#so i’m like ‘i mean if i interpret it your way; about dreams having meanings and messages; i guess i’m being warned that i’m dwelling too

[fingertipsmp3]

So me and my friend unpacked that night terror I had the other night & basically I am now on a self-imposed horror ban because I genuinely think if I keep consuming horror with my current mental state I will have a full-blown psychotic break 😔✌🏻

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OMG RAVEN YOU’RE INTO EVER AFTER HIGH? I love it but can’t talk about it bc none of my friends have seen it 😭 I wish it was talked about more, especially with how deep their lore runs. I love EAH’s dynamics with the complexities of destiny. If twst followed the same logic as eah’s world it would be so interesting. How would you feel if the worlds were to mesh together and how it would work? You can interpret that in any way you want; the characters meeting or twst being bound to the same rules and societal expectations of eah, or whatnot.

Also who’s your favorite eah character compared to your favorite twst character (Leona)?Jade, right?

And have you read the eah books? I haven’t, but I’m going to try to sometime!

Eah alt account when?

I'm still salty that the Monster High x Ever After High crossover movie never saw the light of day-- Part of the reason why I don't like Disney (I mean the faceless corpo, not all Disney products) is because they have such a strong association with fairy tales that it pushes other interpretations out of the market or it leads to people assuming Disney "owns" those fairy tales. Ever After High's lore and themes run so much deeper than most other fairy tale reimaginings I've seen (and I've seen a lot). It's such a shame it doesn't get the respect and recognition it deserves even though EAH is the one out here challenging the status quo whereas modern Disney is content with mediocrity that appeals to the masses.

I think EAH and TWST, at their cores, share similar ideas so combining them would work well. Friendship, self-identity, defining your own future, questioning what "good" and "evil" truly are... It's all there. I'd imagine that if Twisted Wonderland (or at least NRC) followed the same rules as EAH, then everyone would be descendants of their Disney counterparts. (This is actually a common misperception of what TWST was to new fans; people mistakenly believe the TWST characters are children of the classic Disney villains. This has never been canon.) Unfortunately, I'd have to take away the Disney villains being twisted to be "good" guys in Twisted Wonderland's world in order for this to work by EAH rules, so... There's that to consider. This, in turn, can result in the student body splitting into Royals (pro-following one's destiny) and Rebels (anti-following one's destiny). Perhaps RSA and NRC could be one school in this AU...? Just so we have a mix of "good" and "evil" descended children in the same vicinity as one another. A must-have are the constantly bickering Narrators!! It's only really when Yuu shows up that the majority opinion starts to shift. Maybe then Crowley becomes concerned with students rising up and fighting back against the system that relies on them being complacent to keep the cycle of stories going. I've seen some readings of EAH which theorize that Royals guaranteed a happy ending is a stand-in for privilege, and that interpretation leads into very interesting conflicts when we also consider that magic in Twisted Wonderland is a privilege afforded to few.

To cover just the dorm leaders (because covering all the TWST characters would make this post way longer), I definitely see Riddle, Kalim, Idia, and Malleus as Royals and Leona, Azul, and Vil as Rebels. Here's my thought process:

Riddle is pretty self-explanatory. He comes from a background where he's used to being told what to do by his mother and so he also heavily relies on her strict, unyielding teachings to play by the book when he goes out there in the real world. Riddle is inflexible and hesitant to go against the grain--and, more importantly, he fully believes that following the rules will lead to his happiness... that doing as his fairy tale ordains will lead to a happy ending. What happens to the Queen of Hearts is dubious in the end since it's framed as Alice's dream, so I think that vagueness gives Riddle hope that by behaving himself, he'll earn the happiness he desires.

Leona is a Rebel, and not just because that's the aesthetic of his dorm. Being that he is highly intelligent and demonstrates a lot of foresight, he'd be aware of what future is in store for him and aggressively fighting against that. It would make him more desperate than ever to prove his worth, because not only does everyone see his powers as terrifying, but they also see him as a future brother murderer and dictator that will bleed the land dry of resources. It'd make the situation with his family even more strained than it already is, not to mention the extra jealousy he must feel toward Cheka, who is still too young to understand what's going to happen later.

Azul is someone who acts like a Royal but is actually a Rebel. He acts polite and like he plays by the rules, but clearly he doesn't behind the scenes. I see Azul as the kind of Rebel akin to Duchess Swan... as in, he believes he can steal away someone else's destiny for himself. Azul would constantly be looking for loopholes to save himself. He's put way too much stock into becoming a better, stronger person and he'd want to defend this new life he has made for himself. His obsession with protecting his contracts could translate well here.

Kalim is a Royal because he's mega rich and has been sheltered from the concept of bad things that happen to normal people; he has nothing to worry about. It also helps that Kalim is twisted from a character that doesn't meet a bad ending. I think he'd be aware of Jami's doomed destiny, but Kalim is so ignorant that he thinks it'll just be fine and it'll work itself out. Part of his growth could be being forced to reckon with the reality that Jamil is suffering under the legacy assigned to him and accepting the role that he plays in that by not acting.

Idia is a Royal--or at least pre-book 6 Idia is. He's a very pessimistic guy and repeatedly expresses hopelessness about the future, bemoaning the curse he and his family have to bear. Idia doesn't want to try to fight his fate, he's already accepted that it will happen and so closes himself off from others to save himself that heartbreak. Post-book 6 Idia will have swapped over to the Rebel side thanks to Ortho reviving the hope in him.

Vil is a Rebel simply for the fact that he fights social conventions. He's already out here shattering gender roles, but finds it much harder to breach that expectation that villains are just villains and nothing more. Vil keeps getting rejected at every turn, told that it's impossible to rewrite his story, that his frustrations are the natural result of jealousy and an ugly heart that festers in side of him. He steels himself to prove that notion wrong, working himself to the bone to get up on that stage and stay on it, waiting to be lavished with praise that he truly is the fairest one of all. I feel this would be so fascinating for Vil's own arc about self acceptance; maybe he wears himself down emotionally because he HAS to basically be perfect due to his job but also denies himself normal feelings like anger and jealousy because confessing that you have such "ugly" feelings only validates that you're shallow just like the stories say you will be.

Malleus is a tough one, but I settled for Royal in the end. Maleficent is doomed to be slain by a sword, right? So am I saying that THE Malleus Draconia, who is infamously arrogant about his magical abilities, would lie down and take a stab like that? Of course not! However, I do think that Malleus is initially someone who values tradition and living up to noblesse oblige. As the future ruler of a nation, people's stories are relying on him to play his expected role out, which he'd be fully cognizant of. I also think Malleus would be afforded the luxury of not having to face his destiny as soon as his peers are due to his long life span. This is in part because the person destined to slay him doesn't come into his life for literally hundreds of years. Then when book 7 arrives, Malleus has to deal with his loved ones leaving and/or betraying him as well as the realization that this is his destiny: dying alone and unloved. That'd just break him.

ahdbiqwdbqwli I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS AU FOR FOREVER BUT I'LL CUT IT SHORT OR ELSE I'LL NEVER SHUT UP 😭

EAH has so many good characters and interesting storylines, it's hard for me to pick a favorite! I of course love Apple and Raven's dilemmas, but I feel like it's cheating to pick one of them as my favorite. The whole Wonderland gang is also fantastic... I'm a sucker for their aesthetic, but they're so fun and silly in general. Kitty, Lizzie, and especially Madeline are 👌

Mmm, when I think long and hard about it, I think my favorite EAH character has to be Briar Beauty, daughter of Sleeping Beauty. Firstly, I love all the pink, roses, and bramble in her design. Secondly, I love the layers to why she is the way she is. Briar's a party girl not because "lmao, wouldn't that be a funny haha subversion of Sleeping Beauty" but because she wants to live life up before she falls asleep for 100 years and literally loses all her friends and family to the natural passage of time. That's seriously so smart and such an inventive way to think about the trauma a descendant of Sleeping Beauty might have. Seeing Briar transition from one of Apple's besties and biggest supporters to an outright rebel is satisfying as heck. (Gotta take a moment to shout out this classic moment :3)

I don't know if I would compare Briar to Jade since they're entirely different characters. However, looking at the source material, I'm actually surprised I like Briar as much as I do since I have never cared for the story of Sleeping Beauty. A part of me finds this ironic since Malleus harbors a similar fear as Briar (losing loved ones) yet I see Malleus's desire as way more selfish and self-serving than Briar's. I believe that's because Briar doesn't have the same arrogance as Malleus, so I'm more forgiving with her. EAH's actual equivalent to Malleus is Faybelle, daughter of the Dark Fairy, but I don't like her as much as I do Briar (hence why I'm comparing Malleus and Briar, not Malleus and Faybelle).

I haven't read the EAH books but I want to one day! I'd prefer to borrow them since I don't have enough space in my room for more physical books, so as soon as I find copies at a library or something...

This blog has kind of become a place where I occasionally talk about my other interests, generally as it relates to TWST, my main interest. I'd like to keep it like this since managing multiple blogs can be so draining. It already takes quite a bit of time to regularly write responses to asks just on one blog!

[vampiricgf]

Musings of a Fool in Love

leon kennedy x reader

wc: 1k+

warnings: none, sfw, just a sweet moment of both seriously and not seriously discussing marriage, thinking about what it means to exist in perpetuity with another person

I wanted to do something sweet especially after all the angst ive been inflicting on everyone <3 so here's a lil thing inspired by the old love songs I was listening to this morning. (i also didn't have a specific iteration of him in mind for this so it can be interpreted with whichever one you want) if there's mistakes I simply pretend i do not see lol

Soft chords of music fill the apartment, the last dregs of daylight washing you both in hues of honey gold and peach tinged pink, catching in his softly focused blue eyes like those novelty crystals that sit on their tiny, LED powered pedestals refracting the manmade light an infinite number of times. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, the hand lightly holding yours giving a gentle squeeze while the other remains restfully perched on your hip as you bodies move slowly with the melody. 

You don’t speak immediately, relishing in how he looks at this moment and contemplating dodging the question. It’s silly, nonsensical but just serious enough that it could shatter this dreamlike moment, leaving it as insubstantial as the last twinges of a dream that cling to the mind like a mist. But you decide against subterfuge, willing to risk cracking the tranquility apart. 

“I was thinking about what it would be like to get married.”

There’s no dramatic pause, he doesn’t bring your combined motion to a halt; that doesn’t stop his expression from changing although not into what you expected. Leon gives you a soft smile, hesitant, but seemingly chooses to indulge your line of thought.

“What about getting married?” His tone is hushed, like you’re two children whispering secrets and it makes you giggly, nervousness bubbling in your throat like a bird flapping it’s wings against it’s cage. 

“Just… What it would be like.” You shrug, shyness wrapping around your body like spectral hands. The wine you’d indulge in at dinner encouraging heat the spread lazily beneath your skin.

“What do you think it would be like?”

You could hold his gaze forever, you think. Maybe forever does exist that way: two people who live in one anothers faces, and you think again of those childhood crystals with their dazzling displays of endless light frozen inside. 

“Hm, something like this, I think.” 

“No specifics?” He teases you, extending the hand that holds yours to make room for you to lightly spin, laughing a little bit louder now. 

“You’d hate them,” You say through more glittering peels of laughter.

“Mm, try me.”

“I’m picturing something like a courthouse, nothing as imposing as a cathedral or a big church.”

“How romantic,” He gives you a faux roll of his eyes, still smiling. 

“Do you want a cathedral, a church?” You ask, genuinely curious now. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me, I guess all that would matter is that you’re there.”

“Now who’s the sappy romantic?” It’s your turn to tease him and he takes it in stride, drawing you in and placing a wet, exaggerated kiss on your cheek that makes you dissolve into yet more unbridled giggles. 

“And what else?” He encourages, the hand on your hip traveling to rest comfortably, solidly against your lower back. 

You pretend to eye him critically before continuing. “I could wear some gaudy dress shaped like a puff pastery.”

That makes him laugh, a full body, bone deep laugh, the kind that makes satisfaction ooze through your own form, warm and sticky as maple syrup and you can’t help but resume your own silvery laughter. The sounds of your mingled gasps for air against the rush of joy mixes with the song, a unique sound that is wholly, unequivocally yours. 

“You’d be the most beautiful puff pastry.”

And despite the absurdity of that sentence you can’t help the swell of adoration in your chest, can’t help but press kiss after kiss against his lips until you’ve both stopped moving, his eyes roaming your face in soft attentiveness as your fingertips brush against his jaw and the sound of music is drowned out by your mingled breaths. 

He brings your hand to his lips, leaving a trail of kisses so chaste, so sweet they make your teeth ache as he makes his way from your knuckles to your inner wrist. His breath fanning across your skin grips you in a sudden lightheadedness and your heart pounds so hard you think there’s no way he can’t also hear its reckless rhythm. 

“If I asked you right now, would you say yes?” 

And all is quiet. Gone is the overpowering sound of your heart, the soft twinkle of music, the sound of breath leaving body. The question hangs frozen, suspended in the air between you two like a single perfect, encapsulated snowflake. 

“I would always say yes to you,’’ Your voice breaks, just the tiniest fraction of a crack and he huffs out another low breath of laughter, pressing your wrist to his lips with more firmness, more intensity present than before. Slowly he lowers your arm, holding your hand once more and resting his forehead against yours, searching for something in your wide eyed gaze. 

The quiet that descends on you doesn’t do so as a threat, not with speed nor discomforting awkwardness. It’s the quiet of two lovers, content to rest in the moment with one another before moving to the next. 

“There’s no rush,” You whisper, your voice a tender, furtive thing not unlike a newly hatched little bird hesitantly peeking into the sunlight for the first time. 

And your words bleed out around the tiny little living room, like dye dropped into water, spreading and curling into even the farthest corners of your apartment as your eyes close and you tuck your neck against his chest, neither of you moving and it’s wholly possible that you could stay that way for an eternity, ivy growing thick and wild as it winds around your legs, drips down your fingertips, takes the place of your hair. 

Maybe eternity only exists in the fleetest, most foolish of moments. 

“You’re right. And it would be disappointing, getting proposed to with no ring.”

“You could give me one of those candy ones,” you say without moving from his chest and you feel more than hear the light chuckle it earns you.

“We’ve gotta work on your taste.”

“Are you saying I have bad taste?”

“I mean, look at your choice of man.”

At that you laugh again and the motion of your bodies resumes along with the music, in the lamplight glow of evening now, that perfect glimpse of eternity resting in the cradle of your memory. 

