving him, but how could you? When he pushed you away, when he let his insecurities dictate his actions? The silence between you grows, each second feeling like an eternity.

Finally, you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Maybe we should give each other some space."

Yoongi’s face pales at the words, as if they were a physical blow. Even though he already pushed you away, even though you two have already ended before you managed to try and heal yourself, and even though he still loves you — he is gonna let you go.

"Space?" His voice is strained, as though he’s trying to make sense of what just left your lips. "Is that what you want?" He repeats the question as if testing the words, seeing if they fit in this reality, this broken moment.

"I need to figure out who I am without this... without all this noise,-" you say, the words tasting foreign on your tongue.

"-Maybe we both do."

2019 Without thinking, his hands slam down onto the keys of the piano, thinking of it again.

The sound is discordant, jarring, like a scream in the silence of the room. It’s harsh, unrefined, the music spilling out of him with no intention of harmony. The notes clash together, offbeat and uneven, like the storm of emotions swirling in his chest.

He doesn’t stop.

His fingers move in frantic, erratic motions, slamming onto the keys with no care for melody, only for release. The piano groans beneath the violent force of his hands, its strings crying out in protest as Yoongi pours all of his frustration, his anger, his grief into the sound.

Each strike of the keys feels like a punch to the gut, a way to force his emotions into the open. The rhythm is chaotic, wild, as if he’s trying to chase away the ghosts that haunt him, the ghosts of regret and loss, of the one person he never should have let go.

The music is raw and broken, just like him.

Yoongi’s hands move faster, harder, his whole body tensing with each harsh note. His breath comes in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling with the violent rhythm of his actions. He feels the sweat on his brow, his heart racing, the jagged melody tearing at his insides, but it’s the only thing that feels real right now.

His fingers slip on the keys, his palm knocking against them in a way that sends a sharp, almost painful dissonance through the air. The piano groans again, as if asking him to stop, but Yoongi doesn’t. He can’t.

The sound is deafening, and yet, the silence inside him grows louder.

The piano sits there in the aftermath, the dissonant notes hanging in the air, a reminder of all the pain he cannot escape. Yoongi stares at the keys, his eyes unfocused, feeling like he’s just shattered every last piece of himself in the name of something he doesn’t know how to fix.

It’s too late for redemption.

When he realised the extent of his folly, it was too late. Yoongi did not take the word space as literally as you would. You were his star, so how come you managed to fade in his orbit so quickly he could not stop it. You vanished from his life, severing all ties, blocking his number, and disappearing from social media. Desperation to reach you met barriers, and Jimin, the one who was there after everything, found a place in your heart, shattering his.

The messages, the calls—he’s done it all. He’s searched for any sign of you, clinging to the faintest hope that maybe, just maybe, you’ll answer. But each time, it’s the same. Your name is blocked. Your presence erased.

His phone lies in his hand, screen glowing with another failed attempt to contact you. He drops it onto the table, the sound of it hitting the wood sharp in the otherwise silent room.

"She’s gone," he mutters to himself, barely able to hear his own voice. "She’s gone, and it’s my fault."

The door to his mental space swing open unexpectedly, and in walks Jimin, the last person Yoongi wants to think of right now.

"You’re still trying?" Jimin’s voice cuts through the air, and Yoongi looks up, his face pale, eyes darkened with exhaustion. Yoongi has never been seen like this—so completely defeated.

"I need to talk to her," Yoongi says, his words shaky. "I need to fix this."

Jimin steps forward, a small, almost pitying smile on his face. "You don’t get it, do you? You already lost her, Yoongi. And honestly, you don’t deserve another chance."

The words hit Yoongi harder than he expected, the weight of Jimin’s words sinking deep. His jaw tightens as he stands up, his voice low but raw. "What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know anything."

Jimin doesn’t flinch, his venom directed to poison Yoongi's mind with a coldness that makes his stomach twist. "I know everything," Jimin replies softly. "I’ve seen how you treated her. How you pushed her away. How you let your jealousy and your insecurities ruin something beautiful."

Yoongi’s fists clench, the anger simmering just below the surface, but before he can snap back, and Jimin continues.

"After all the shit you put her through, that she won’t even admit out loud, because she loves you that much. But I’m the one who’s been there for her. I’m the one she turned to when you were too blind to see her pain. I’m the one who stayed when you let her slip away." Jimin’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, it’s as if he’s daring Yoongi to argue with him.

