#the image of like.... showing the worst parts of yourself mercy and understanding

[clonerightsagenda]

Ok I swear I will go to bed after this and I have made basically this same post before but while people talk a lot about Vimes' possession by a spirit of vengeance, I love the storyline of Tiffany getting possessed by an entity of desperate desire. She spends the whole book out of her element, struggling to fit in socially, wanting something to hide behind, and the hiver feels the same way. It's formless and helpless without a body to wear, and all it wants is to accumulate whatever will keep itself safe. It doesn't realize what that does to everyone around it. It's our id. It gives us what we want, even when it's not what we need.

And Tiffany gets her body taken over and watches herself threaten and steal and kill, forced to acknowledge that these actions stem from what the hiver sees in her, and when she gets free she pities it. She understands what it means to be scared and alone and ruled by your worst impulses. She gives it a name. She takes its metaphorical hand and helps it through the door. (And then accidentally gets stuck in the land of the dead and has to get dragged back, man Tiff what is it with you and underworlds). God I love her.

[shybunnie20]

Bff!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Bff!Dustin Henderson

★My Masterlist

Summary: The last thing you want is to bring your friends down with you, so you decide against telling them how much you've been struggling. They find out in the worst way imaginable.

Author's Note: Thank you for another request, Anon! This is the darkest fic I've written thus far. It was cathartic to channel some of my personal experiences and I hope that reading it provides similar relief.

Not suitable for sensitive readers! Extreme angst with a bittersweet ending. No use of Y/N. Inspired by the song Sara - We Three. Be sure to reblog, follow, and show some love ♡

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Depression and anxiety, self-harm (cutting), panic attacks, suicidal ideation and attempt (overdose), substance abuse, Eddie being a crybaby, includes swearing.

Do not proceed if the warnings are triggering for you. Read Down & to the Left instead, it has a similar theme but it's far less intense.

There are people in this world who have the luxury of not knowing what it’s like to experience mental illness. From the outside looking in, depression is nothing more than being exceptionally sad. Unsolicited advice comes with such naivety. A myriad of superficial solutions to the multidimensional hardship that isn’t so easily soaked away by a candle-lit bubble bath or intensive exercise.

You’ve been dubbed as moody, complicated, and sensitive. These surface-level generalizations indicate that your friends wouldn’t understand what you’re going through. At this rate, it’s not worth trying to explain the corrosion eating away at your cheeks. Therefore, you continue the everlasting game of bloody knuckles and you have yet to say “mercy.” With one foot in the grave, you daydream about what your funeral will be like. Does anyone even care enough to know what your favorite flower is for the floral arrangements?

Draping a sheet over your bedroom window is essential because it makes it trickier for your demons to find you. Instead of them ripping you apart limb by limb, you dissolve into your blankets in the dark. The quietude instills a false sense of security that you hold near and dear. It’s lonesome, but you don’t want another person’s presence. Numbness is the company that you ache for. Christ, what you wouldn’t give for it to swallow you whole.

In art mediums, blue is considered the color of sadness, but it isn’t for you. With a blade as your brush, the crimson drawn to the surface of your skin is the paint. The picture you’ve created is less than pleasant but it’s certainly eye-catching. Looking in the mirror feels like seeing your scars on the wall of an art gallery, a mocking image of everything you’ve failed to be. You avoid your reflection at all costs, the full-length mirror in your bathroom is without exception.

Perhaps you’re a sucker for devastation because frankly, smiling feels unnatural. Any flicker of happiness feels repulsive and out of place. You’ve accepted that it’s not an emotion you’re meant to experience. At one point you’d felt envious of the carefree spirits who live vibrantly, but that’s not the life you’re meant to live. As if assembled with faulty parts, you’ve always felt defective.

You haven’t been going through this unaccompanied though. Dustin and Eddie have always had your back. You couldn’t ask for more reasonable best friends. Considering that you don’t open up to just anyone, it’s comforting that you can confide in these two dorks. The panic attacks have been occurring for a while now and the boys figured out how to effectively help you through them. Dustin has gotten especially adept at detecting the symptoms before you’ve noticed them yourself.