[gloryy-vs]

i LOOOVE your acc so much, so when i saw that you’re taking nsfw requests, i just knew you’ll be doing the requests’ justice 😮‍💨 that neteyam with a breeding kink one was wheeeew.

could i request a reader who grew up with neteyam her entire life, the both of them used to telling each other everything. but neteyam doesn’t know how to tell her about his first wet dream being about her, and now he just feels awkward when she’s near bcause it’s all he can think about. reader picks up on him distancing himself and follows him out one night, not knowing he was trying to find a quiet place to masturbate. reader keeps on prying him since she’s been annoyed at the fact that he’s been avoiding her and now he’s telling her to leave, so neteyam ends up bursting and just telling her the truth. idk, like change up the entire thing if you want, i honestly just want more neteyam content but in your writing 🫶 thank you!

||

u horny mfs.

yes. but what if we turned this into mutual masturbation

characters: 21 yr old neteyam x 20 year old na’vi!reader

rating: NSFW. masturbating, wet dreams, praising

a/n: just so we’re all on the same page. neteyam might be “ooc” because these are characters that aren’t showcased in a nsfw or horny way, so their kinks/sex life is up to interpretation. that’s why i have people send requests in. 🫶🏻

not proof read cus i’m lazy.

||

It was painful being near you, knowing what went through his mind everytime he saw you walk by, bend over or emerge from the crystal waters. Seeing you soaked from head to toe was insufferable for Neteyam. You could tell something was bother him, especially by how he didn’t hang around you as often as you two used to when you were much younger. Every time you’d come by to join the group you could feel the awkwardness radiating from the 8 foot man, and he’d shuffle away after making up some kind of excuse.

You two were almost never alone, her make sure of it, immediately walking in the opposite direction and cursing himself silently if he saw you try and get near him. His confidence and slight ego broke down whenever he was around you. You were quite frankly sick of it. During the clans hunting time, you eyed the male Na’vi , seeing him abandon his siblings to a farther area on the shore. While he walked off you excused yourself from your newly made Metkayina friends, following after your old friend.

Neteyam found himself alone for a bit, the memory of the wet dream he had of you flashing through his head. He leaned himself against the rock, palming at his hard on and picturing you, bent over in front of him teasingly, begging for his warmth. His fantasy was cut short with the sound of your voice coming closer. “Nete? You hear..?” He heard you call out, immediately yanking his hand away from himself and crossing his legs over while standing.

“Y-yeah. Here. What is it? What’s up?” He said quickly, trying to dismiss your presence. You noticed he couldn’t even look you in the eye. his face contorted in thought.

“What’s up with you? You never hang around me anymore..” You trailed off while your hand found a spot on his toned and muscular arm. He drew a sharp breath, raising his head while looking down at you. “Just gotta get some space. New environment I guess.” Neteyam tried to convince you, but you still felt off. You squeezed his arm reassuringly , causing him to lick his lower lip anxiously while avoiding your eyes again. He squinted them shut and struggled to look at you again. It was eating him alive.

“Are you sure? I mean, we’ve always done like, everything together. I’m here if you need me, whatever you need me for I can do it.” You said, trying to look at him muscled body and soft lips without making it obvious. The way he presented himself as nonchalant and almost rough had you entranced. Neteyam rolled his eyes impatiently, gripping your shoulders tightly. He lowered his head to level yours, staring into your eyes.

“I need you. It’s fucking eating at me looking at you right now as if I don’t dream of your body every night.” He shook you lightly, searching for the right words. “Everything about you just fucking draws me in, thinking about you bent over, underneath me, on top of me. Everything.” He said.

He let go of you, rubbing his face in his hands, visibly tensed up from how hard he still was. Seeing your eyes widen at each sentence he said, it drove him crazy how you didn’t even seem opposed, with your mouth hanging open slightly. You stood there, watching him fight a battle within himself. You’d be lying to him and yourself if you didn’t think of similar scenarios, except not as often as the male did. You leaned against the rock behind you, fingers hesitantly playing with the knots in your loincloth. Neteyam stared at you, his hands dropping from his face. Your eyes dropped from his to his waist, his hard on clearly visible behind the thin fabric. It only entice your more.

“I told you I’d help you, didn’t I? Let me help you, Nete.” You said, holding your chin up while letting your cloth drop to the sand by your feet. He looked so relieved, thankful you didn’t think of him as a pervert. Neteyam removed his own cloth, surprising you with his girth and length. A perfect mix of both. You eyed the clear liquid pooling at his tip, biting your lip at the sight. Taking your index and middle finger, you brought them to your blue lips, sucking them and covering them in your saliva before taking it down south. Rubbing your clit in soft circles, you lifted up your right foot to press against the rock behind you, showcasing all of yourself to him. Neteyam looked desperate, already pumping his cock slowly, matching the pace at which your fingers were moving.

Seeing his reaction to your body grew your confidence and so you slipped a single finger inside of your gummy walls, leg twitching in response. You couldn’t resist, and added in another digit to press against your g-spot as you fingered yourself, watching Neteyams pace quicken as well.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful.” He said softly, but his eyes appeared lustful, staring at how your fingers intricately pumped in and out of you. Neteyam gripped his cock, his hand easily pumping him from the amount of pre cum collected from before. He angled his head, eyes darting from his cock to your soaked cunt. He imagined stretching you out, hearing you small whimpers and gasps as he easily slipped inside of you. The thought was too much, and his hips bucked aggressively. Your hand started moving faster, bringing your left hand over to run fast circles against your hard clit. Your body was growing overstimulated, a peaking feeling growing in your stomach at each thrust.

“I wanna feel you Nete, I wanna feel you deep in me.” You said, head thrown back as you fought your bodies demands to stop before you bursted. His breaths became more vocal, the sound of his hand stroking his thick cock grew louder as well. “Cum for me baby, please. Let me see what that pussy can do. I cant wait to feel you wrap around this cock like the slut you are.” He grew hungrier for you, eyes staring intensely at how fast your fingers were moving inside your already swollen hole.

That’s what sent you over the edge, your fingers burying deep inside of you as you orgasmed all over your hand. You whined, grinding your clit against your hand to come down from the sudden climax. Releasing a string of moans, you saw Neteyam suck in air between his teeth, pumping himself as fast as he could before his own cum spurted out, some landing on the sand while the rest dripped down his hand from the tip. His hips bucked into his hand, all while he tried to catch his breath. His golden eyes raked over your body, eyes meeting yours. You seemed hungry and impatient, and he knew just from that. This was far from over.

[perfectlyoongi]

FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE

ㅤ↬┊synopsis ... you had to write a poem for a class and, when your creativity betrayed you, you decided to ask your boyfriend for help.

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... yoongi x afab!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... one-shot. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... childhood friends & lovers (established relationship), fluff, just the complicity between u and yoongi. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... 2k. ㅤ⚘.fandom ... ik as much abt writing poetry as ik abt quantum physics so u get no poem shoo shoo !! ps. dont mind the cringe :3 hope u enjoy ♡

“Come on, Yoonie!” you let out a small laugh when Yoongi grimaced as he shook his arm out of your hands. “Help me.”

“So annoying,” Yoongi prolonged the last word in a dramatic cry that made you laugh one last time. “Okay, I’ll help you.”

You quickly sat down on the black sofa in Yoongi's studio, on your lap a small notebook eager to be filled, in your hand a pencil half corroded by your thoughts. Yoongi sat next to you, in his hand a bottle of partially drunk water, in his eyes a sparkle that only appeared when he was with you.

“What do you need to do?”

“The professor asked for a poem and we had to draw the theme out of a hat.”

“And you got…”

“Love.”

Your response was accompanied by a frown on your part.

Since you remembered that you were submerged in a vast ocean of verses and stanzas, all the themes that could exist building little huts in your heart, creating fragments in your soul that would be forever united by your love for writing. And you wanted to know more about this art. You wanted to be able to create like so many others before you. You wanted to give your creativity a purpose and, with Yoongi's encouragement, you joined creative writing classes at your university.

But, as with everything, the dream became more fantastic than reality.

It was part of the challenge and it made you excited, more eager to create. But it was also tiring, spending days and nights pondering words and themes that could very well carry with them empty meanings and silent beauties. You wrote in constant fear of not being interpreted, of not being worthy of interpretation, of creating something too vague to have any value.

Everything was challenging for you, all the poems you had written to date being the result of too many thoughts and too little passion. So, when you got a theme as common and used as love, you only saw a solution to truly create a piece of art – after all, love only existed for you with Yoongi by your side.

“I kinda feel offended by your reaction,” Yoongi forced a frown and you smiled.

“Don’t start, please,” you opened the notebook and took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to start?”

“You can start by…” Yoongi was thoughtful for a moment, involuntarily playing with the bottle in his hands. “Trying to describe what love is to you?”

Your silence was capable of speaking louder than any words you could have said – and that only made Yoongi let out a small laugh.

Adjusting himself on the couch to get closer to you, Yoongi looked at you curiously. You had a serene expression, but your eyes showed that all the threads inside you were trying to interconnect to form a simple description. Leaning his arm against the back of the sofa and holding his head, Yoongi looked at you amused.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asked cordially, a smile lacing his words, his voice gently echoing through the studio.

“You know I’m terrible with feelings.”

“I’m no better.”

“But you write songs.”

“Because you inspire me!”

You already knew that. Yoongi had already told you countless times that great inspiration for his songs came from you, from the feeling he had for you; but that didn't stop you from reacting, completely embarrassed by your boyfriend's confession.

“Then give me tips!”

“I don't know!” Yoongi opened his arms in a dramatic way, fanning them to emphasize his speech. “I just feel it and the words come and the song gets written.”

You snorted to hide a smile and calmed down again, your back leaning against the sofa, your eyes jumping from the pencil to the blank page.

“And what do you feel?”

Your question hung in the air for a brief moment as Yoongi contemplated your words.

In Yoongi's mind, dozens of words began to appear quickly, constantly running over each other, wanting to be the first to be pronounced. In Yoongi's heart, dozens of emotions began to gently blossom, taking root in Yoongi, assuring his feelings for you.

The pause wasn't long, but for you it was an eternity.

The eagerness for an answer made your heart race. You were looking forward to Yoongi's words, not only to inspire you for your poem, but also to hear once again what you meant to him – it was always good to be reassured.

“At this moment…”

Yoongi's voice was hoarse, deep, gently sung by his delicate lips. The words were steeped in care and serenity. You could feel Yoongi's thoughts in his pronunciation, the way he was precisely selecting each word he spoke bringing a smile to your face.

“At this moment, I feel like a kid again.”

“A kid?” you gently tilted your head – of all the strings of words Yoongi could have said, that wasn't one that had crossed your mind.

“Yes,” Yoongi let out a laugh, nostalgia clinging to every syllable, memories of easier times clouding his studio. “Doesn’t this situation remind you of anything?”

Yoongi continued to look at you in love – there was no other word to describe it. The sparkle in Yoongi's eyes was completed by the genuine smile that slightly curved his sweet lips. Yoongi's words were filled with a gentleness that only existed when he spoke to you, about you.

You pondered Yoongi's words. Your boyfriend's voice echoed in your mind with some care, stretching out the syllables, trying to search your memories for the words you should say. And then you remembered.

“The first grade!”

You spoke happily, memories of your childhood painting nostalgic pictures in your head, vibrant colors of happy moments radiating warmth to your heart.

“The first grade,” Yoongi repeated between small laughs as he adjusted himself on the couch. “We spent our afternoons trying to learn math together.”

“And we were never successful.”

Your laughter settled into two broad, longing, passionate smiles.

“I never told you this…” Yoongi was the first to break the silence that rested in the studio, going back to shuffle on the sofa, playing with the bottle a little more. “But, I think I started to like you at that time.”

Your eyes opened in awe, your boyfriend's confession bringing a little warmth to your heart.

“Come on, Yoonie. We were kids. It’s impossible to like someone that way.”

Accompanied by laughter, your words shaped the atmosphere of the studio into a place of comfort, of safety, of confession.

“I’m serious,” Yoongi placed one of his hands on your leg, stroking it gently. “Already at that age I knew that I wanted to stay with you for the rest of my life.”

Like a dove's feather hovering gently on a hot summer day, Yoongi's confession remained in his study as it got to know every nook and cranny, spreading its warmth across the room and nuzzling your heart.

Stay with you for the rest of his life.

In a way, those words danced in your mind, a complex waltz of possible futures moving through the halls of memories. In a way, those words gave you a shy smile, a gentle curve of embarrassment beautifying your face. In a way, those words settled in your heart, a homely comfort soothing your soul.

For the rest of his life.

“And how did you know?”

Your tone of voice was provocative, causing Yoongi to smile smugly.

“Because it was when I was with you that I could see the world in colors.” Yoongi let the bottle fall into his lap, one of his hands shyly searching for yours. “I believe that my life only began the day I met you. I woke up every day looking forward to go to school just to see you. And it was when we started dating that I started thinking about a future for me, for us.”

There was a passionate smile on your lips, a shiny curve that infected Yoongi and encouraged him to gently caress the soft skin of your hand.

“What was love like as a kid?”

“Weird,” a wistful laugh left Yoongi’s lips, his eyes locked on a long-lived past. “I just thought about annoying you just to have an excuse to talk to you.”

“Is that why you always stole my pencils?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders with a false air of innocence and you laughed. “But when our friendship started to become more natural, I only thought about you. How it was only with you that I could be myself. How it was only with you that I could really have fun. How you were the only one who gave me a purpose to wake up every day.”

“Do you have any songs about me that you haven’t shown me yet?”

Yoongi laughed, a strong, pink tone taking over his cheeks as he let go of your hand and returned to holding the bottle.

“Let's take it easy. We were talking about your poem.”

“Come on, Yoongi,” you smiled and gently pinched his stomach. “Tell me your secrets!”

Your boyfriend sighed as he let a smile be etched on his face. “I have two. One of them I wrote when I was at school.”

He got up carefully, walking to his desk and picking up a black notebook that was already quite corroded by time: the pages were damaged by humidity and water, the cover was a little torn and folded – that notebook seemed to have been loved.

“I carry this notebook everywhere,” Yoongi sat down next to you again and placed the notebook on his lap, encouraging you to come closer to him. “It’s where I have my first thoughts and songs as a dreamer. Among them the first song I wrote.”

“Rest of my life”, you read Yoongi’s handwriting like an incantation, your lips pronouncing each syllable with the flavor of importance and passion seasoning the title of that song. “Why didn’t you ever show me?”

“I was ashamed. It’s not my best work, y’know?”

“But you still keep it.”

“Because it is my most genuine and heartfelt song.”

Yoongi looked at you and you returned the look. In the shine of your boyfriend's eyes you saw your future together, a home and a family, an eternity of passion and complicity; in the curve of your boyfriend's lips you saw your shared past, infinite stories and memories, an extensive melancholy of a passionate history.

Before you kissed Yoongi, you smiled.

Your lips touched lightly for just a moment but it was enough to send warm waves through your body. It was incredible that after so many years of friendship and dating, Yoongi still had that pleasurable effect on you.