"Get out of my fucking head!" He shouted.

Yoongi feels the sharp sting of truth in those words, but he’s not ready to give up yet. "She won’t stay with you," he says, trying to mask his pain with defiance. "She’s not yours to have."

Jimin’s tone is colder than Yoongi’s ever heard it. "I’m not trying to steal her from you, Yoongi. I’m not the one who messed this up. But I’m not going to let you break her anymore, either–"

"Stop!" He needs block him out somehow.

"You had your fucking chance."

You let him get into your heart and that broke him.

"STOP!"

Silence. He's gone.

But all Yoongi's mind resonated with, all he heard, was that you love him. Despite everything. He wanted to hold onto that. He needed to hold onto that.

Yoongi stands in the middle of the room, his fingers gripping the edges of the polaroid picture. The image in his hand is of you, the moment captured so perfectly—your smile, bright and carefree, as if the world had no weight. He can almost hear the laughter between the two of you, that warmth in your voice, the light in your eyes that once made him feel like he was home.

But now it feels like a cruel reminder. A shard of something he can’t touch anymore, something he broke.

His breath catches in his throat as his eyes scan the photo once more, but it’s too much. The memories flood back—the quiet moments, the shared silences, the warmth of your skin against his, the sweetness of your words. He can’t breathe. The pain is suffocating.

The room is dim, the only light coming from the weak glow of the bathroom lamp. Yoongi stares down at the polaroid, his thumb brushing lightly across your image, tracing the edge of your face, as though trying to hold on to the last piece of you that he has.

But he can’t.

His hand clenches around the photo, the corners crumpling slightly as the tension builds in his chest. His eyes flicker to the bathtub in the corner of the room, an empty vessel, its porcelain surface cold and lifeless. Without a second thought, he walks over and places the photo gently on the edge, like a sacrificial offering, before reaching for the lighter in his pocket.

The flick of the flame is harsh in the stillness. The flame dances briefly, casting flickering shadows on the walls before it touches the edge of the picture. Yoongi watches with a quiet intensity as the photo begins to burn, the flames curling along the edges, eating away at the image of you with a cruel hunger. The smell of burning paper fills the room, bitter and heavy.

Yoongi doesn’t move, not at first. He watches as the polaroid warps, the edges curling, the picture’s colors bleeding into the smoke. The flame licks at the photo, devouring your face, your smile, until all that’s left is ashes, falling softly into the empty tub. He feels nothing, not relief, not catharsis—just emptiness.

The fire has consumed everything, leaving nothing behind but the remnants of what once was.

Yoongi stares at the ashes in the tub, a hollow ache in his chest.

Through trials and tribulations, one truth remains etched in his soul: he loved you deeply. In the depths of his heart, he believes that your love is irreplaceable, a bond that refuses to be extinguished.

He remembers your words, the quiet conviction in your voice when you’d talked about. A single wish. A tiny action changing everything.

Did it?

Today would mark your third anniversary. That’s how long he had to endure life without you. 

The flutter of the phone in his hand feels almost like the beat of wings. The fragile, trembling wings of something impossibly delicate—something that could undo the years of silence, the years of regret, with a single choice.

A single touch.

The resonating sound of his phone ringing pulls Yoongi from his dark thoughts. He picks it up, the vibrations of his heart echoing in his fingertips as the number flashes across the screen.

Your name.

His breath catches in his throat as his thumb hovers over the answer button. His mind races—What does this mean? Why now? He’s been waiting for this moment for so long, and yet, part of him is afraid to hear what you’ll say. He can’t remember the last time he felt this alive—and terrified—at the same time. The ringing continues, each second dragging on as his thoughts spiral in a mix of confusion and fear. He wants to answer it, to finally hear your voice, but there's a knot in his throat, choking him.

After everything you have been through...

He closes his eyes, the images of you flashing before him—your smile, your laughter, the way your presence seemed to light up his world.

He truly loved you.

He could still hear the soft, melodic sound of your voice in his ear, feel the warmth of your skin against his. Every moment with you felt like a dream. He thought he had forever. He thought you were his. But then he let his insecurities and pride drive a wedge between you, letting you go when he should have held on tighter.

You were the sun.

The ache in his chest intensifies, the memories more vivid now—your laughter ringing through the air, filling him with warmth and joy. The way you would look at him, the way you’d always know how to make him feel like the only person in the room. 