However, their awareness doesn’t go beyond your experience with anxiety. You’d think they could piece together the rest considering how often they come over to tidy up your place and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. But at the end of the day, they’re simple creatures. Even though it’s right under their noses, they don’t realize the gravity of what you’re dealing with. You refuse to drag them into the darkness with you. They’re so full of love and light, they don’t deserve exposure to emotional turmoil of this degree.

You didn’t think you could be any more exhausted but another demanding day at work has proven otherwise. More than anything you want to lay in bed to drift away from the agony.

After dropping your keys while aiming to stick them in the lock, you scoop them up and successfully open the front door.

“Surprise!” 

You convincingly mirror the expression on the beaming faces of Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin while simultaneously noticing the bundles of balloons and the handmade banner. “Oh, wow. You guys, this is- amazing.” You’re startled by the sound of a party horn crinkling as Dustin bounces out of his hiding place. He insisted on hiding even though no one else did.

“Y’Little shit.” You chuckle and wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a side hug. “You’re the mastermind behind this, huh?” 

Dustin tries to dodge the attempt you make at tussling his coffee-colored ringlets but fails miserably. “I couldn’t let my party planning skills go to waste. It turned out pretty great if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkle with a sense of achievement while they search yours for approval.

“Everything looks great, Dusty Bun. Thank you.” Your arm is still draped around his shoulder, so you give him a squeeze. He cringes at the use of his pet name as you make your way across the room to greet the remainder of your guests.

Nancy is perched on Jonathan’s lap while Robin is on the opposite end of the couch, which leaves the middle cushion available for you. As much as you don’t want to be this close in proximity to anyone right now, your body is far too sore to stand for much longer. Steve pours everyone’s beverages of choice and has Dustin deliver them from the kitchen. It takes a minute for you to find the ideal spot between your friends where your thighs aren’t touching theirs.

You drown out the lively chit-chat and music by descending into yourself. Birthdays don’t mean shit anymore. They’re simply a reminder that you just spent another 364 days pretending that you’re fine. Your preoccupation with death is always breathing hotly down your neck.

Just as your throat tightens and your eyes are on the verge of watering, the front door swings open. While balancing a carton of candles and a stack of paper plates on top of a pink bakery box, Eddie attempts to shake frizzy curls out of his face. He’s slightly winded from hustling in the hopes of making it back before you did. When his eyes meet yours, the expression of tizzy deflates. “Son of a bitch. I missed it?”

Dustin snorts mockingly while motioning to you. “Obviously, dude. She beat you by a couple of minutes.”

“God dammit!” Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “I was really looking forward to yelling ‘surprise.’ I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Eddie’s pout curls into a grin when he catches the eye roll you give in response to his belatedness. He quickly dresses the cake with candles and lights them with his trusty Zippo. Even with the pep in his step, he manages to approach you slowly enough that all of the candles remain lit.

Steve kills the lights and your friends begin to sing “Happy Birthday.” Not only is Dustin intentionally off-key but he’s ad-libbing through the whole song as well.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been uncomfortable during the duration of the tune. Rather unsure of what to do with yourself while being serenaded. Are you supposed to be singing along? Where should you be looking? Luckily your counterfeit smile is realistic enough that it’s not obvious how uncomfortable you are right now.

Eddie crouches at your feet while balancing the cake over your knees. He grins sweetly, his honey-colored irises reflecting the swaying flames atop the multicolored candles. “Okay, baby doll. Time to make your wish and make it a good one.” He winks with a nod.

The room is hushed save for the record player continuing to spin a faint melody. You can feel everyone’s eyes boring into you and it makes you want to peel your skin off. All of your friends are buzzing with merriment but you can only think about the unorthodox method of relief you’re desperately craving. What’s your birthday wish? It’s for this to be over already.

You blow out the candles with a shallow breath and the tightness in your throat exacerbates as the dark room swells with clapping and whooping before Steve turns the lights back on. Those few seconds allow you to rid your cheeks of the tears that escaped before anyone can notice.

The last thing on your mind right now is eating cake but you force yourself to do so in order to play the part of being the birthday girl. Everyone is having a blast celebrating your existence while clueless as to how badly you want to die. Even though you’re surrounded by people who love you, it doesn’t quell the provocation from within. You can’t picture anything past this birthday and you’d be content with it being the last one.