“Can I read it?”

“No,” Yoongi laughed again and closed the notebook.

“Come on! Please, Yoonie.”

Yoongi looked at you thoughtfully, seeing in your pleading eyes and your innocent smile the whole reason for that song. “It was because of you that I started dreaming of a future.”

Somehow, you noticed in Yoongi's shy and reserved tone that those words weren't random, that behind each letter and timbre there was a memory dear to him, a memory of something that was reserved forever in his heart.

“The seeds you planted bloom in my heart. Gardens of tulip petals adorn my desire for a future. I always daydream immersed in swan lakes about a tomorrow with you. I only ask that you stay with me for the rest of my life.”

Even before Yoongi finished his quote, you kissed him again, passion and magic joining your lips in a new promise of love.

“You’re right,” you placed your forehead against Yoongi’s and let out a small laugh. “It’s not your best work.”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

Between laughs, Yoongi kissed you again, pulling away quickly when the memory of the reason for your visit appeared in his mind.

“We’ve already talked about me, let’s go back to the poem.”

“I think I understand what I have to do,” your pencil twirled in your hand as words began to unite a web of thoughts inside your heart. “I just have to remember all the ways you love me and make me feel loved.”

Yoongi kissed your forehead before leaving you immersed in feelings and phrases, a little encouragement from Yoongi before he returned to his work.

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

[shirefantasies]

the fellowship and how they would comfort you after a nightmare

Sure thing! This is such a cute idea I love it 🥺 no detail is given about the nature of the nightmare, so it’s pretty fluffy & open to interpretation 🥰

How The Fellowship Comforts You After a Nightmare

Aragorn

A pair of hands catch you about the waist. “Careful, beloved, you almost fell,” a deep voice whispers. Aragorn. You start despite the comforting voice, and he notices. Fixing you with a look of concern, he nods encouragingly, letting you speak; you tell him it was a nightmare. “What happened?” He asks, and he listens with great interest as you describe what you saw, what your mind forced you to experience. “The night can be false,” he tells you, moving so close you can feel his breath upon your ear, “bringing forth our greatest fears. But I am here with you in its darkness.” Nodding, you give a small smile as he takes your hands. “Come here,” he beckons, and acquiescing he tucks you into him, your back against his chest and his arm draped over you protectively.

Legolas

“Come." You hear Legolas before you see him, feel the way he reaches for you. Fingers intertwine with yours and shakily you reciprocate the grip. He raises you gently to a seated position, holding you lightly about the waist as you rotate in tandem. You’re facing the window, you realize, looking out into the night. “The stars,” Legolas breathes, “ever have they provided us with hope and comfort. They are looking out for us.” Mystic as his words are, you cannot help but admit that focusing on the distant, twinkling lights is calming, especially in Legolas’s arms. Silently, you nod. Legolas peers down at you thoughtfully before speaking again, pointing out stars and constellations until you are lulled into a much more peaceful sleep.

Boromir

A tear slides down your cheek, but before the lines to reality are fully crossed you feel a hand caress you, wipe the droplet gently. “What ever is the matter?” A voice you would recognize anywhere: Boromir. Before you can speak you’re latching onto him. Stroking the crown of your head, he questions again, this time asking if you are all right. “I will be,” you answer shakily. His lips fall to yours, firmly but with a sense of care, of loving. “Good. You have me until then, and, I’m afraid, long after that, too,” he jokes, pulling you closer. “That means more than you could ever know,” you mutter, nuzzling into his neck and giving in when he shifts to his back, your body draped over his like a warm blanket.

Gimli

Gasping and shooting upward, you are met with a shout that has you exclaiming as well, heart thundering in your chest. Suddenly, looking as though he’s been slapped, Gimli reaches for your hand, taking it in both of his. “Whatever is the matter, my jewel?” You cannot help cracking a feeble smile at his words of endearment even through the involuntary terror you’d awoken to. You apologize, tell him a nightmare had taken you. “Not if I have anything to say about it!” Gimli retorts. “Does it realize who it is up against?” Cue your beloved dwarf highlighting every amazing thing about you, from your beauty to your fighting spirit to simply poetry, all the wonderful things in this world you remind him of. “So if some dream thinks it can take you, it is sorely mistaken,” he concludes, looking satisfied at the upward tug of your lips, the bashful way your head falls against his chest.

Frodo

Stirs with immediate knowledge and understanding of what you are going through, having experienced it many times himself. No words are necessary, only the small, sad nod you share. Frodo's hand immediately trails up and down your arm, spreading grounding warmth across your skin. Your head falls back against his chest in defeat and with a deep breath, he pulls you flush against him, lips pressing against the crown of your head. Frodo never demands words, but listens with deep thoughtfulness if you wish to volunteer them and even shares any similarities in his so you know you are not alone. Especially if any of them embody your worst intrusive thoughts, the hardest things to share aloud. He only feels comfortable sharing the events of his own nightmares because of this dark bond you share, but seeing your face and feeling the caress of your hand upon his cheek is all it takes to cast a light back into his eyes, one that sparks the same for you.

Sam

Sam’s hold upon you is the first awareness you achieve as you are thrust back into reality, your eyelashes fluttering as you make out his form. The moment tension fades from your body, he’s pulling you into him, rocking you gently and running his hand through or over your hair. “Sam, I’m sorry -” “Shhh,” he soothes, smiling gently, almost tearfully, “there’s no need. There’s no need at all. Let’s just stay here.” At your nod, he rests his chin atop your head and tucks your bodies as close into each other as possible, limbs fitting together like puzzle pieces. The last sensation you remember before drifting off to sleep is Sam’s lips lightly pressed against your cheek.

Merry

A gasp alerts Merry to your plight, sending him shooting up into a seated position, looking around the room with concern before his eyes fall sympathetically to you. “Bad dream?” His voice is quiet, hoarse from lack of use. You just nod. “Well that won’t do,” he shoots back, sitting up further and extending a hand. Shakily you take it and are pulled up at his side, an arm slung around your shoulders. “In the Brandybuck household, bad dreams mean storytime,” he tells you with a growing smile, “so your choice. Family legend or embarrassing Pippin story?” You feel your lips curling upward, visions of your nightmare already fading. “Embarrassing Pippin story.” “Great choice! So this one time…well, we’d had one too many tankards, I’ll confess, but I was well until Pippin…”

Pippin

Does not wake up at your first stirring, but as you shift you feel his body move alongside you, turning to face your way. “Are you all right?" He whispers when you fall into his gaze, distress clear upon your face that you both feel and see mirrored in his. “Nightmare,” is all you have to whisper before you’re wrapped up completely in Pippin’s embrace, his legs tangling with yours as his arms wind around you. A smile breaks through on your face when you feel him nuzzle into you with his nose, leading you to snuggle in closer against his soft curls. “I’m always going to be here for you,” you hear him whisper, feel his warm breath as he speaks, “always.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Conrad kisses your hand before you go. It’s enough to make you roll your eyes but you maintain your veneer. As it is, you’re more worried about your boss. Sy hasn’t quit huffing and puffing all night. Usually, a good meal puts him in a good mood but not this time. 

“So,” you open the folder Conrad handed over. “I think it’s a good deal. Almost a partnership, which you know, we could use some consistency.” 

Sy grumbles but doesn’t answer as you head down the hall. He drags his feet as the caftan flaps around your hips. The sleek fabric sends chills through you. You stop at the first corner. 

“Wanna point me in the direction?” You prompt. He points, head down, and traipses beside you. You frown. “Sy, what’s going on?” 

He growls and shakes his head. He sniffs and rubs his nose, “nothin’.” 

“Right.” You accept dryly, “I’ll give it a look over tonight, you should too--” 

“You know, I think you look good.” He says abruptly. “In that dress thingy you got on. Wasn’t meanin’ it earlier, just playin’, you know?” 

You arch a brow at him as you slow. You glance around again. You’re really lost in this maze of hallways. “Alright, Sy,” you chuckle, “it’s fine. It’s not exactly my style.” 

“Just wanted you to know, Iz.” 

“Mhm, got it.” 

“He talks a lot.” Sy stops and taps a door. You think it’s yours? “Worked together back in the service days. He always had some local gal on the hook. Interpreter. He could chatter all night. And he did.” 

You eye him and giggle. You can’t believe him. Does he really think so little of you? 

“This is business. I’m working, right now, Sy. I have no interest in Conrad. Not beyond this.” You wave the folder. 

“Well, I know that.” He rubs his neck and looks away bashfully. “Wouldn’t expect that of ya, just warnin’ ya. He can be convincin’.” 

“I thought he was an old friend.” 

“He is, but don’t mean I agree with all his ways.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. 

You hug the folder, “thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I need to lay down. I’m exhausted.” 

“Yeah, me too.”  

He turns and opens the door. He pushes it inward and waves you in. You enter and stifle a yawn, your eyes wetting at the corners. You lay the file down and a shadow moves along the edge of your vision. 

The door shuts behind Sy. On the wrong side. 

“What are you doing?” You scoff. 

“Oh, uh... habit. We usually share, don’t we?” 

“Yeah, when all we got is a backseat. Not to be rude, but you snore like a hog.” You snip. 

“Ah, yeah, well, I told ya to poke me.” 

“Yeah, I tried that. Sy, please.” You put your palms out. “We could both use a good night’s sleep.” 

“Sorry, I... I’m tired. Wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” he chuckles. A grizzly noise. “See ya in the mornin’ then.” 

“You too,” you nearly sigh in relief. 

You wait for him to go before you can relax. You sit down at the small table and resume your review. You should just lay down but you don’t know what he has in mind for tomorrow. Could be another plane ride, could be nothing. 

When at last you sleep, it’s deep and undisturbed by the bump of the axel or the rumble of a snoring beast. You dream of your old office job and angry printers. You even dream that you’re late for a boardroom meeting only to be awoken by a pounding at the door. 

“Izzie!” Sy’s roar shakes you awake.  

You nearly fall out of bed in your scramble. Your vision is bleary and your head is heavy. Your bearings are all scattered as you stumble across the room. You pull open the door to find your boss on the other side. 

“Brrg, what time is it?” Your tongue is uncooperative as you speak. Maybe you had a bit more wine than you thought. 

“Huh, uh,” Sy’s face turns red and he runs his hand over his beard and coughs. His eyes flick down then side-to-side. “Uh, it’s... it’s only nine. I—I—Iz.”  

He points down and you look at your body. Shit. You only remember stripping off the caftan and falling face first into the bed. No bother for your sports bra or boy shorts. Thank god you didn’t get that comfortable. 

“Ah damn, sorry, Sy.” You close the door and retreat. 

You pull open your bag and fish out your usual; leggings and long-sleeved tee, a zip-up to go over it. You roll your socks on and tie your boots, snatching up your vest as you breeze back to the door. As you pull it inward, Sy sways and peers in shyly. 

“Got everything?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you loop the vest on one arm as you tie a bandana around your hair. “I was passed out. Sorry. Haven’t slept like that in years.” 

“Ain’t no worry.” His cheeks are still pink. His eyes keep scouring up and down. 

“Stop that.” You punch his arm as you step into the hall. “Oh, wait.” 

“Shouldn’t need your vest,” he says. 

“Oh,” you toss it on the bed as you swipe up the folder. “Well, got my notes.” 

You come back out and nearly collide with him. He moves around you awkwardly. He hovers like your shadow and you grab his arm to guide him. 

“Sy, what’s up?” You chide. 

“N-nothing. I just--” He huffs out through his nose. “Was worried ‘bout ya. You’re usually gettin’ me up, is all.” 

[kurishiri]

alfons sylvatica . . . episode.0

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: depiction of death.

I do so wonder, were I to say, “Life is but a tragedy,” would you disagree with me?

Well, in the end, it matters not if you agree or disagree.

Everyone is free to interpret what’s before them in their own way. Much like everyone is free to choose how they face reality.

By this, then, if I were to state my personal views on this, I would claim for certain that life is but a tragedy.

Ah, but by no means am I embracing a pessimistic perspective.

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape.

Even should an escape fail you, though——

madness will still ever remain your friend.

In the back alley, where twilight drew near, I happened upon an elderly man collapsed on the ground.

With my hands on my knees, I crouched down beside him. In response, the man’s hollow eyes, devoid of any sign of vitality, looked my way.

Elderly man: Ahh… it’s you.

Alfons: Yes, indeed, it is none other than me.

I do, in fact, have quite a large circle of acquaintances.

That goes especially for people like this man, who had been driven out from the light.

Alfons: Might there a final dream you wish to see?

Elderly man: ………My wife.

Elderly man: I………would like to say sorry………

Alfons: …Is that so.

For a miraculous, utterly unrealistic happening to occur in the finale, right before the curtain closed on a play, would be the universal joke of all comedies.

Alfons: See now, look there. Isn’t it great? “Your wife has come to see you.”

Elderly man: ………Ahh…ahh…

When I murmured this while touching the back of his neck, the man’s eyes widened, tears brimming slightly at the edge of his eyes,

and unable to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ until the end, he drew his last breath.

Alfons: Did she smile for you in your final dream?

A: …Or so I ask, but I can hardly say I’m very interested in the answer.

I gently closed his eyes before promptly leaving the place myself.

(Now, I say it’s about time to search for something new to kill off this boredom.)

Upon leaving the alleyway, I found myself in a twilight-colored London, filled with livelihood,

and the people, in their restlessness, couldn’t bother to pay heed to the fact that just a step in the alleyway would reveal quite a ghastly death.

That would make up the majority. ——However.

(…Oh?)

A postwoman passed me by, running the opposite direction as me,

and as she entered the alleyway where the man was lying, she suddenly stopped.

(So she realized him…?)

At first, I held no interest, but now I was curious to see what this postwoman would do, so in a daze, I stared after her.

She hesitated to step into the alleyway, which had begun to sink in the twilight,

instead looking around her before running toward some patrolling police officers who were some ways away.

(Aww, truly a fool she is. If only she simply feigned ignorance…)

(As the first witness of the body, she will be questioned and subsequently end up tardy for her deliveries.)

But if she left the body, either the police or the cleaners would have discovered it eventually.

(I take it she is the type to carry more burdens than she needs to.)

The kindest people are the easiest to hurt. Such habits are troublesome because it is much like walking into a bush of thorns.

(A pitiable soul she is.)

(Her naïve honesty will be her downfall and lead her to scenes that reek of blood…)

(Well, I suppose I can only hope this theory remains as such.)

Victor: You went out and used your ability again, didn’t you, Alfons?

The next day, the one who caught me in the hallway was the Queen’s Aide, who was laughing wryly.

Alfons: Well, now, whenever could that be? If you remain so vague like that, I’m afraid I will be unable to pin down exactly which incident you speak of.