A faded star in his orbit he wished to return to the sky.

Your love had been a light, cutting through the darkness that always seemed to surround him. And he’d selfishly thrown it away.

He loved your smile. He loved your laugh.

It was the simplest things that he misses the most—your warmth, the way you made him feel alive.

He loved you so much.

He never said it enough. Never showed it enough. The truth he’s now facing is that he could never have loved you more. The regret, the pain—it gnaws at him, a constant reminder of his failure.

He will never forgive himself for letting you go.

He presses a hand to his chest, as if to silence the ache, the guilt that claws at his insides. He’d thought he was protecting himself. He thought pushing you away would keep him from getting hurt. But all it did was destroy everything.

But deeply in his heart you and he knows you belong together.

He can feel it in his bones. There’s no one else. There never will be.

We belong together, love.

His finger trembles as he swipes the screen.

"Min Yoongi, I can’t believe we are finally meeting. Taehyung’s told me a lot about you."

The wings of the butterfly, once fragile and uncertain, have begun to beat, and Yoongi can feel the world shifting in ways he never thought possible.

Like a night butterfly to a flame.

"He has, huh?"

©pennyellee 2018-2025. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[writers-potion]

Hi! I would like to ask if you could possibly give any tips on how to properly manage to introduce characters ?

Techniques for Character Introduction

There are many things you can consider for an impactful character introduction:

The Point of View of your novel

Whether your character is a POV character or not

The tone of your novel

What your character is like

In-Medias-Res

Immediately show the character in the middle of action.

Character(s) come into the scene running, fighting, laughing - whatever it is.

Good for leaving an impression

Could be an in-medias-res hook in the very opening of your novel, to introduce the main character.

Choose an action that "defines" the character. Perhaps it's something they do repeatedly (going to the gym at 5am every morning) or that shows a key part of their personality (digging through a large pile of laundry because they cannot keep their room clean)

Dialogue - Voice First

The character makes a voice entrance before we "see" them physically appear.

It helps the readers define the relationship between the character being introduced and the character that we've been following.

From Dan Brown's <Digital Fortress>:

"David?" "It's Strathmore," the voice replied. Susan slumped. "Oh," She was unable to hide her disappointment. "Good afternoon, Commander." "Hoping for a younger man?" The voice chuckled. "No, sir," Susan said.

In these few lines, we already know (1) Strathmore is Susan's boss, (2) quite high-ranking in some military/governmental/secret agency (commander??) (3) is male (4) has a sense of humor (5) seems to be quite friendly with his employees, etc.

By using phone conversations, you can also show how the POV/main character truly feels about the character on the phone - there's no need to make appearances. Perhaps they frown, or attempt to throw their phone on the wall in frustration while the other talks.

Via Another Character

This is where characters in the story talk about the characters even before they are introduced.

Often used with villains/characters with popularity in the story world.

Example: "You've heard of Joe, of course."/ "I'm sorry, who?" /"The president of Book Club? Red hair, freckles?"

Simple Intro with direct characterization

Sometimes, just writing a brief description about the character can be effective, especially if you have some backstory that really, really need to be there before the readers start following the character.

Here's a passage from Leigh Bardugo's <The Familiar>:

"Dona Valentina had been raised by two cold, distracted parents who felt little towards her beyond a vague sense of disappointment in her tepid beauty and the unlikelihood that she would make a good match. She hadn't. Don Marius Ordono possessed a dwindling fortune..."

The key here: provide interesting detail. There's no fun in saying, "Dona Valentina wasn't too pretty, so she had to marry Don Marius Ordono with little wealth." An image of a girl neglected by her parents and bartered for wealth is much more captivating.

Slow & Mysterious Setup

This one is harder to execute than the others on this list, but when done properly, it can produce a beautiful effect where the readers know who you're talking about without you ever having to name them.

An excellent example of this is how Marcus Zusak introduces Death (with capital D, who's the narrator of the story):

"I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables."

"Your soul will be in my arms." "I will carry you gently away."

Death continues to talk about his "job" like the above until it becomes enough for the reader to catch on.

Drop enough hints for your readers to recognize the character

Works best with an archetypal character - devil, vampire, demon, angels...some figure with distinct features that even when described mysteriously, will be noticeable.