To be honest, you’ve never been very good at coping. It’s become impossible to ignore the need to etch into the plush of your thigh. You’re not going to be able to get through the remainder of this party if you don’t get it out of your system. After politely excusing yourself, the pounding in your head thunders and you slip away to your bedroom.

Once you’ve closed the door, you hastily shimmy your pants off and plop yourself at the foot of the bed. A blade is drawn from the top drawer of your nightstand and with a fierce inhale you sink the straight edge into the existing lines to deeply reopen them. Your teeth chew the inside of your lip and a dull ache shoots through your body. This is it, this is how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not meant to feel content, you’re destined to self-destruct. The countdown ticks on, though you don’t know precisely how much time you have left before you finally beg for mercy.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Eddie’s zestful voice before the door opens. “Are you ready to tear into your presents? We’re-” With his mouth slightly agape, Eddie’s eyes lock onto the blood dripping down the curvature of your calf.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. You intended to lock the door but failed to do so in your rash state of mind. You try to think of an excuse as if there’s a rational way to dismiss the damaging act. Your thinned forcefield evaporates and tears flood your vision once more. It’s awfully convenient because you can no longer see Eddie’s crestfallen mug.

Without further hesitation, Eddie closes the door behind him. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes lingering on the bloodied razor blade still pinched between your fingers. He approaches cautiously, removes it from your hold, and places it in his jacket pocket. Out of sight out of mind. Eddie slides onto the bed behind you with his legs stretched alongside yours. After snaking his arms around your shoulders, he gently guides you backward against his chest.

He’s rigid for the first few seconds, but the sound of your wailing reminds him that his intention is to be a haven right now. You cling to him, fingernails digging into his forearms that are folded across your sternum. Eddie squeezes his eyes closed so tightly that the insides of his eyelids are splashed with tingling colors.

Every fighting gasp for air that you take between the silent screams causes panging in his chest as if atomic bombs are going off. He can’t afford to be distracted by his profuse concern because his priority is bringing you down from your heightened state. His mind is racing and yet it feels so blank at the same time. The blood transfers from your bare leg onto his jeans.

Of your friends in the living room, Dustin is the only one who hears the muffled commotion. He strolls down the hall to investigate. “Hey, guyyyys. The super awesome party I threw is out here.”

Eddie is quick to respond before the doorknob turns. “Don’t come in!” He knows Dustin will let himself in just as he had done moments ago. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel even more mortified by Dustin seeing you like this. “She’s not feeling well. Just uh- have everybody go home.”

“Did she hurl or something?” Dustin presses his ear against the door to try and determine what’s happening on the other side. You seemed fine a couple of minutes ago, how sick could you possibly be?

“Dude, please. Tell them she’s too tired for all the socializing tonight.” Eddie shushes you calmingly while you swallow your whimpers to avoid giving yourself away. “And you’ll need to catch a ride from Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get to stay and comfort you, he’s your best friend too. He cares about you just as much as Eddie, he would even argue that he loves you more than Eddie does. Regardless, he doesn’t bother arguing because judging by the tone of Eddie’s instruction, it’s not up for debate. He rallies your other pals to gather the accumulated trash on their way out. Dustin feels that his effort in making your birthday special was overlooked. He spent weeks planning out your party with the objective of impressing you.

Once the front door slams shut, your mental breakdown resumes in full force. Eddie scoops you up into his lap and rocks you gently. With your head bowed, your hair catches the tears plummeting from Eddie’s eyes. By the time you’ve stopped hyperventilating, your voice is coarse like sandpaper from screaming through the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” You whine exasperatedly. Your nasal passage is blocked, forcing you to breathe out of your mouth. It feels like your head is full of helium and the pressure is pushing against your eyes. It’s making it unbearable to keep them open.

Eddie rests his cheek on the crown of your head and exhales steadily to release the pent-up tension. He assumes that you’re apologizing for injuring yourself but that’s far from the truth. You’re not sorry for doing it, you’re just sorry he saw it. Eddie refuses to let go regardless of the pins and needles swarming his legs.

The two of you sit in silence, the only noises being your sniffles and labored breathing. Once the pattern has returned to normal and he feels confident that you can drink safely, Eddie gets to his feet to leave the room. He stops in his tracks when you tug at his hand in protest. You’re visibly troubled by being unattended.

“Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Eddie pets your hair and you reluctantly release his hand from your own.

Upon his return, he’s gathered a glass of water, a wet cloth, and your first aid kit. Your arms are far too feeble to support the weight of the glass, so Eddie tips it attentively as you drink. “Thank you,” You say breathily between sips.

Eddie wipes dribbled water from your chin with a subtle hum. After placing the cup aside, he kneels at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you for permission and you nod weakly, wincing when he uses the warm cloth to rid your leg of the dried blood. The site is visibly inflamed so he’s being as gentle as he can. Once the wound is clean, Eddie applies antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Lastly, he presses a barely-there kiss to the site in order to help make it feel better.

He spares you much back and forth, so as to not overwhelm you. “Arms up.”

Ever so compliant, you raise your arms. Eddie pulls your shirt off and tosses it in the hamper. Prior to this evening, being half-naked in front of him would’ve been awkward. Although, having been pantsless up until now, you could give a shit. Being caught doing what you were was more undignified than wearing one less article of clothing would be.

“That’s goin’ too,” he motions to your bra, turning away from you to dig through your dresser.

While you’re tugging off the garment, Eddie runs his palm over the folded pajamas to see which ones are the softest and will in turn be the most pacifying. He pulls out a band tee that he hadn’t realized you’d swiped from him and the corner of his mouth quirks up but he can’t form a full grin.

You take the shirt from his extended reach and pull it over your head. “Okay.” You utter raspily as the cue that you’re decent and he can turn around.

Eddie hands you a tissue because he can hear that you’re only breathing through your mouth. You blow your nose harshly, far too spent to care about how gross it sounds. After clearing your airway with a few tissues, Eddie discards them and then uses the clean side of the wet cloth to wipe the remaining mess from under your nose. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

With a sheepish nod, you scoot backward on the bed and lay down gradually, your muscles like stiffening cement. Eddie tucks you under the covers and as soon as your head makes contact with the pillow, your eyes fall closed and don’t reopen.

Minutes after you succumb to exhaustion, Eddie cries quietly to himself. For hours, he lays here watching you sleep and strokes your tear-stained cheek with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain open, unwilling to rest because he’s fearful that something bad will happen if he dozes off. Eddie needs to guard you, even if that means he has to protect you from yourself. Losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

Despite trying, he can’t get the image out of his head. The scattered scars that surrounded your fresh wound are burned into his memory. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Whatever is going on with you is unmistakably severe enough that you’re hiding it from him and have been for a while.

How is he going to tell Dustin? Maybe he'll leave it at the fact that you’re having a difficult time and omit the part about you hurting yourself. It would positively crush him if he found out. Besides, Eddie doesn’t want to jeopardize everything by violating your trust.

You made Eddie promise not to tell a soul what happened that day, including Dustin. He agreed on the terms that you’d inform him when you need help from thereon out. You wish you could keep your word but that’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to vocalize the wretched things your brain tells you? It’s a language only you can comprehend, it’s meant to torment you specifically. 

You’re not stupid, you know how much that evening shook him up. To put Eddie’s heart at ease you’ve gotten better at feigning that everything is peachy keen. Not dissimilarly, Eddie is playing pretend too. He acts as though he doesn’t see you differently knowing what he does now. Obviously, you don’t want to discuss it so he continues to act like it never happened.

Eddie thinks about it every day and he’s had an abundance of nightmares that replay like an echo. He can’t move past it because not only is he concerned that you’re still hurting yourself, but you’re also refusing to let him in. You’re effectively shutting out the person you’ve told everything. Certainly, if he tried to talk to you about it, you’d remove yourself from his life entirely.

To his credit, he’s right on the money. Not only that, but your state of well-being has worsened. The daydreaming is more vivid and you ponder what the least painful way to go would be. Existing already hurts so much, you want to feel at peace when you rest.

It has surpassed psychological pain nowadays. The entirety of your body is overrun with fatigue. You just want to be free from it all. It’s like a home invasion where anxiety and depression ransack your mind in search of valuables. Anxiety leaves no stone unturned while depression covers your mouth and presses a gun to your temple.