A: You see, I am but a frugal soul who is simply using what is at his disposal.

Victor: Just as a friendly reminder, you guys’ existences are to be kept confidential, okay?

Alfons: Now, now, why so caught up in the gritty details?

A: After all, I reckon my ability is about as good as a plain old crook when put next to one like William’s.

Victor: Good lord, you naughty boy, you. It’s a no from me, I say, no!

With an air of jest surrounding his warning, his jewel-like eyes narrowed.

Although he was likely scheming a thing — or perhaps two, this respectable person’s true colors still remained ever unfathomable.

Victor: Anyway, all that aside, tonight marks the day of the mission. Have you made your preparations?

Alfons: Yes, but of course.

Crown, a villainous organization that used evil to fight evil, was going to condemn a target tonight.

It was just going to be like any other dull mission that gave me no room to show a sweet dream in one’s dying moments.

Or, that was what I thought.

As per William’s command, the target slit their own throat, and it was right after that.

The door opened, and in came none other than that postwoman.

Kate: ——!?

Drawing in a breath, I could hear the sound come from her throat.

(…Aww…)

(I know I had foreshadowed this, but even for a prediction, is this not much too soon?)

(Goodness, I just cannot help but wonder how that naïve honesty led you here.)

With blood staining her cheeks, she simply stood there, dumbfounded.

I could practically hear the sound of the cruel reality before her piercing through her gentle heart, even now.

(Oh, please, I would prefer anything over this serious air.)

A dull and boring mission turning into a stage set for a tragedy was much too common to hold an ounce of my interest.

(And if this is bound to become a tragedy,)

(why not simply make it a most amusing stage instead?)

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape. Even should an escape fail you, though…

Alfons: Well, well, to think we had an audience.

——madness will still ever remain your friend.

In the end, the lady, who introduced herself as Kate, was given a joke of a role dubbed as a ‘fairytale keeper,’

and it was decided that she would be staying in this den of evil for a month.

Alfons: She truly is hapless… I’m certain anyone would find themselves more at home in this world of darkness than a lady such as her.

Shrugging my shoulders while heading toward my own room, Elbert, who was walking beside me, turned to me with worry.

Elbert: …Are you alright, Al?

Alfons: Yes? Now whatever could you be referring to?

Elbert: Well… you seemed somewhat sad, if I had to say.

Alfons: Ahha! I assure you I am anything but.

A: Why, in fact, when will such an opportune moment arise again, where I will have a most interesting plaything for an entire month? Do you truly believe I have capacity for anything but amusement?

Elbert: …I see.

To me, this ordeal was naught but a new plaything, having stumbled in here, I can use to fill this life with amusement.

And to her, this ordeal was naught but the darkness of England that she did not have to witness, and a troublesome role that was pushed onto her.

(And for the both of us, if this can become an entertainment that can divert us, even for a moment, that is all it needs to be.)

Alfons: Truly… I do look forward to this.

Reality knows nothing but cruelty: it will only eat away at your heart before throwing you in the middle of the darkness.

So cease this folly act of trying to face it directly and getting yourself hurt.

(Now——may the time pass us by, much like a most amusing dream.)

← prev next →

NOTE: and this would mark the start of alfons’ route! i feel this route may probably be the least romantic-feeling out of the ones released so far; of course, that’s not to say there isn’t romance, but the way he expresses love is quite subtle and the romance may feel overshadowed by his issues. but i hope the high drama can make up for any (perceived) lack of romance!

truth be told, i feel this route may end up dividing the fandom when it comes to alfons, especially with his actions. and you may find yourself surprised at how kate ends up sort of toughing it out to the very end with him. but i do think, overall, it does take a read through of this route to really understand and delve into the parts of his character the other routes seem to only hint at.

i hope you enjoy this wild ride, if you choose to ride along with me!

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment or dm to be added or removed!

[rainbow-femme]

Thinking too much about AFTG again and I know we rag on Neil for being oblivious but I don’t think Andrew understands for most of the story that Neil likes him back

(FYI I haven’t read all the extra content, Nora may have said something about Andrew’s mindset that contradicts this, I don’t care it’s my literary analysis and I control my interpretation and the only canon that exists is what’s in the books. Also I’m Jewish, and the number one rule is anything can be true so long as you can back it up textually)

You’ve got the whole “I’m not your answer and you sure as fuck aren’t mine” line. By this point two things have happened recently: Neil has become outwardly more emotionally and physically vulnerable, and Neil has shown more interest in spending time with Andrew as well as interest in Andrew in general. And Andrew’s response to this seems to be the assumption that Neil is having a crisis he isn’t sharing and seems to have decided that Andrew is the answer to fixing that crisis. To be fair he is having a crisis, Andrew is just an unrelated benefit.

Which makes sense, most of his relationships are based, at least in Andrew’s mind, on him providing a service in exchange for someone’s presence in his life due to his belief that people will not be around him otherwise. So if Neil is looking at him in an open, appreciative, and interested way he seems to assume it’s because Neil, the terrified guy on the run from something, has found himself enjoying the stability Andrew provides and is seeing being near Andrew as a solution to his problems. That maybe Neil has tricked himself into thinking he has feelings for Andrew because he likes having someone take care of him and that’s the reason, and we see from Andrew stopping the kiss when Neil is upset that he does not consider being interested in someone while emotionally vulnerable to be real consent, therefore if Neil is interested in him due to being upset and afraid that is not Neil actually being interested. He also is clearly very agitated by this first kiss, seeming to see himself as a predator who lost control and harmed Neil by taking advantage of him.

He also continues to do nice things for Neil after getting back, despite initially seeming to express frustration, disinterest, and distaste for Neil. Giving him keys to the car, buying him a new charger, giving Neil the shotgun seat. Andrew’s habit of feeling the need to incentivize the people he cares for to stay with him, as well as what appears to naturally be his love language of giving gifts and acts of service as a replacement for verbally sharing emotions. I’m not saying that when he’s doing nice things it’s for personal gain, but I think part of him feels good doing it and part of him believes this is all he has to offer this person. He got back and didn’t say nice things to Neil because he can’t, but he can quietly take care of Neil in a way that says “please stay with me, I want you to be ok” that he verbally can’t. He knows Neil values the ability to leave upsetting situations, that Neil reacted positively the last time Andrew gave him keys, gives Neil a way to charge his phone ie have a lifeline to safety and Andrew when needed, and he’s saying that he still implicitly trusts Neil with things that are important to him. And of course shotgun means “I want you to be the person who is nearest to me”. He similarly starts making a habit of sitting next to Neil when the team is together. Andrew very much is a cat, he’s going to swat at you but also glue himself to your side

There’s also the various moments where Andrew states out loud that he has an attraction and growing emotional attachment to Neil that he has already written off as impossible. He calls Neil a pipe dream, says he knows nothing will come of having an interest in Neil without having made any attempts to see if Neil is interested. If you follow up a confession of interest with a statement that nothing will happen, you can’t be hurt by rejection because you didn’t give the person a chance to reject you.

And it doesn’t seem like it’s because Andrew is purposely avoiding attachments to people. Most of the effort he puts into his life is in his relationships, specifically into giving people reasons to stay near him. He makes the deals with Kevin and Aaron, he could have gone to a school with a more competitive Exy program but went to one where Nicky and Aaron could come and be on the team and in fact made that a requirement, he proves to Kevin that he made the right choice in making Andrew his shield by attacking anyone who hurts Kevin and putting a target on his own back. Before the start of the books we know he went out of his way to connect with Renee and do things for her that meant a lot to her, things that again seem to represent “I am doing her a favor, therefore she will be more likely to stay.” And anything else could be written off as born again Christian charity rather than acknowledge she has love and care for him.

He doesn’t see an attempt at connecting with Neil to be useless because he has no interest in building relationships with people, if there’s anything Andrew is passionate about it’s building and maintaining relationships with people. He sees it as obviously useless because there’s no way Neil would legitimately want to be with Andrew in the same way that Andrew wants him, that it is impossible to consider Neil reciprocating the way he’s feeling because all he wants is Neil himself and he doesn’t think anyone could just want him and think it’s enough.

Neil says he allowed himself to be abused by the Raven’s for two weeks on the chance he could help Andrew, that he wants to care for Andrew even without any personal benefit, and that is when Andrew calls him a pipe dream. Neil has just said that he, the guy who previously was so terrified for his own safety that he put it above all else, would willingly sacrifice his safety for Andrew. When Neil says this Andrew covers his mouth to make him stop talking, which to me suggests that this revelation was an absolute gut punch to him, that what happened to Neil was not only for his sake but accomplished nothing. Andrew’s reaction to Neil saying this is to say that Neil was supposed to be a side effect of the drugs. Meaning what Neil just said made him feel so strongly for Neil that he previously assumed it could not possibly be something he naturally has the capacity to feel.

(And he stills says that he doesn’t think he could ever have from Neil what he wants. So yeah Neil isn’t the only one who can hear a heartfelt confession and come to the conclusion that the other person is completely uninterested)

Also the whole “there is no this” conversation they loop through a few times. Again, Andrew loves building relationships, but they all are ticking clocks in his head, most of them graduation unless he can come up with something to convince them to stay. And then Neil keeps trying to say that there exists a relationship between them that has not been carefully negotiated with a clear end date, which is probably terrifying to a guy who doesn’t think he can trust anyone unless he is providing them something that makes him more useful around than not.

What Neil is proposing is that Andrew has intrinsic value and his presence is all Neil wants, and that probably seems terrifying and untrue. If Neil isn’t getting a tangible benefit that outweighs any perceived inconveniences, and if there is no point where they “re-up” their contract, then at any moment Neil could change his mind and take this thing away from Andrew. He’s had people he loved decide he’s not worth it, he knows it can happen and how terrible it is to experience. He willingly dealt with Drake and harmed himself to keep Cass, and he still lost her because he in and of himself wasn’t enough to be kept and loved because he wasn’t easy enough to love, he was broken, he was damaged. There can’t be a non transactional relationship between them because Andrew can’t see himself being enough and thinks losing it would be too painful to willingly risk

(Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron also seem to have this same view as Neil in their own way of Andrew’s inherent worth to them. Nicky really deserves more recognition for clawing his way to happiness then willingly giving it all up and upending his life and doing things repeatedly that make him unhappy because he cares so much for Aaron and Andrew, aligning himself against possible friends who could make him happy because he will always choose supporting Andrew over himself. And you have Aaron showing that he will fight Andrew tooth and nail if it means they can have a good and lasting relationship, and we see Kevin form genuine love and affection for Andrew outside of their deal, but again Andrew seems to view the relationships at the time as transactional or obligatory on their ends)

Or my favorite, the scene where Andrew makes a comment about Neil’s “neck fetish.” Neil has kissed his neck only about two times by that point, and both times it has elicited what is clearly a pleasurable response from Andrew. But Andrew can’t accept the idea that Neil is doing something with no benefit to himself and only a benefit to Andrew, that he is choosing to take time away from his own immediate pleasure to do something solely for Andrew’s enjoyment of the moment

Neil responds to the comment by saying “You like it, I like that you like it.” Neil is saying that he cares enough about Andrew to have paid attention to what pleases him and wants to take the time when they’re together to make Andrew feel good in a way that Andrew makes him feel good, that he knows Andrew has trauma with physical touch on most of his body but this is a way he can reciprocate that has no negative connotations for Andrew and serves solely to make him feel good. And Andrew does not or cannot let himself see it that way because it’s too vulnerable.

The sex is supposed to be transactional, this is what Andrew has to offer to make Neil stay with him, uninterrupted time of Andrew making him feel good and asking for nothing in return. Neil is breaking the rules, he’s making it reciprocated, if he is making Andrew feel good then Andrew doesn’t have that safety net of being the one with something to offer. So it has to be something that secretly benefits Neil, it has to be that Neil is getting something out of it or Andrew is back to not having anything special that he offers to make Neil stay with him. If it’s just Neil sitting back while Andrew gets him off then Andrew is automatically the most convenient sexual partner for Neil and he won’t look for someone else. If it’s reciprocal, then it stops being a favor Andrew is doing and takes effort on Neil’s end, as well as means the sex includes Andrew knowing what it’s like to be loved and cared for, which means he will feel it’s absence when Neil inevitably leaves because Andrew isn’t convenient enough.

It honestly seems like the turning point is his conversation with Aaron about breaking their deal, Aaron making him choose their deal or Neil. Because it A. Forces Andrew to see that Aaron intends to stay in his life without the deal, meaning that yes one of the most important people in Andrew’s world loves him without a contract. And B. It forces Andrew into a position where he has to take a leap of faith that Neil isn’t going to just walk away, that Neil sees Andrew the way Andrew sees him. And I wonder if Aaron brought up the conversation he had with Neil, that Neil said he didn’t think Andrew would fight for him, and he realized that Neil not only has been thinking about him the way he was thinking about Neil, but that he had this person in his life that he cared about and he was acting in a way that made that person not feel valued and it could probably cause the very thing he wants to avoid by pushing him away.

So you finally get the very end of the last book where Andrew doesn’t deny it when Neil says Andrew likes him, which is for him incredibly vulnerable. He’s shown that he will always protect Neil without their deal of protection, and Neil has shown that he sees everything about Andrew that other people don’t like and he loves Andrew anyway.

Because the story is from Neil’s point of view we see his internal growth as he learns to recognize and accept love and care from others but Andrew has been doing the same, realizing and trusting that Kevin and his family will still be there even if he has nothing tangible to offer, and accepting that someone could genuinely know and understand him, all the things that make him inconvenient, and still want him with no extra incentive because even as broken as he sees himself to be he still has value to others and he can trust Neil in the way he wants Neil to trust him

[yeyinde]

i apologize if you’ve already answered this question before somewhere - but would you ever consider writing something with an explicitly male reader? i’ve been an avid reader of yours since mw2022 came out and after having read most of your works, i can’t say i’m not curious as to how it might change the dynamic

it would change the dynamic a little bit. more so because i think there's more options to explore with a male mc in an m/m relationship. especially with the 141. these are all super rough ideas i dreamed up at lunch lmao so an actual fic might change a lot of them but:

Simon is basically the same but more physical. aggressive but in a condescending way. always seems like he's goading you into a fight (and he is, but that's just so he can throw you to the ground and rest his weight on you until you beg him to get up). but i don't think he interprets gender. it's mostly just people who he can be rough with and those that he can't. the f!mcs i write fall into this weird middle ground of he can't, but he wants to. he has to be softer but he wants to ruin them. i'd probably do the opposite with a m!mc - should be softer, but can't. if only because mean Simon bullying the guy he's down bad for would be so fun to write. it'd be more animalistic because the m!mc wouldn't have an issue with fighting back against his ugly form of love.

you'd meet him in a bar. he's the scary guy in the back who says nothing to you at all but every time you look at him, he's already staring back at you. picking a fight, you'd think. and it'd cow you a little. as much as you can hold your own, as often as you get into tiffs, he's a tank. his size makes your belly twist. makes all those ugly feelings in the back of your head well up, the ones you tried to bury behind a too-bright grin and forged masculinity that fits like clunky armour. you feel sick looking at him. jealous. envy. greed. a noxious cocktail roiling around the generous sips of flat beer. so you don't. you look away. but the glares you send over your shoulder only make him huff, his head angling down toward his chest in a way that oozes a droll, acidic sort of amusement. stay away.

and you do. but he catches you at the mouth of the alley when you try to make your escape for the night, shoving your face into the brick as he grunts into your crown about fuckin' teasin' him all night. don't worry, though. he's gonna give you exactly what you've been craving, pretty boy. just be good for him, yeah?