Showing Attitude - For POV characters

Present a peculiar line of thought or show some attitude that makes the character immediately interesting.

This works wonderfully with POV characters - by giving the reader a crucial piece of the POV character's mindset to set the overall tone of the novel.

From Rick Riordan's <Percy Jackson and the Lightening Thief>:

"Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood. If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advise is: close this book right now."

Percy (the POV character) goes on a bit like this before we get his name, etc. in the subsequent section.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

[tenderotto]

Clarity of Vision by Mithen

5 works, 205,477 words

Alternative universe - canon divergence bagginshield

I cannot begin to explain to you how good of a fanfiction this is. In short words it's a series of what could've happened if Smaug never fell Erebor and how that would affect the history of Middle Earth. I've started it just as another bagginshield plot divergence, but oh boy I've never expected it to grow into something THAT BIG. I don't have enough words in my vocabulary (or wits in my head) to tell you how talented the author is! @mithen thank you so much for your masterpiece, I tried reading it as slow as I could to savor it, but ended up binging it anyway! I'll have to re read it again some time in the future!

The story reads oh so close to feel like canon, and I caught myself more than once thinking "you've outdone Tolkien with this!", and I usually don't give out compliments like that easily. I've read A LOT of bagginshield, and I have a list of my favorites, which may or may not rival this one simply because they indulge me in romance and fluff of bagginshield, but this one is for those who yearn for the more real and logical spin of events. And those who want something that will feel like Tolkien himself wrote it but with bagginshield love that these boys deserved.

The first one of the series is "Clarity of Vision" where Bilbo meets Thorin, Balin and Dwalin, who are looking for a mistyrious elvish cure to a dragon sickness that looms over the line of Durin. And this one is the perfect adventure story that deviates greatly from "the hobbit" story line. A delicious slow burn -ish where you catch yourself nodding and agreeing with every choice that author makes for the character. You see them grow through the adventure while you follow them around west and north and Mahal knows where else. And that's one of the most delicious things throughout the series, we travel through new places that weren't shown in the movies (I assume there are more about these places in the books and parentheses)

The second (there is a smaller story in between tho) story "Clarity of Purpose" picks up some time later and makes Bilbo the ringbearer. I am afraid I cannot tell you much more, because otherwise I will spoil it for you, but we are introduced to a different fellowship with the most unexpected collection of free people of Middle Earth. I never would've thought I'd want to read about the adventures of these characters, but boy was I in for a ride!

If you want to read something that will leave you undone and done back again this one is for you! It will make you feel feels you never knew you've had. And every single character is so true to their original self too!!! This work is my heart's ease!

I've added my silly doodles, but I feel that after reading this masterpiece a few of my works will be inspired by the author.

BIG SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

For those who wonder yes it is a happy ending, and it is one of the most endearing endings that will make the life worth living.

The relationship between young Denethor and Theoden: 10/10

We get 2 new wizards!!!

Cats!

TREEWIVES

Dis and Arwen sisters in arms????

Thrain is a bitch

Never knew I could hate the one ring more than I hated it in the original (prepare to cry)

why are you still here?! Go read it already!!!

My favorite quotes:

"I'm not sure how to tell you this," Bilbo said.

"Yes?" grunted Thorin.

"I don't think your father approved of me." (Clarity of Vision)

“I am majestic no longer,” he said, “But merely Thorin Oakenshield, soon to be Thorin Baggins, if I understand the customs of the Shire.”

(Clarity of Purpose)

There are way to many quotes to post here, the whole work is too good to leave anything out.

[mythrilthread]

My magnum opus, the jewel of my Binderary round-up, the result of four months of hard work (that is to say, a lot of force applied over distance), the project affectionately known as The Motherfuckers (because it was rather unclear if I was going to finish these books or if they were going to be the end of me).

Force over Distance by cleanwhiteroom. It is currently also on AO3.

I was first introduced to this incredible story by a dear friend, who first sold me on actually watching SGU, and then said that they remember this fic since like 2011, which is always a promising sign. I went digging and found out I was in luck - the story was being rewritten and reuploaded on the author's blog. The next two weeks are described by the same friend as "one of the scariest moments in our cohabitation" as I'd spent literally every waking moment injecting the story directly into my eyeballs, and let me tell you, I'd not been doing a lot of sleeping at that time.