Dustin and Eddie are still your best friends, but you’ve met someone new. Their name is Ativan and god, they’re a treat. Although prescribed as needed for your panic attacks, they offer you access to a realm of serenity that you can’t reach without them.

At the end of every grueling day, the first thing you do when you get home is swig down a tablet. By the time you’ve changed out of your work clothes and crawled into bed, you’re seeping into the dimension that connects this world to another. It feels dense but it isn’t warm or cold and it doesn’t hug nor choke you. It simply carries you away from worthlessness and inadequacy.

At the thirty-minute mark, your brain has melted to slush. Your surroundings smudge together, erasing any previously discernable objects. It’s best to be in bed because with how uncoordinated and sluggish it makes you, you become one with whatever surface you end up on.

The day Eddie caught you, you learned that he truly thinks the world of you. But when it comes down to it, you need to be more secretive in order to shield not only him but Dustin too. You hate that Eddie checks in on you from time to time. You don’t hate that he cares enough to ask, it’s that it pains you to lie every time he does.

Ideally, if you withdraw from your friends subtly enough, no one will feel majorly impacted when you decide to call it quits. People say that suicide is selfish but that’s not entirely true. If anything it’s inherently selfless because you believe that you’re freeing your loved ones of the burden that you perceive yourself as.

Today is another one of those days where you can’t be bothered to get out of bed. You missed your shift at work in its entirety by having slept for 14 hours straight. It doesn’t matter. You’d much rather lie here to rot, so you did. Asleep or awake, all you can think about is that feeling of pure ease. A state beyond numbness and unconsciousness. Rather, it’s nothingness. That’s where you want to be.

You’re hanging on by a thread worn too thin. The apathy bites at your toes and gnaws its way up your body. Tears well in your eyes and drip onto your pillowcase. You feel nauseated and woozy. Living day after day has slashed you to the point of being able to see through yourself. Your headstone is half engraved, only missing today’s date.

While choking on the reasons why you should give up, there’s no flavor of justification for continuing to live. You subconsciously rip open tallied scabs on your wrist from last night’s bloodletting. The bedsheets run red, blood smearing across your skin. You can’t feel it, it’s not enough. The ringing demand is painfully loud. You have to make it stop.

The brittleness of your lungs causes you to claw for a rickety breath. Spit drips down your chin as your burnt-out throat fails to produce a scream. You clutch the sheets with bloodied fingers. Gotta make it stop. After rolling off of the mattress, your palms hit the floor before you can get to your feet.

You use the wall to brace yourself as you stagger to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is torn open and rattling fills the small room as bottles fall into the basin below. The thunder in your brain overrides your senses, impairing your ability to see and hear. Your hips press against the sink to keep yourself vertical while you search the cabinet. 

With the desired bottles in hand, you pop the caps and they bounce when they hit the floor. You dump the contents into your palm, balling your fist to ensure that you don’t drop any. You don’t care how many are left, it just needs to be enough. With a few gulps of booze from the bottle tucked beside the bathtub, you throw back the handful of tablets and swallow thickly. The sensation of the bitter liquid searing your throat is tranquilizing in itself, ensuring that solace is soon to come.

Due to your stomach being empty, the shift hits like a whirlwind. You sit on the cold floor with your back against the side of the tub. The tears stop, your heart rate slows, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over you. Finally, the urge is satiated. As the full-body trembling ceases and the earth stops turning, your eyelids seal as you melt in the stillness.

Your phone rings twice only moments after you’ve taken the pills. Ten minutes later your front door opens and slams shut.

Dustin toes off his sneakers, eyeing Eddie while he does the same. “If she’s working late shouldn’t we just wait for her to get home? I don’t think she'll appreciate us being here unsupervised.”

Eddie shakes the spare house key he snagged from its hiding place. “She won’t even know we were here. We’re just gonna dig around real quick. My lighter has got to be here ‘cause I’ve looked everywhere.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band and shucks off his denim jacket.

“There’s no way you looked everywhere.” Dustin remarks, earning an annoyed look from Eddie.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why we’re here, genius.” Eddie commences the hunt by lifting couch cushions and tossing around the decorative pillows.

Dustin fake scours for a beat before heading toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” Eddie dramatically shakes out a throw blanket as if it’ll make his Zippo appear like a magic trick. 