Price is crass. rougher. but like Simon, gender, sex, and identity are all narrowed down to two categories for him: those that need his help, and those that don't (and then beneath that: those that deserve it and those that don't). if you're in control of your own life, competent, he'll force you into the former. bully you until something breaks. he's a bit more reserved with his advances but only because knocking you up isn't really an option. so, he has to be smart. cunning. it's a waiting game with Price, really.

with Gaz, there's almost a sense of a rivalry in the relationship. he definitely understands his attraction to you, knows what he wants, but he likes to push the people he's interested in and a m!mc would let him test the limits a bit more. he likes to mould the people he likes around him. re-build their entire life until it's tangled up in his. a m!mc would be a harder catch. like Price, it's not like he can just knock you up and keep you forever. he needs to strategise a bit more and i think that would make him more desperate.

Soap is basically the same. rougher, though. crude, too. has a thing for forced feminization. would call you hen and bonnie even as he manhandles you on the bed and rides you until you pass out. he's softer when he pursues a f!mc because he knows he can't play his hand right away or they'll run, but with a m!mc, he's all teeth. always grinning wide but like a shark. a touch scarier as he slides his hand up your thigh and coos in your ear about how badly he wants to fuck you stupid. but he won't let you cum. no, no - you're only allowed to cum inside him so you better not get off when he's fucking you or he'll have to show you some self-restraint. bites a lot. everywhere. always has a bottle of lube stashed away somewhere. it's intense. wrings you dry.

[goingbuggy]

Good morrow my shuggy liege!

I was pondering if I should or shouldn’t ask but I hope it will not be too much bother to answer

It’s about one of your metas about the love and sacrifice Beautifully written I must say but reading through it again made me wondering how does buggy fall into the sacrifice themes of one piece?

It pains me to admit that once I’ve read 1082 I had many different feelings and one of them thought of buggy sacrifice as quite selfish in a way? Don’t get me wrong I’m sure came from him believing in shanks and the love he had for the boy! It just it felt in a way like he was burdening shanks with his own dreams

I’m happy he finally got the courage to follow his own path It’s beautiful and inspiring I just wonder if my interpretation is coming from anxiety or is actually true? Thank you and I’m sorry to sending this on anon

Hello, anon! Thank you for your kind words about my metas. Before I answer your question about where Buggy might fit into the wider themes of One Piece -- like sacrifice -- I think I should address your interpretation of 1082's events and compare them with mine.

I can understand why someone might conclude that Buggy's faith in Shanks is a burden of sorts, and ultimately selfish; after all, Shanks never asked for the weight of Buggy's expectations, and you could argue that Buggy's plan was to live out his dreams vicariously through Shanks. However, I think that there are some key points which entirely re-frame the situation.

Buggy didn't actually tell Shanks about what he did.

This isn't explicitly confirmed by the manga, but based on 1082's events and Shanks/Buggy's relationship timeline going forward, I can definitely make a strong case for their miscommunication in this regard.

Although we have Buggy's narration in 1082 to guide us through his flashback and enlighten us with his true feelings about Shanks, remember -- it's an internal monologue. The only thing Shanks knows is what Buggy tells him, and what Buggy tells him is not the full story. Look at this series of panels to see what I mean.

We have a very important contrast here -- Buggy's thoughts ("You're not the next generation's king?! I misjudged you, Shanks!" / "Don't you care about following in Captain Roger's footsteps?!"), versus what he actually says. ("You coward!" / "It's your fault I lost that treasure map!")

In classic Buggy fashion, we see him deflect from the truth; instead of explaining how much he believed in Shanks' potential, he brings up a petty grudge and insults Shanks out of disappointment, hurt, and anger/frustration. Nowhere do we see Buggy explicitly tell Shanks what/why he gave up. And this miscommunication is not only the heart of Buggy's sacrifice, but the exact reason why they split in the first place: Shanks did not tell Buggy what made him change his mind about going to Laughtale, and Buggy did not tell Shanks about his decision/dream.

I think this is key to understanding the way they navigate their interactions later down the line, in Marineford. Remember: Shanks believes that they split due to the whole map ordeal, which is not only a relatively lighthearted grudge to hold, but also very confusing from Shanks' perspective.

I love the curt answer he gives here, because it really reflects Shanks' limited understanding of what actually transpired between them that fateful day at Loguetown. Thus, it's also understandable why Shanks acts the way he does at Marineford. I highly doubt Shanks would be so casual if he knew Buggy's real reasons for parting ways. Hell, their split was so important to Shanks that he still remembers Buggy's gripe about the map 20+ years later -- and even uses the promise of one to draw Buggy back into rehashing things between them. (The anime expands on Shanks' confusion/limited understanding even more, but because we're dealing with the manga only, I'm not going to reference those added scenes.)

This interaction can seem quite confusing, but place it in the wider context I've just proposed, and it makes a lot more sense. Something fundamental has permanently shifted between them, but Shanks does not understand the gravity -- nor the real reason -- behind that change. And yet again, Buggy perpetuates this cycle of miscommunication by not telling him.

So, now that I've argued why I believe Buggy didn't tell Shanks about his true dream/decision to give up on said dream, why is it so important?

Well, this leads to my second point.

2. Buggy is a character primarily motivated by greed.

This statement does not need to be argued; it's as explicit as can be, because it has been well-established by Oda. In fact, it's very likely to be what people remember best about Buggy's character, in the midst of the massive narrative that One Piece has become. (I will touch upon this later, because this is exactly why I view Buggy's sacrifice as so impactful to the reader.)

Now, my last point:

3. Buggy is terrible at hiding his true intentions.

Buggy usually makes it quite obvious what he's hiding through blatant lies which hint to the truth, or even a direct slip of the tongue, like in Impel Down. This is partially for the sake of comedy/divulging necessary information to readers, but it's also a genuine aspect of his character which reinforces the comedy. Buggy's intentions are comically apparent to readers, so it's ridiculous to see his followers fall for his schemes.

These three points, in tandem, are exactly what makes 1082's reveal so impactful. Oda uproots everything we thought we knew about Buggy's character in order to give us the missing puzzle piece -- the reason why he is the way he is. This exact decision.

Buggy is a character motivated by greed, but he gave up on his dream, a pillar of freedom and existence in the One Piece world. He is self-absorbed, and yet he de-centered himself from the narrative. And for who, of all people? Shanks, the very man he claimed to despise in his first introduction. Are you starting to see the groundwork Oda's laying down here?

Buggy is notoriously bad at hiding the truth when he lies, and yet readers are blindsided by this reveal, over a thousand chapters after his first appearance. He kept it a secret, not just from Shanks, but from us. 1082 subverted our expectations and further developed Buggy's character in the process. It's a great display of what I love most about Oda's writing.

Before 1082, it would be difficult to claim where Buggy lies in One Piece's themes of sacrifice or dreams. But post-1082, it's a lot clearer. Oda has shown us that Shanks is just as important to Buggy as Buggy is to Shanks, and he's done it in the most effective way for a greedy character: by showing us that even Buggy is capable of sacrifice, when it's for someone he cares about. And what did he give up? His dream -- one of the most important things people have in One Piece.

Sure, it's possible to dismiss Buggy's decision as selfish, but remember: he didn't tell Shanks. He didn't expect anything in return. In a way, he has actually spared Shanks from feeling burdened; Shanks doesn't know the truth, and so he has no opportunity to feel guilt or responsibility for Buggy's decision. For a character like Shanks, who is defined by responsibility, this is also massively significant. Buggy's choice is not Shanks' fault, and by deflecting to trivial matters like the map, Buggy has -- intentionally or not -- lifted a possible weight from Shanks' shoulders. Shanks still feels the loss of their relationship, but instead of potential guilt, there is confusion and miscommunication.

So, no, I don't view Buggy's sacrifice as selfish. He did what he did because he truly believed in Shanks. He was willing to let Shanks become king and live out his dream, all without burdening Shanks with the truth. It's the antithesis of everything we've known about Buggy up until this point -- a decision without his greed, egomania, and overt schemes at the forefront. And if that's not a selfless act from Buggy, then I don't know what is.

[misc-obeyme]

It’s me I’m back with Lesson 34 spoilers below. (including the hard lesson)

I always try to write these posts shortly after finishing the lesson so that it’s like… my immediate and unfiltered thoughts lol. Sometimes I change my mind about stuff after I see other people’s interpretations of things. So if you were wondering why I’m taking the time to write this at 2 am, that’s why. I totally forgot about the lesson during the day due to the whole Thanksgiving thing.

ANYWAY.

I feel like we got SO MUCH BARB in this lesson?? He was barely in it. But we had other characters talking about him and that honestly makes me happy, too. Probably because I like when they give us some perspective into his character.

BUT FIRST.

Belphie. We were actually playing the role of Lilith in his little Celestial Realm dream sequence, right? And then at the end it’s all but we’re not siblings.

Listen. I just think that Belphie has a lot of unresolved trauma surrounding Lilith and I really don’t feel like having MC play hide-and-seek with him in a dream is going to be enough to help him move past it. Enough to make him want to help MC? Maybe. But I dunno.

However, I also think I probably shouldn’t expect anything more intense than that from an otome game. They were just trying to give us SOMETHING to explain why he was cool with making a pact.

WHICH WE FINALLY DID. With Beel, Belphie, AND Levi. I get Beel & Belphie doing theirs at the same time, but I’m still a little baffled about why Levi waited so long. There probably isn’t a reason, but who knows maybe they’ll surprise us with something lol.

Ah. Lucifer.

This was my favorite part:

I love Mammon, he always just says exactly what he’s thinking (unless it’s how much he loves MC lol).

But we all knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, right? We knew Lucifer would be last. We knew that Lucifer would be the most difficult one to make a pact with. Remember what happened with him last time? Of course he doesn’t want to make a pact with us now. We’re likely going to be going through some kind of long drawn out drama that will eventually lead to Lucifer giving in and making a pact with us.

However, I found both Solomon’s and Diavolo’s reactions to this absolutely hilarious:

Can the two of you take this seriously, please?? I know you both find Lucifer highly entertaining and yeah, I'm usually laughing at him most of the time, too, but I need that pact to get back to where I'm from, thanks.

But we’re only on Lesson 34. So I think we still have plenty of time to make a pact with Lucifer, learn the truth about Nightbringer, and return to our timeline (or have the timelines merge or whatever nonsense they’re gonna do).

I’m still hoping for all that to get resolved by the end of this season lol.

Now, I found this exchange from Belphie’s Celestial Realm shenanigans especially interesting:

Assuming this is accurate to what actually happened when Lucifer was still an angel, this means that the angels knew Barbatos. They know him by name, they clearly think he’s a big deal, and they’re surprised that he’s agreed to be Diavolo’s butler.

I was always under the impression that the demons and the angels didn’t really know much about each other. But now I’m wondering if maybe Barbatos had something to do with the end of the war that happened before the Celestial War. The one that was between the Celestial Realm and the Devildom. I have no reason for thinking this other than the fact that as angels, Lucifer & Simeon clearly know him. And what else would they know him from? Though I suppose anything could have happened lol.

And then there was all of this:

What does it MEAN?! (Obviously I chose the second option for MC's dialogue, which increased Barb's intimacy.)

Barbatos my true love. Why did you give MC a real piece of paper from your grimoire? He’s always been cautious, always keeping MC at arm’s length, and now all of a sudden it’s here’s a piece of my grimoire? There is NO WAY he doesn’t have all of the build up from the OG. I can’t believe that he would actually give MC a piece of his grimoire if he had only just met them at the beginning of Nightbringer. So I’m tacking this on as additional evidence that Barb knows all.

Also can we just appreciate Lucifer in 32-A? All his brothers are completely out of it and he single-handedly motivates every one of them back into action.

It sure worked, huh? Do you think the credit card is in the freezer yet?

You guys. THE HARD LESSON.

It was everything. I LOVE the Little Ds. I LOVE them hanging out with Diavolo. I LOVE that Barbatos couldn’t accompany MC because Diavolo requested some fancy human world dish. This entire hard lesson was *chef’s kiss*

GOD I love Barb's knowing look and Dia's little frown. I love them so much it's almost painful lol.

Okay that’s all I’ve got to say about this lesson. In general, I enjoyed it. They coulda played up Belphie’s yandere tendencies a bit more. I felt like his change of heart was rather rushed, but they really can’t put him through the therapy he needs. I don’t think the lessons are long enough for that.

[missinghan]

falling asleep in a time machine ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : mafia au; fluffy angst; hurt/comfort; female reader insert

❖ word count : 6,9k.

❖ warning : swearing, implied major character death, mention of arson, depictions of vomiting, killing, blood, death, can be brutal (!!!), delusional happy ending. 

❖ summary : four times you try to go back in time and save chan; or alternatively, you keep dreaming about chan to see if there is a way to undo his death when in reality there isn’t — from the world of illicit & priceless.

❖ author’s note : just finished my first term of uni (like actually the first term ever) and I’m so dead inside so here’s a silly little something. I can’t use pts anymore so pls bear with the banner *cries and dusts off this old blog* also I try to explain here why Chan was so attached and pissed off when mc stole his mother’s ring even though it’s accidental.

first attempt —

There are three missions that have altered the course of your and Chan’s relationship.

The first mission goes back to when you were still going on heists and Ryujin had foolishly put a piece of Chan’s mother’s sentiments into your pocket. Neither you nor Chan have come to know or like each other much before it.

The second one is the mansion with a bomb planted in the basement and Chan got locked inside a conference room with a three-layered door, one of them made from the same metal as the fucking Titanic. The third mission involves a casino where the Germans and Italians came together to push Chan toward a dead-end they had cultivated for the Devil himself, to his ultimate demise. They are all too arrogant to admit that Chan will take over the entirety of the East Asian market before any of them can start rolling in their graves.