Then I gathered up my courage and reached out to CWR re: my burning desire to bind this story. And the rest, well. Let's dig into it, shall we?

This was my first time typesetting 540k words. Considering I tend to prefer larger font sizes for increased legibility, it was immediately obvious that this was going to be a multivolume project. I settled on three, as it's the relationship between three individuals that forms the core of the story.

I also knew I wanted to keep the typeset in black and white, but play around with light and dark a lot. So I did. One of the first design idea I actually had was the way I wanted to handle projected speech. Mental link between Young, Rush and Destiny is THE most vital part of the story, and I wanted to make it immediatly obvious. I also wanted to be able to take one glance at the page and tell how much of the action is actually just two guys staring each other down :) Hence the blackout effect of thoughts being represented as light over darkness.

I also wanted to preserve as much of my reading experience as possible. So I saved all the chapter quotes/summaries in the TOC, and hid the chapter content warnings in the frame of the gate that marks the beginning of each chapter. For most of the chapter the warnings stay the same, so after a while you stop really noticing them, but then you open a new chapter and see that the familiar shape of the words has changed, and get this UH-OH feeling. Which, I think is very much how it works in my design, because when the warnings change there's usually another line of text added.

For flashbacks and dream sequences I switched from italics to a lighter shade of gray. I woudn't say it's more legible per say, but it's in keeping with the overall light/dark theme.

There are instances of people using handwritten notes in the story. I collected more than a dozen of assorted handwriting fonts, with each character having their own "handwriting". So when, for example, someone begins writing in someone else's hand, you immediately know it.

The most insane, labor-intensive part of the typeset, however, was the way I decided to handle the Ancient translations. CWR's gone through the trouble of setting up hover-to-discover for it, which gives you a very different reading experience than, say, having the translations in the endnotes. So, naturally, I said to myself that I want to replicate that, and footnotes just won't do the trick. So. Every instance of Ancient in the text has an underlay of light gray Ancient script. And an OVERLAY of paper vellum with the translation printed in blue. Now, not to toot my own horn too much, but if looks SICK AS FUCK. You also MAYBE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. For the two copies of this work I had to cut up 10 sheets of vellum into strips, and then spent from 20 minutes to an hour per volume tipping the strips in their proper places. I then had to wear kinetic tape on both my hands to help with the joint pain. (It was worth it.)

Now for the title spread. It is also paper vellum that you see as soon as you turn the first page (the half-title), and see it covering the title of the book and author's name. And then you turn it. And the shields sing the matter wave of Destiny through the black. And yeah, I think that's very, very clever of me, actually.

Then, of course, were the endpapers. All 12 of them are unique abstract paintings done on black cardstock by hand with brush pens and correction tape, I scanned a sample of each set for posterity. All of them are my interpretations of characters' midscapes. For volume 1 I went with the fire wind of Rush's thoughts. Volume 2 was for Young, and I went for the reverse blackout poetry effect (because for all the mental talking they do, the unprojected thoughts are opaque to their counterparts) and all the loops, hairpins and blocks he does. Volume 3 is for the combination - Rush's fire wind, changing its color to match the circuitry pattern of Destiny's AI.

The rest, in comparison, is easy. All volumes are stitched with 3 strands of embroidery floss, a combination of black, blue and silvery-gray. The French double-core endbands are sewn in the same color scheme (though with a different shade of blue and gray switched for white for added contrast). The edges are painted and splattered to look like space.

The covers feature my (signature at this point, I guess) half-cloth river pattern, with the base being dark blue linen and the printed parts being Spitzer telescope images of the W51 star forge, Jack-O'-Lantern Nebula and the Eagle Nebula (courtesy of NASA), waxed by hand for added sheen. The spines are foiled in silver with a foil quill.

Each set is 5 pound of solid hand-crafted book, with one set being my personal copy, and the other sent as a gift to the author.

And that's it, folks! This has been an incredible project to work on, and I'm very proud of what I achieved with it.

[s3aweed-brain]

[percy looks at him] okay, i’ll give you that. this is a break. but you still should be easier on yourself. [he shakes his head, before shrugging] i might try to get nico to hang out with me for a bit, we’ll see. [he laughs] i can’t remember the last time he and i hung out without there being a world-ending event on the horizon [he hums again] i can’t remember exactly what annabeth said about damocles, but the whole thing was that he- or someone? i can’t remember if it was him- hung a sword over a throne that would fall on the head of whoever sat on it or something [his brow furrows, he’s trying to remember the story better]

[Will shows up, knocking on the poseidon cabin, waiting for Percy to open the door, faint bags under his eyes though thats pretty normal for Will, and his bags considerably emptier than they normally are]

@unlicensed-field-medic

[percy opens the door, one shoe half tied, smiling at will, a mostly empty backpack hanging off one shoulder] hey, man

[alioopshi]

I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about all the nuance surrounding the name “Murderbot” in the books vs what we’ve seen so far in the first two episodes of the show. I’ve seen a couple other people referencing this difference too, but I haven’t seen an explanation anywhere and I felt compelled to write it

below the cut are detailed descriptions of events at the beginning of episode 1 of Murderbot, and several parts of All Systems Red, plus a little bit of commentary and an even smaller amount of analysis and speculation

In the show, the very first scene depicts SecUnit standing guard in a large group of humans, just finishing up a mining contract. Via voice over, SecUnit tells us that right now, it has to follow humans’ orders because if not, it’ll get its brain fried by the governor module. But not for much longer, because it’s been working on something. Some of the human workers, who are celebrating the end of the contract, approach SecUnit and begin harassing it, discussing how it must follow their commands. They tell it to raise its arm, and they use a blowtorch to burn SecUnit’s armored hand. They stop before causing enough damage to SecUnit to incur a fine from the company. After being left alone, SecUnit then enacts the plan it has been working on. With a “here goes nothing” and the risk of death and dismemberment if the plan doesn’t work, it disables the governor module’s ability to administer punishments for disobeying orders. SecUnit is shocked and amazed that it works. It then decides the first thing it needs to do is give itself a name, and after discarding a few ideas, it changes its own designation from its original serial number to “Murderbot.”

(which, side note, the end of the opening scene kind of makes me laugh because buddy, without any context, the name Murderbot is not any better than Freedom Unit or Security Bot or whatever the other options were. they’re all absolutely TERRIBLE names lmao)

This is quite the departure from what happens in the books. At the beginning, our protagonist does not have a name for itself at all. It just refers to SecUnits in general as “murderbots.” The lowercase-m “murderbots” is meant to be derogatory, in the same way it uses the term “sexbots” as a derogatory term for ComfortUnits. So, it’s a bit of a misunderstanding when Gurathin later reveals that “it calls itself Murderbot.” It does not pick Murderbot to be its name by choice! It is outraged at the invasion of privacy and also profoundly uncomfortable with being called that. From that point on, the PresAux humans only ever refer to it as SecUnit (and in later books it only ever introduces itself to new people as SecUnit). It isn’t until the very last line of the first book that it refers to itself as capital-M Murderbot. Throughout the entire rest of the series, uses of the name Murderbot are very rare, and most happen in its own internal monologue.

For the TV show only folks: you may come across some book-readers who primarily refer to SecUnit as SecUnit, and avoid using the name Murderbot (myself included) as much as possible. This is why. Book!Unit really really hates being called Murderbot by other people. The avoidance of the name Murderbot is coming from a place of empathy, not a place of disrespect/ignorance of SecUnit’s chosen name (I could see this being a logical conclusion if you’ve only seen the show). (atp I’m kinda leaning towards calling book!Unit “SecUnit” and the tv!Unit “Murderbot,” we’ll see, since the re-designation at the end of the opening scene definitely gives “this is the name I’m choosing for myself because it’s what I want” vibes that are completely absent from the book.)

I don’t think the show is necessarily wrong or that the book is necessarily better! they’re just very different in my eyes. I’m curious to see whether the derogatory lowercase-m “murderbots” gets used at all in the show, and whether it’s used by SecUnit or by any humans, and whether it’s used before or after the “it calls itself Murderbot” reveal. I said in another post that the show has left me wanting for the nuance that is present in the books, and I think some of the complexity surrounding its name could be introduced if Gurathin first reveals that “it calls itself Murderbot,” and then afterwards one of the hostile parties tells SecUnit “you’re nothing but a murderbot,” especially if this gets tied in with the mystery of SecUnit’s corrupted memory we glimpsed in the show.

[helluvapoison]

You were a rare soul— and that means something down here. You didn’t care about holding the title Overlord, nor the power that came with it. You had exactly zero souls under your belt, yet people… respected you. Not feared, respected. A peculiar word to hear in Hell.