Three missions of importance and not long after that, you and Chan have agreed to never go on a mission without each other. An unwritten contract. An unspoken promise. Nothing that the mafia engages in is legal so everything runs on trust, on how much faith you are willing to give those who you keep close.

However, there is a fourth mission that the Underworld records will fail to keep because even only a minuscule part of the Bang family is informed about this—how their precious heir has been summoned to bring home the girl he loves.

“Would you do laundry and taxes with me?”

“That’s an odd way to propose to someone, Y/N. And please, you’re asking an obvious question.” Chan looks up at you from his book. His smile is gentle, soft at the corners with his dimples sinking in—it’s how you know that he means it—the way it usually is these days. The way it has been for the past year. It is almost obscure, you think, how you both would have wanted each other’s head on a stick a year ago before one of you managed to make the other person cry out of gratitude.

You lift the book away from his face, glimpsing at the cover. Because Chan is an absolute heathen, he has been reading No Longer Human and you’re being annoying about it because he hasn’t come out to train with you for two days already. “Are you telling me you’ll say ‘no’?”

“We’re already doing laundry and taxes together. We will just have matching rings and a signed piece of paper,” Chan gives you a pointed look; he always looks so serious whenever he wants to correct you as if your sarcasm is that dry. “So it naturally implies as a ‘yes’, idiot,” he nags, even though he doesn’t mean the last part.

“Oh how you wound me, love,” you bite back, even though you don’t mean it either. “Chan, come on. You’re locking yourself up in a prison.”

Chan lets out a long, heavy sigh as if he’s insulted that you have just called his room a prison—which you never verbally hinted at, he simply interpreted it that way. He reaches over to grab the book from your hand, seemingly giving up his reading time for you, and places it on his bedside. 

“What are you–” You watch as Chan walks over to one of his mahogany drawers. “-doing?”

“I need caffeine to talk to you.”

Despite your bristling, he stays true to his words and finds himself a mug, a tea bag, along with a boiler. By the time Chan finishes filling up the boiler with water and turns on the heating switch, your legs are dangling over the edge of his bed as you puff up like a cat, baffled and offended. 

“So,” Chan inquires, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “What’s up?”

“I find your current state distressing to look at,” you elaborate with glee, a glint coming into your eyes that Chan knows you’re up to no good. “Take a week off with me. We can go anywhere you want, it’ll be a short getaway, just the two of us.”

Chan’s back is turned toward you because he’s too busy searching for a spoon but you can boldly assume that he’s smiling. It’s hinted in his tone when he asks, “You mean a vacation?”

“Brilliant interpretation, Chan,” you smile wryly. “Of course, I meant a vacation!”

“No, you can go have fun by yourself. You have my permission,” he shakes his head. “I have things to attend to. Meetings, banquets, important business transactions. You know how boring the mafia lifestyle is.”

You still, voice low and suppressed in something Chan can’t seem to grasp at. “You’re going back to your family.” It’s barely a movement, a small enough action. Any passerby would think that you have only faltered a little but Chan has observed you for a good while now to notice you’re holding your shoulders back from trembling. 

“I am going back to my family,” he repeats calmly. “Only for a week, though. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Chan, I know they want to see me.”

Chan tries not to let anything show on his face. “And they may very well kill you because that is what they are. Godawful, egoistic, and incapable of compassion.”

“Let me go with you, I—” you begin, though you cut yourself off almost instantly. The room is suddenly steeped in silence, unwieldy at the absence of your words. Every noise seems amplified in the quiet: the boys’ chatters echoing dully from the living room, the ticking hands of the clock, and every breath you take to calm the anxiety in your rib cage.

I do not fear death, sickness, or anyone’s hatred. What I fear most is losing you, Chan. It’s all so beyond you because a year ago, you were a thief, taking things as you please and sending them away when they’re no longer of use for your benefit. Now there is someone who you will live for and his kiss you will kill for, his laugh you will die for.

“Chan, do you have any idea what I would turn into if you left me?” You have always worried loudly, from the volume of your attentiveness and the anxiety beneath your skin all lie in the tender manner of how you love Chan—the same goes for him, that you can be certain of.

“I will never leave you, Y/N. We will be okay,” he assures you, unbearably calm.

Chan is a liar. 

second attempt —

Chan is supposed to go back to the Bang family’s estate with Yuriko for the New Year. Yuriko is the housekeeper whom he has retired for about a year ever since you came into the picture. The boys, especially Jisung, have been forced into keeping their surroundings clean because, for some wicked reason, they think you are absolutely terrifying when you’re upset about their muddy shoes dirtying the floor after a mission. Yuriko always giggles at that, her Young Master surely knows how to pick a partner. 

“I’ve got word that your father wants you to back to the estate, Young Master,” Yuriko tells Chan when she finds you and Chan in the archive because you have insisted on reading about something you won’t say a word to him. Surely, Chan recognizes what you’re searching for but he doesn’t mention it. 

“He said he wanted to make sure you are ready to take over his position. And there is a dinner he wants your attendance for,” Yuriko continues, hands clasped behind her back. You didn’t even realize when she stepped in and approached Chan—for a mere housekeeper to be so swift and quiet with her movements, you have long guessed that she’s not just any old woman to be hired by the Bang family.

The way Chan stiffens in his seat is telling all on its own. You are suddenly struck with the recurring memory of how Minho used to babble about how much of an ass Chan’s family is when he has had one too many drinks. “You don’t know how bigshot mafia families treat their children, do you? They kept the world from knowing for a reason. I’m surprised Chan didn’t turn out to be a monster like them.”

“Forgive me, Yuriko, but you can tell the old man to suck it up,” Chan says softly but his voice is dark, tense, riddled with a sharpness you haven’t heard from him in a long time—you were threatened just the same way when you had stolen his mother’s ring. Now you realize Chan only ever speaks so heartlessly if something precious to him is hanging on the verge of being taken away. 

“Young Master,” Yuriko frowns for two reasons; firstly, Chan has never been able to decline his blood family of anything and secondly, there isn’t much that she can do to solve the problem at hand. She’s a mere servant for the Bang family; she doesn’t have much power to begin with and therefore, she can’t exactly tell them ‘no’. 

“No, you can’t make me,” Chan grits because he knows, he understands it all too well. Unsaid words of all the things money can buy hang in the air like bile. 

“Young Master Christopher, you must know what happens if you defy your father.” And there goes Yuriko’s final warning along with Chan dashing out of the archive, straight through the hallway and the front door of the mansion, completely vanishing in the white curtain of December snow.

Yuriko murmurs something under her breath, unintended for you to hear her. You continue staring forward, the file in your hands completely forgotten. “He can come home with me,” you say without actually thinking about it until she turns to stare at you, expressionless before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“I think Young Master would like that.”

With that, you set off to find Chan.

“No one will love you unconditionally like we do.” “You belong to us, so do as we say.” “Work to kill, kill or you’ll die. You were born to kill, it’s a gift that not everyone receives.” “The world will bow before you and sway the way you want it but you’ll have to-”

“I don’t want any of that,” Chan hisses but the voices keep coming back louder, harsher, with more bite than he has ever heard from them. “None of you ever gave me anything that matters! You just can’t admit that you made me a murderer!!” 

The snow around him sinks with each step he takes, their words still echoing in his mind and sending shivers down his spine, driven so deeply inside his skull that he wishes he could have nothing of this reality. “Be mindful of yourself. Control it.” “Your fangs and claws are too sharp for you to be swinging just at anyone,” he hears them again

His nose burns in the cold but Chan doesn’t notice something warm and wet trickle down his cheekbones. “You never cared about restraint. You said I must kill or I would die. You all just want to possess me, you want me not as an heir but as a commodity!!”

“It’s how we’ve been running this family. It’s how we keep things in order. You’re one of us, Christopher, you are this family.”

With a huff, Chan eventually gives in and listens because he has no other choice but to; he slides down against concrete with a white-out vision, a quivering figure with nothing on but his cardigan. “Then you’re just as godawful as any of them,” he tells himself, knees curling against his chest, almost justified in his own lie that he wants to burst out laughing.

Chan knows they have made him more of a weapon than a child, more of a monster than a man and he is stuck with it for good. He has been holding onto life just because he can, not so much that he wants to. Because he never truly wanted anything before or was wanted in any way.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking man-child!”

He hears someone’s nagging from afar and ignores it, hugging himself impossibly tighter because asking for comfort is unacceptable, they taught him so. “Chan!!” He hopes it goes away with all of the other voices. 

It doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer in a humane form, boots crunching against the snow and warm breaths sounding rhythmically. “It’s been an hour. Do you have any idea how worried we all were- how worried I was?! What the actual hell,” you snap. “Now I’m going to hear all this shit from Seungmin again because I let you run off and he’s too terrified of you to properly lecture you. God-”

Your rambles cut off when you kneel down next to him, rummaging for a scarf, a pair of gloves, yet another pair of gloves, his puffer jacket, and a hat from your bag. Chan quietly watches as he tries to blink away the oncoming tears but he can’t—they keep coming. He doesn’t reply when your scolding goes on because even though your voice is sharp, Chan can catch the worry hidden along the edges. Being cared for and cherished like this has made him realize how much he doesn’t want to come back to his family and he wants to cry like he’s the fourteen-year-old boy who used to refuse to pick up a gun all over again.

A child who was unable to stuff down the overwhelming agony and grief forced upon him. A child who was weaponized. A child who was threatened into killing his own mother. “If you can’t kill what you hold near and dear, you’ll never be able to kill anyone to save yourself.”

“Chan?” you call out to him, unbearably soft. There’s a certainty, a sort of gentleness in the way his name is said that only makes his tears come hotter, more and more of it because your love feels big, overwhelming.

Chan hates crying so he never did, not when they had locked him up in his room, not when they had starved him because of his disobedience, not when they had made him pull the trigger with the gun’s mouth pressing against his mother’s chest. Chan hates crying but it seems to be all he’s doing now. 

You’re wrapping him up so gently and trying to warm him up because you know he’s just as human as any mundane individual out there. Humans shiver when the temperature drops, they shed tears when they’re upset, and they bleed and bruise at the right amount of impact. That’s why humans are so clingy toward each other so they can prevent harm from coming the other person’s way. Because no one enjoys getting hurt and there is no good reason to voluntarily get hurt; it sounds like common sense but Chan never grew up with such things. He never came to think he was deserving of such things.

“Chan, come home with me. Forget your family. I don’t need to know about them,” you smile at him, somehow empathetic and so understanding when Chan has barely given you an explanation, when he is desperate to fill the silence but he knows his voice will be weak with tears, stumbling, and pitching all over the place.

Chan sniffles, finding the courage to say something back because he wants to, not because he feels like he has to, “Can I really…come-come home with you?”

“I’m sure the girls wouldn't mind, they might be a little annoying. Yeji, though, can be wary of strangers,” you shrug, something so relaxed about your posture tells him that you have learned to accept something without telling him. 

A breathy chuckle. “Especially when they’re a mafia leader.”

An exhale. Chan shudders when you embrace him wholly—every moment of pride and arrogance, betrayal and hurt that he has been boxing away—as the beautiful mess that he is. You’re the safest person on the face of Earth not because you are on equal terms with him in power but because you never care about those things. You will let him break something, burn something down, cry, and laugh however he pleases but you won’t ever let go of his hand. You never ask him for anything in return while continuing to save him over and over again.

He’s so unbelievably lucky, Chan thinks but doesn’t say it aloud, instead, he tells you, “If you’ll have me.”

The night after you drive Chan back to your mansion, the place goes up in flames. Only you are able to open your eyes to see the next daylight.

“Welcome home,” you want to whisper but can only watch a last smile bloom on the face of a ghost amidst the orange blaze.

third attempt —

You decide to come home with Chan.

For a non-mafia family, it might go like this.

Meeting Chan’s parents will be the hardest thing you have ever done—and that is coming from someone who has broken through the world’s most modern security systems and got your hands on objects worth billions of dollars. 

You will bow when you meet them, use the politest speech you have taught yourself last minute, and desperately try not to remember how Chan was forced to shoot his own mother as a child. They will pinch your cheek and call you lovely, chuckling at how stiff you are and offering you a ‘Come on in! Don’t mind the mess, it’s always how our house is.’

You will smile and you will play along because you want them to like you so badly it hurts. 

Chan will gawk at you without even trying to hide it because you have given him a completely different experience upon your first encounter. Casual, timid, and quick with your tongues when it comes to those witty retorts.

They will then ask you, ‘‘What are your hobbies? Any sports? Instruments?’’ Purely in the Asian parents’ style. 

You will be so nervous that you forget you play the violin and practice meditation occasionally. You will sit at their dinner table in their cozy, lived-in home, and rack your brain for a proper answer that might be deemed reasonable for a mundane girl. “It can be anything you do for fun, honey. No need to be nervous,” they will say again and you will give them a small grimace in return. 

It’s probably deeply fucked up when the first thing that comes to your mind is ‘I retired from heists a year ago because museums are fucking boring so I have moved on to finding new and creative ways to eliminate anything that might be the cause of Chan’s suffering.’

“…You play the violin beautifully,” Chan will suggest quietly beside you, his hand laced with yours beneath the table. “And you interrupt my reading time whenever you need attention.”

“I…I like to be with you,” you will finally find the courage to say with a firm squeeze of his hand, and the strength to smile when his eyes widen faintly, flustered yet not surprised. 

Still, it doesn’t matter whether Chan was born from a mafia family. You don’t hesitate to hold his hand beneath the table when Chan tenses up from the disappointed gaze of his father, lean over ever so slightly, and whisper, “I like to be with you.” He almost gasps but refrains. “Wherever we are. As long as you allow me to stay by your side.”

For once, Chan lets himself think that he won’t fuck up something before he even gets to have it in his arms. 

You did come home with Chan even if the dinner is anything but cozy and mundane. Their smiles are cold porcelain, a familiarity with death so staggering you feel nauseous. They are all here, though. Every single one of them. “I’ll be back,” you say and excuse yourself to use the restroom, he assumes.

Chan finds an uneasy slick in his throat, almost thick like blood when he sees a bright thing in your eyes. He lets you go anyway. Will things happen differently if he holds you back? 

Minutes after your withdrawal from the dinner table, an explosion goes off downstairs. The mansion quivers with a long string of rumble, a horrible feeling looming over everyone in the room like an ugly shadow. Though, no one bats an eye. Maintaining such a high position in the Underworld for so long is more than enough for the bounty on each of their heads to go up to millions of dollars. 

As much as Chan detests his blood family, he doesn’t want to die here, a horrendous place for his corpse to be found. So he stands as the rest of the room begins arming themselves, doing his best not to pay any heed to his father, and bolts downstairs. 

In situations like this, he is taught to close his heart and kill. Hence why there was barely any screaming when the commotion occurred, only the metallic sounds of bullets being clicked into their chamber. Truth be told, there is a weapon vault on the main floor of the mansion. Chan knows the most efficient shortcut there and can run through any hallways even without any lights on. He did grow up in this terrible place, and now he will make use of that to get you out of here before anything else. 

Chan arrives at the main floor and there is nothing but a giant hole and crumbled metal pieces in the weapon vault—or what used to be the weapon vault, blown up by a bomb it seems. Well, shit, he doesn’t even know how to register this. The entrance to his father’s most treasured place in the mansion has a three-layered door with an extremely lethal surveillance system, who and how the fuck-

He stops. He doesn’t so much as twitch. It gives him a moment of pure chill when the main floor has gone completely muted, both audibly and visually, like his life has just tipped off balance and leaned towards the bad part of a zombie movie. Upstairs, there is a cry for help and the sound of bullets continuously firing. 

“My fucking god,” Chan curses and turns on his heels, steeling himself mentally while rushing up the stairs. 

Upon arriving at the scene, it’s difficult to say whether turning up just five minutes earlier would have made much of a difference. Fuck, but if he had held you back, would things have taken a different turn?

There is a lot of blood. Too much blood to be explained away, and too much evidence to be traced back to no one else other than you. Well, to be fair, you’re the only person still standing and kicking aside from Chan anyway. The shotgun in your hand with a silencer attached speaks volumes, a knife between your teeth, and your left hand is fisted tightly. 

“…Y-Y/N,” Chan utters, in disbelief. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?” 

You release something in your left hand and several fifteen-bullet magazines drop to the ground, the sound scratching his spine in the wrong way. The knife also hits the ground, metal echoing loudly against hard marble. 

“You’re here, Chan,” you reply, like your hands and clothes aren’t painted red. Swiftly, you duck to fumble for something beneath the dining table. Chan’s gaze follows you suit, prompting uneasiness to crawl down his throat when he realizes everything is, quite literally, drenched in blood. When he manages to snap out of it, you are unwrapping something from a white blanket—Berry, his eight-year-old Spaniel. 

You don’t look one bit surprised to see him—you have been expecting him. You simply keep on tucking Berry neatly into the blanket, murmuring something along the lines of ‘it’s over now’ and ‘I’m sorry I scared you’. Berry offers you a small whimper in return, still startled and recovering from the loud ruckus. 

Chan inhales very slowly. Exhales. “What did you do?”

“I killed everyone here,” you say levelly, as if mass murder is no big deal. “You’re a little late. I thought your intuition would be keener than that.”

“This is no time for a fucking joke,” he snaps. Chan has snapped because he’s mad at himself. He has been living purely by his intuition for more than two decades already, without it he would have died a long time ago. Yet when it comes to you, he’s always the most irrational. 

Your lips twitch like you’re about to smile but realize he’s upset. “You’re right, sorry.” 

Chan moves further into the room, his shoes squelching with each blood-drenched step he takes. He takes the scene in once again and keeps calm because that is what he has trained himself to do ever since the first time he got kidnapped. When his gaze brushes over the corpse of his father, he tries not to think about anything just yet. What’s done is done but Chan can piece the scene together from the explosion downstairs—a bait that anyone will be eager to take and a good way to disarm your enemies—to the scattering of hole-filled bodies, their blood blooming against the marble floor like a grotesque bouquet.

The crux of it is you know all too well he will run to find you without question, lending you the space and time to kill whoever remains.

“Why?”

Your eyes sweep over the mass of bodies, dull and distant. “Does it really matter?” You don’t think it’s fair to say you did it because you love him; it will become a curse that haunts him for as long as he lives. Yes, you love Chan with your entire soul but you also simply want to act as you please, allowing yourself to have your selfish ways of declaring your love for him. 

His chest heaves without any stability. “I thought you said you’re used to taking many things but you don’t take lives!!”

You cut right in, all glass. “Will anyone be able to do anything about it? Can anyone possibly arrest me, Chan?” 

Chan shudders, a sour thing gnawing at the back of his throat. It’s a morbid feeling he knows will become recurring at night, on the bad days. Chan wants to be furious, it feels like a moral obligation to be. Then again, everything the world has learned about empathy is already torn up by his family, they smeared it beneath their feet like it’s common trash. In the end, all of his nightmares and source of fear amounts to this, a mass of corpses with no resolution. 

“Do you want to kill me, Chan? If so, do it. You’re your own person, you are free.” 

Your eyes have turned into ice, and suddenly you have become so intangible that Chan slowly grows afraid. He thinks of terrible things, Am I allowed to have you? What makes you want me so badly? Why am I different from any of them?

The sound of retching interrupts his train of thought. It takes him precisely half a second to stare at how you are folded over your knees, dry heaving at the marble floor with Berry fumbling for help right at your side. Chan rushes to you to keep your hair out of your face as you gasp for air, choking on stomach bile and body raking with shudders. Once his hand smooths over the fabric on your back, you eventually cough and hack out the last of whatever is left that your system rejects. 

You breathe as shallowly as you can. Quiet wheezes, hollow breaths that pull in and out of your lungs too quickly. Chan rubs small, gentle circles on your back and doesn’t expect it when you snap up to look at him with wide, pained eyes as though you didn’t just murder his entire family in cold blood minutes ago, like you didn’t just take out the Underworld’s most feared lineage of demons by yourself.

Chan decides not to say anything, lets you lean into him shakily, and tries to figure out what you’re attempting to do with your hands. Dry blood makes your skin itchy every time your fingers twitch but you don’t mind it. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he finally whispers with you sitting in the circle of his arms; you’re shaking like you’re sobbing even though you make no noise and cry no tears. Chan lets you squirm with a wild mania in your eyes, frantic and lost. He can’t quite pinpoint what you want until he gets it. 

You stop shaking the moment your head leans against the left side of his chest, right where his beating heart is. A pattern in his rib cage and a rhythm in your ears, relief so immense you feel like you can finally breathe. What you want is just to hear the sound of his heartbeat. It makes Chan feel a little exposed, somewhat scrutinized but he really doesn’t mind taking himself apart to hand his heart over to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your tone wet and warm with oncoming tears. 

Chan presses his lips into a thin line, feeling like a hypocrite when he keeps you caged in his arms. “What are you sorry for, silly?” From the bottom of his heart, it’s abominable, he thinks—that even amidst such gruesome bloodshed created by your own hands, Chan is relieved that you are not hurt.

“I’m sorry this isn’t real.”

fourth attempt —

Chan is coming home with you. The childhood home you used to grow up in with two extremely loving, a little too oblivious parents who never once questioned their daughter’s occupation in the big city. 

It takes time to adjust but Chan is sliding into your little family without noticing it himself. He manages to impress your mom with his cooking and discusses politics with your dad. You might be going delusional but you swear you saw him chuckling faintly at your parents’ terrible taste of reality TV. 

The house might only amount to one-tenth of his mansion but it smells like fresh laundry all around, tender and soft, smothered in the love of ordinary human beings. So everything just feels that much bigger, a love so warm and overwhelming it stains Chan’s eyes with unfamiliar myriads of emotions. It takes him a few days to finally laugh a little louder, not refraining his speech to specifically formal phrases, and allowing himself to nag you in front of your parents. He even makes a sound of disbelief when you keep telling them he’s only a friend from work.

“Oh my god, why are you so salty about it,” you chide and close your bedroom door. “If I had said you’re my boyfriend, they would have started interrogating you!” 

Chan sits on the duvet you have laid on the floor for him—your childhood bed is too small to share—and mumbles something morbid under his breath, “I am quite good at tolerating any methods of torture thank you very much.” However, he doesn’t miss the look your parents give you whenever you bid them goodnight with Chan hovering over you in a way that’s nowhere near platonic.

You snort, actually, no, it’s too bitter for you to even react. “The worst they will do is leave you out when we watch TV,” you grin to relieve the inevitably building tension, shit-eating and all.

“That’s cruel. You know I love reality TV,” Chan replies, completely monotone. He flings an arm over his eyes like he’s putting in effort to mimic a dying body trying to convey his love in a Shakespeare play. Wrestling with like ten other housewives to buy those eggs on sale for your mom was more of a workout than any gun fights he has engaged in.

“Sleep. Mom said we’re going outside tomorrow,” you huff, tossing him a teddy bear from your bed—the amount of stuffed animals you own is impressive, they easily take up half of your bed so Chan had to accept his fate with the duvet. 

“I thought we’re heading back?”

“We will after going out with her. She said she wanted something from the bakery.”

Chan hums in response, his gaze skimming over the interior of your room again. Light pink wallpapers, white bookshelves and wardrobe lining the corners, and soft hues of blue on your bed and curtains to top it all off. “Truly, you are the designer of a generation.”

“Toddlers usually don’t like black. And I was eight, Chan, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, the sound so hearty it makes him want to bottle it and keep it all to himself like a child hiding his favorite candy. 

“Hurts my eyes a little, but I like it,” he declares and unwinds for the day.

You never realize you don’t really walk around town every time you visit your parents. Maybe it’s because you didn’t have many friends growing up, meaning there’s no one to call up for a hangout, or maybe it’s because all of the memories you want to relive here are with your parents, in the warmth of their home. So you walk down the sleepy streets with laziness on your shoulders, somewhat at peace when Chan can’t seem to keep his eyes in one place, secretly comparing the imageries of bright, colorful Seoul with this hazy rural area.

“What is that place over there?” He asks when you stride past a sketchy-looking building when in reality, it’s a spa run by this really nice old lady upstairs.

“Did you go to school here?” He ponders when you glance at what looks like a middle school; no kids are running and shouting in the playground since it’s the New Year holiday. 

Your mom notices how much curiosity Chan has for an apparent mid-twenties young adult so she giggles, offering to point out something she thinks he might be interested in, “That’s a small park Y/N used to play at. She wouldn’t leave when I came to pick her up after work.”

You can’t decide if you should scowl at your mom or burst out laughing at her implication that Chan, the leader of a notorious mafia group, should go and sit on one of the swings while she heads inside the bakery. “Come on, Chan,” you quickly make your choice. 

Chan sighs, though the sound is fond because he sees a sort of excitement blooming loud and clear in your pretty eyes. You have observed Chan long enough to know when he has given in so you laugh, turning to your mom and saying, “We’ll be back in a minute.” The familiar promise melts Chan inside out but he doesn’t tell you that. 

You accidentally drop your phone while walking down the stone steps so you turn away for half a second. And when you look back, Chan is seated neatly on the swing which is definitely not fitting for his age—his long legs dragging against the soil as his arms are crossed in front of his chest. As serious as he tries to look, you find the whole imagery so ridiculously unserious. He senses your gaze burning holes on the back of his neck so he stands, reaches upward, and lifts himself to sit on the metal bar that the chains rain down from.

“Chan, what the fuck, that’s not how you use a swing,” you chide, nearly rolling on the ground and barking a laugh. “If I take a photo of you right now, how dead am I?”

Chan doesn’t even need to turn his head. “What do you think?”

He looks down when your footsteps squish against the snow and he tries to imagine how a little you would hang around this place for an entire afternoon, up to no good things while waiting for your mom. “Concise as always, boss,” you purse your lips at him, nostalgia a heavy weight on the curve of your shoulders as you peer over places you used to designate as your hiding spots. 

Chan catches something shifting on your face and he ponders; why would you voluntarily involve yourself in outlaw doings when you could have had a perfectly normal life? “When did you start stealing?” 

“Probably when my parents sent me away for university. I hated it. School was hard and the expenses were awful for their bank accounts but they wouldn’t tell me that,” you mutter and decide to join him, legs dangling over the edges, a confession dragged from your lips unwillingly. 

Chan scoots a little closer, a hand reaching over to your left side to keep you from falling. “And you figured you were pretty good at it?”

“Nothing to be proud of, obviously,” you shake your head and can’t help a small grin. “Okay, maybe just a little. I was making money from racing on the side as well.” 

It takes him a moment to register your words when surprise halts the words in his throat. No wonder you’re better at handling car chases than any of his teammates who have been involved in this business for years. You look over at him, seeing that he’s having trouble reacting so you pinch his nose teasingly, “I know, so sexy, ain’t it?” 

Chan rolls his eyes, neglects the warmth spreading on his cheeks, and simply sits with you. The swing creaks and groans beneath the weight of two adults, rust staining his hand when he lifts it to check. 

“It was enough money for me to graduate and I was fine with that. Mind you I was always the top of my class,” you scoff, thinking of long days when you used to get little to no sleep, of when you had mustered the best smiles for your parents through FaceTime, of how you had begun not caring for how much money the jewels you had stolen were worth. 

None of it matters anymore, you think as you lean into Chan, and he lets you. “I’ll guess this, you were homeschooled?”

Chan doesn’t answer immediately as realization tightens his ribs. You don’t talk about home or how you grew up, and Chan doesn’t talk about his parents. Perhaps you both are similar in that way so neither of you mind when the other person never initiated it. “I was. Everything I ever learned was taught in that forsaken mansion. Most of it, actually.”

“Everything?”

“You can’t run away from what you’re surrounded with,” he says, and there’s a chilling edge to it, an icy kind of shiver that makes your fingers more numb than the winter cold ever can. 

“Chan, you’re not them,” you declare out of the blue, eyes crinkling up in adoration. “You are free, okay? No matter how hard they try to ruin you, you can’t become them.”

When you look up again, his eyes have a glassy shine when he says, “I know that now.”

“Don’t cry,” you huff out a breath.

“I’m not crying,” Chan shakes his head slowly, voice suspiciously shaky. “I guess I just thought you had a lot to live for and I was…you know, it was arrogant of me to keep you by my side.”

You laugh, a sharp, crisp bark of a sound that cuts right through his doubts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If I wanted to run, I would have and no one could catch me, not now, not ever.”

“Well, I did,” Chan retorts, though there is no bite to it.

“Only because I let you,” you play along sedately. It’s the soft hum of your voice that makes breathing for him feel easier, and his shoulders feel lighter. When Chan exhales, it no longer tastes like the unfathomable, untouchable nightmares that he was so used to choke down, swallow, and not allow himself to throw them up as proof to show anyone else. 

Your mom returns perhaps in about an hour, a box tucked in her arms and groceries hanging from her elbow. “Time to go back,” she yells from the top of the stone steps. “We need to cook dinner, kids!”

You don’t dare budge. Chan notices it and nudges your shoulder gently, sensing your discontent. “You heard your mom, come on now.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you disagree. “Let’s stay here. I want to go to the beach with you when it gets warmer. And diving, kayaking, too!”

“You told me to leave my credit cards back home. You’ll have to feed me and pay all of my expenses,” Chan reminds you.