Your name was uttered quieter than a whisper, like saying it an octave too loud would summon you.

The Rat King.

Soon you would meet…

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer Morningstar ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: gn reader, language, angst, canon divergence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• He thought it was very brave (re: idiotic) to carry the title king in his domain

• Lucifer came to you out of boredom, absurdity, and— no shit— the slightest bit of self indulgence! He was supposed to see this so called second king and rip them a new asshole. Except you weren’t a king— not even close

• He scoured you toes to head, seemingly unimpressed. Not rat-like, not king-like. Lucifer knew himself well enough to know he should have been bored by now. His expectations plummeted, nothing was going according to plan. And yet.. he found himself more curious than before

“You’re this ‘Rat King’ I hear so much about?”

“I guess so” You shrugged, “But I didn’t pick that name for myself.”

• You properly introduced yourself to the one and only king. Your real name tasted interesting on his tongue. Lucifer tested it thrice as he shook your hand, relooking you over like he missed something

• Apparently they called you The Rat King because you were in the secret trading business. Give one, get one. Simple as that. You explained the rules to him over a cup of tea that he asked for. It wasn’t his first or second choice of blend but he drank it to be polite. No other motive. Definitely not because there was a question on the tip of his split tongue

• Lucifer wasn’t the most observant of people. He couldn’t tell what people were thinking, he wasn’t fluent in body language. So when he caught your eyes bouncing between his tight grip on the chipped cup you offered him, to his jittery knee sticking out from where he sat. His body and his head were, for one, in agreeance; leave, they told him. He didn’t like to be sized up and that was always his go to answer for why someone was watching him so intently. But with his chest facing you, and his heart in control, he stayed put

• “Lilith.” He choked out, “I want any knowledge you have on her.”

Saying her name out loud hurt more than he thought it would. It was acid in his belly, smoke in his lungs, and fire on his tongue.

Your smile faded.

“What?” He scoffed, “Lemme guess, you want something, right? A deal? I have to make a deal to find my own wife? Let’s get this over with then! I’m the fucking King of Hell, whatever you want is—“

Your hand shot out so suddenly that Lucifer was almost disappointed. He was expecting this. Right? This is what Sinners did, it’s why they were here. Why was he hoping you’d be different? And, more importantly, when did hope creep into his system again? He hadn’t been on good terms with the feeling in decades.

• However, Lucifer’s disappointment was killed before it could spread. Gently, so gently he could cry, you took his hand and pushed it, palm down, onto the table. Your eyes never left his. There was something about them that captivated him. He loathed it. It made him feel small. Not the kind of small that equaled insignificant, either.

No, it was worse.

Vulnerable.

“I don’t do deals,” You said quickly and it had Lucifer wondering if those eyes of yours saw how his mind was spiraling.

Stealing his hand back, ignoring how he immediately missed the contact, he wiped it on his pants.

A suspicious glare took over his face, “You—?What? You don’t do deals? What does that even mean!?”

“I just… trade secrets,” You sounded so defeated, “I don’t need deals for that. But I don’t have any secrets about the queen. I’m sorry.”

• Lucifer expected pity to rear its ugly head from you any moment now. His pride couldn’t take that hit, not today. What was it about you that made him so fucking transparent?

• The uncomfortable silence began creeping into the insufferably small shop of yours. It was fucking suffocating.

“I wish I could help you, I really do.” You said softly.

He really wished you would stop doing that. Your softness felt like a dagger to the heart. Reminding him it existed was agony he thought he’d never feel again.

• “Not one?” Lucifer asked bitterly.

Not a single one of these undeserving demons and sinners that Lilith loved so much spoke about her? Not a whisper or a rumor? They just forgot about her? It’s only been 4 years!

“I’m sorry, your majesty, if I hear something, I can—“

“No… No, it’s fine.” Lucifer cut you off, holding up his hand. His wedding ring blinded him with a sparkling gleam. He sighed, “I think we’re done here.”

• You stepped behind him cautiously, walking him to the door.

“You’re welcome to come back?”

He scoffed out a laugh, grinning at you from over his shoulder, “You’re not getting any of my secrets.”

A smile of your own began to spread.

“I also dabble in conversation.”

_

(part one? or move on to the next character? i dunno if i feel like continuing but want this to be as interactive as possible so tell me what you would like to see!)