“Guess what, I left mine at home too,” you reply breezily. Maybe you both need to find new jobs. You don’t think Chan should worry about that because there’s nothing that he can’t do if he puts his mind to it, he’s just that great. Chan is the greatest thing there is, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You watch rosy lips part, brown eyes widening as his grip on your shoulder falters faintly. “I don’t deserve good things, Y/N. I can’t stay here with you,” Chan says like he means it. “Tell me to leave.” He really is stupid until the very end.

“If you’re worried about that, I’ll kindly decline my spot in heaven and go to hell with you,” you assure him, your voice chirping with mirth but even that doesn’t seem to elevate his gloom at all. A groan. “Fine then, as the most wonderful person alive, I now denounce us of all our wrongdoings. And I announce us to be the best of normal friends as normal people!”

His solemn expression crumbles and now he just looks straight up insulted. “It’s supposed to be ‘husband and wife’,” Chan nags while fighting off a grin of his own.

A light feeling burgeons in your chest. “I thought you didn’t care about that kind of thing? We’re already doing laundry and taxes together, right? It’s not like we have enough money to buy the rings either.”

“I suppose I’ll have no say in that,” Chan sighs in defeat, finally smiling brightly as he reminds himself of what he has, and what he wants to become for you. “But I like to be with you as well. If you’ll have me.”

You look back at him, wanting nothing more than to burn those words into the flesh of your heart. “I already have you right here, don’t I?”

Because Chan’s existence is etched deeply somewhere inside your soul. And you love him everyday for that.

❖ note (yet again) : hello there, if you have reached the end, thank you so much for reading! I wish 2024 will bring you and your loved ones nothing but happiness and great health! (no one asked but I really tried to simplify their speech of affection towards each other here compared to illicit & priceless because all they really want is to be normal people living a normal life)

[insidefernweh]

Well, hello.

A couple months ago one silly woman (me) decided that it’s time for creativity to take a hold of her and let something cool into this world.

And that’s how I decided to give birth to…a The Amazing Devil blanket. Or I might have dreamed it whilst being feverish. Who knows.

It’s been three months of stitching, embroidering, sewing, unmaking the mistakes, cursing, saying ‘waahheeey’ at the end of the complete step, cursing again and enjoying the hell out of the process of something being made into the realness. 

It is literally the embodiment of me. I love it and hate it equally. It has got my favourite quotes from the songs. Yes, that’s me — your favourite girl with maelstrom of lyrics instead of a brain. It also has got some of my blood somewhere along the stitches (did i do it on purpose to please the fae gods aka Joey and Madeleine? you’ll never know. hashtag blood magic.) I wanted to get it done for the Ruin Appreciation Week (though it contains lyrics from all albums) so that was me last week because it was very FAR from being done:

I’m posting the bigger picture + close ups of smaller details and songs’ lyrics. Please feel free to reach out if you want to see a better close up or just to pat me on the head.

I’m posting a video too. It’s silly so enjoey. (ha! see what I did here. that was a typing accident. it’s 1am now. forgive me my jokes.)

warning: the video include some probably offensive actions to the professional seamstresses. i’m only a humble ignorant person who decided to sew for the first time in her life. i do hope you’ll like it.

references used:

the central embroidery: TAD’s old picture from some posters back in the love run era + some sage and forget-me-nots

top right and left bottom corners: pictures of joey and madeleine

songs: secret worlds, the calling, inkpot gods, drinking song for the socially anxious, chords, farewell wanderlust, not yet/love run (reprise), that unwanted animal, battle cries, elsa’s song, wild blue yonder

UPD: A few of you have been asking about the quotes I used on my blanket/quilt and why I chose them so here I am:

If you ask me for my fire, just watch me burn — you know what, I recently started to interpret this line in a positive way? It was a recent thing I understood about myself. I always thought I was good at working/doing things well in the long run, when you have to do it patiently and for years but in my journey of self-discovery I realized that in reality I’m much better as a sprinter — someone who does an incredible job while being under the vast amount of pressure and when you need to do it in a restricted period of time; I will give all of myself to this project/work, every bit of passion I have, every bit of patience. So yeah. If you ask me for my fire — just watch me burn. But then I’ll hibernate for a month. 

Can’t you hear it howling? — OKAY HANDS DOWN PROBABLY MY FAVOURITE LYRICS/MELODY SECTION FROM THE WHOLE RUIN ALBUM. Even not the part that is sung by Madeleine, but the back voices Joey’s harmonies sing in the final chorus at 4:28 and till the end. OOOOH WHY SO GOOD.

If I don’t make it back from where i’ve gone just know I loved you all along — this is such a beautiful closing of the song. also such a tormenting thought. i love it.

Such endless blue — I’ve always been drawn to the dark blue colours, especially when I paint. I always run out of the blue watercolour because contrary to this song, it’s not endless :D I’m manifesting an abyss of blue watercolour for myself here lol

You say the words so often but I barely know the meaning — okay so Elsa’ Song is primarily pretty heartbreaking right? The more heartbreaking part being that it is sung as a lullaby. Who didn’t have that moment when the meaning of the words you’re saying slips through your fingers just because you said them too often? Who didn’t have that sad awakening moment of losing trust in a person just because they always promised something and never did it?

After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last — I’ve been thinking about tattooing this quote for quite a while now. It reminds me of my depressive state which very often returned to me in summer and every time it slowly creeped away, I felt the hunger for life in the early autumn.  Every time felt like an eternity. 

Is nought but fumble-falls and guns and tumbleweeds, love, run — my favourite quote from the superior use of the English language that is that section in Love Run. I am in love with it. All the phonetic twirls makes me shiver sometimes.

Well, hello my hollow Holofernes — ALLITERATION SUPREMACY!!  

I’ll sing silence and ask my glass of wine for guidance — i love to sit at home alone and stare into my glass. it doesn’t answer though. what about it. and again — to sing silence? OXYMORONS GIVE ME THEM

Go tell me how we fucked you up and oh my god, it’s so unfair — ah. the hardship of parenting/teaching. I was there, I remember it all too well. 

Let’s us waltz for the dead — the oxymoronic style of this line IS JUST A CHEF’S KISS. WALTZ? VERY SOPHISTICATED THING? FOR THE DEAD? NOT THAT PLEASANT TYPE OF A THING? mister batey let me boop you affectionately on the nose you are so clever.

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (part 3)

Part 1 // Part 2

After his work is done and Dream finds the time to retreat to his chambers, he pulls out Hob Gadling’s notebook and reads Hob's last journal entry in its entirety.

June 8th, 1989

Dearest stranger, my friend! 

I can't believe I am allowed to call you that! Let me tell you that I nearly fainted when I found your message in my notebook this morning. I've read the words you've written a hundred times by now and still I almost can't believe them to be real. I can’t believe I’m touching the pen you must have held, that I missed your presence in my room

As devastated as I was after you didn't come yesterday, as happy am I that you chose to contact me after at all.

I'm quite embarrassed about my drunken ramblings that you must have read. There's no lie in them, but I would try and put the truth into less desperate words if I could. I must seem like a fool, fixating on you like this, after all we've only met six times so far. Still, what I wrote, that you are my one constant in life, is nothing but the truth. Our meetings are fixed points in time that I measure this immortal life of mine by now. I try not to, but meeting with you has often felt like the start and finish of an era of Hob Gadling, despite it being probably more in the middle of several. Every centennial meeting with you was the most important appointment that I would plan and prepare for (as best as I could) for months, sometimes years. So if writing to you like this is the only way I get to speak to you then I will gladly take it, and thank you for it. 

But make no mistake, dear stranger - I would love to see you again and I hope you will be ready and willing to meet me in person again someday. Because

As we are sharing truths and have both admitted that we're lonely, I would like you to know that I have never been content with our schedule. If you're willing I would love to meet you a lot more frequently. A lot of things I'd like to tell you about are long forgotten again when we meet. I guess this book is a good way to share stories with you more often now, if a regular Friday night at the pub isn't your thing. I kept notebooks like this all my life, to be able to peruse them in preparation for our meetings and choose the best stories to tell you, because I knew I wouldn’t have enough time to share them all. We got cut short so often, I wonder how you appeared to know me so well without me telling you overly much. But then, that is what you do, isn’t it?

Like with Lushing Lou, you know everyone. And now you mentioned that you do not forget anyone. Do you truly know everything about me then? Is me telling you stories of my life more of an amusement than a necessity for you? Could you actually know it all with a glance instead of listening to me ramble for hours?

Please forgive me, my friend, I do not mean to sound offended. You wrote that you enjoy our meetings - and apparently my ramblings - and I know you would not lie to me.

You do enjoy stories, then. Is that it? Are you a collector of stories? Of histories? Or is your interest actually in my interpretation of these stories and events, in how a mere human experiences the things that are so easily visible to you? I remember the spark in your eyes when I told you about printing. I was such a dewy-eyed fool then, it almost makes me laugh to remember. Did you already know what Gutenberg’s machine would mean for the advancement of humanity? Did you see me finally shaking off my rough and bloody persona as a step in the right direction? Or were you simply interested, like you said, in my experience, and how I would change over the years?I admit, waiting for you to finally tell me who you are is hard for me. But I’ve waited this long and I will wait longer, and I won’t be offended if it takes you another hundred years to tell me. We have time, after all.

Much has happened in the last hundred years. Mostly war. Humans have reached new heights of cruelty. We have become even more ingenuous at killing ourselves. We have created weapons to wipe out all of humanity. We are one wrong phone call away from destroying all we’ve accomplished with the press of a button. People are overthrowing their regimes left and right and while that is generally a good thing, I am still looking over my shoulder, metaphorically, stashing money and valuables in uncanny places like a pirate of old, in preparation for what might yet turn into a true apocalypse.

It is stressful, and I admit that the new drugs are very tempting. I have not been able to resist trying most of them over the last two decades, either to be able to relax or to be able to feel something other than dread, to see some colours in all this grey.

I participated in both wars and it left me unable to sleep properly for decades. Not that sleep was anything to look forward to. If I tell you that I’ve not had a dream since before the first World War started you will surely think that I’m being silly. That I just don’t remember them. But let me tell you, about a week ago I had the first dream since, I think it must have been 1916 or 17. It wasn’t anything magical or special, (just something very simple, about lying in the grass on a hill, looking at the sky and watching bright blue birds fly overhead) but when I woke up I cried because I felt such a profound relief! Relief that I could dream again! 

I did dream of something strange soon after, though.I dreamed of a skeletal little man, mad and raving, chasing someone that looked like a weird bird man - and here I want to make clear that I do not intend to insult you, dear friend!, but this man that looked like a bird and at the same time was neither, he reminded me of you. I can’t really put my finger on it. Just something in the way he moved, maybe, or the tilt of his head-

Anyway, it was a strange dream, and I felt reminded of you, which is why I am mentioning it, I guess. I’m sorry for rambling about silly dreams. But their return (for I am certain dreams returned, I did not simply start remembering them again) has made me hopeful again.

Maybe times are a-changin’, who knows. They always are, and hopefully for the better this time.

I could tell you a lot more of the last century, of course, but I don’t know if you care to hear war stories. I do not necessarily want to drag all those unpleasant memories up, as it took me years of therapy to get over a lot of them, if you can forgive me for summing things up like I did.

I will think of better and brighter things to tell you and write to you again soon. I would be very happy if I found a reply from you in the meantime, but please use this book at your own leisure and don’t feel pressured to answer me every time I start rambling at you.

I hope to

Yours, Hob

Yours. Dream swallows and reads the word again, traces it with his finger. Yours.

Hob considers himself Dream’s. He knows it’s just an expression used when writing letters, but somehow Dream also knows that Hob means it to be more than just an empty phrase.

His.

Dream does not know if he wants Hob to consider himself Dream’s. Dream would not trust himself with another, not before and certainly not after his ordeal. Where before his imprisonment he had felt too sharp, too lonely, too easily enraged, he now feels brittle, too thin and too vulnerable. He cannot hold another’s heart and keep it safe. He cannot be trusted with the affections of another. He has learned that, over the last billion years. Every relationship he has ever had has ultimately failed. Because of him.

He does not want Hob’s and his relationship to fail. He intends to fix this friendship that he knows he does not deserve but cannot stop himself from clinging to. Few are truly loyal to him, Dream has learned, even fewer because they want to. Hob is singular in that regard, in his enthusiasm and friendliness when it comes to Dream, despite, or rather because he does not know him. And there Dream’s thoughts circle back to his predicament again.

He wants Hob to know him and like him, but Dream is terrified that introducing himself to Hob will leave their barely-mended friendship ready to break completely.

With a heavy sigh he stops moving, realising that he has been walking in circles in his chamber while his thoughts do the same.

Maybe it will be better to simply start writing.

Part 4

[freckliedan]

wait i’m loving this can you elaborate more on the moon card for dan and death card for phil? and what your interpretation is?

i agree that they’ll need a little post tour break but that it’ll be more definitive, like ‘hey we’re going to take 4-6 weeks to chill so don’t expect anything’ kind of thing.

i mean phil's very clearly heading in that direction; death is about massive amounts of change. phil very clearly wasn't going to have a crazy girl era at the same time as dan, like?

in a long term relationship sometimes overlapping bad days are unavoidable but often you can like. take turns having a truly "i'm figuring out who i am and being insane and trying new things and processing some stuff for a while" era.

and i think dan and phil's relationship is healthy, but that phil also put a lot on hold for years that he didn't even realize he wasn't processing. but it froze him up. and dan had his crazy girl era first after they came out because it was still a part of his necessary journey yknow? and until touring WAD dan still hadn't fully self-actualized as an individual outside of the context of his relationship with phil.

so now it's phil's turn to reinvent/rediscover himself. to go crazy ahh go stupid. and we've been seeing the slow build of that, the phlonde is a MASSIVE early piece of it, but like. 2025. mark my words. will be for the fucking phillies.

the moon as dan's tarot card of 2025 goes CRAZY. btw. it's about emotions/dreams/intuition/anxieties+fears/possibilities and discerning what is true for you when things are unclear; it's very much so a card related to one's inner world and how connected they are to it.

and the moon can be very directly connected to femininity.

dan howell. gender is coming for you bad.

i do not think the moon will be an easy card for dan to integrate the learning from? considering the way he overthinks. but i'm also completely unsurprised that tour is going to contribute to something like this? i was already kind of anticipating the possibility but it wasn't something i was willing to Predict (tm) before.

but like. it matches the pattern. tour means interfacing with a lot of fans and we know that interactive introverts had a massive impact on dan's processing and readiness to share about his sexuality. so many of us are very gendery now and dan's been talking a lot about gender in the last year.

and now he's going to get whammied by the fucking moon. >:)

whatever. anyways. phil's gonna blow everyone's dicks plumb off with never before seen confidence and hotness and dan's getting a new gender. as far as i can tell.