“Bathroom.”

“Seriously? I told you not to drink a whole can of pop.”

“Well, I did.” Dustin crosses his arms defensively. “And if I hold it any longer I'll spontaneously combust. Do you wanna have to clean that up?”

“Gross, no thanks.” Eddie tosses the blanket back on the couch, neglecting to refold it. “Just hurry up and don’t touch anything.”

“Why would I?” Dustin squints.

Eddie mirrors the teen’s prickly body language. “Uh, ‘cause you’re nosey as hell.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Am not,” Dustin calls out as he pivots down the hall. He stops in the doorway to the bathroom, met with the sight of you slumped on your side. “Eddie…”

“What? Found it?” Eddie cocks his head at Dustin’s statue-like stance. He approaches and peeks into the bathroom, then abruptly brushes past Dustin to get to you. Eddie’s knees bruise from the sheer force at which they smack the porcelain tile. He guides you to sit upright but your unsupported head rolls forward. “Nononono shit shit shit!”

When he scoops you up into his arms, he feels the subtle warmth of your skin against his own. Still alive. Thrust into panic mode, Eddie repeatedly taps your cheek to elicit a reaction but to no avail. Tears pour from his eyes as he secures your head to his heaving chest. “Go call for help!”

Dustin doesn’t flinch, his mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. Utterly frozen in carbonite as he witnesses his best friend dying on the bathroom floor.

“NOW!” Eddie booms pressingly.

Dustin dashes away to dial 911. In the meantime, Eddie cradles you and sobs. “We’re here, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

After all this time, the way you’ve been feeling has finally broken the surface. Your emotions are now presented in their rawest form, revealing how broken you’ve been feeling.

“Hurry, Dustin!” Eddie beseeches through a wet cough. The tears cascade from his cheeks onto your limp body, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “Just hold on for me, okay?” His voice cracks, “Please don’t go.” The knot in his stomach is taut while he focuses on the jagged passing of air through your nostrils.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles his blotchy cheek in its wake. “Please, god. Please please please… don’t take her from us.” Eddie is doing his damndest to keep you from slipping away by stimulating you with his voice and touch. A faint rattle spills from your throat, your brain is convinced that you’re floating but you’re sinking fast. “Dustin!”

On cue, he reappears in the doorway with puffy bloodshot eyes and a wet sheen trailing from his nose, pooling in his Cupid’s bow. “They’re on the way.”

“We gotta keep her warm,” Eddie sniffles with glossily desperate eyes. Dustin gets on his knees and complies. The two of them cocoon you in their body heat until the paramedics arrive.

The boys are forced out of the bathroom and they stand in the living room to stay out of the way. Dustin is enveloped in Eddie’s trembling arms. He buries his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck to dampen the sound of his unbridled blubbering.

Eddie shields him from looking as you’re wheeled out of the bathroom on the gurney. He has to be strong for Dustin because you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

Dustin grabs fistfuls of Eddie's shirt and tugs so hard that the seams snap. “She’s gonna be okay, right?” He rasps with a saturated cry.

“Yeah-” Eddie refuses to think for even a second that it’ll just be the two of them from now on. You’re a part of the unit, it’s meant to stay that way. He tightens his embrace, holding Dustin impossibly closer. ”She’s stronger than both of us combined. She’s gonna pull through this, I know it.” 

Author's Note Cont.: Eddie and Dustin are so proud of you for trying your best every day, even when it doesn’t feel like you have much to show for it.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

tags: @protecteddiemunson4vr @nj01

[noteguk]

danger zone | knj | m

— summary; in which namjoon lives a dangerous life and sometimes you can’t really stand it. Still, you can’t step away either. 

— contents and warnings; smut, a little spark of angst and a fuckload of fluff, criminal!namjoon x reader, established relationship, dom!namjoon and sub!reader, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), dirty talk, begging, Namjoon has a big dick, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of possessiveness, multiple orgasms, overstimulation 

— words; 4,5k 

— author’s note; this was supposed to be a quick pwp drabble but here we are… 

Words could not explain the relief that washed over you when you saw the headlights peaking through the diaphanous living room curtains, blasting inside your house like beacons of divine hope. You ran to the front door faster than ever before, stepping into the cold mist of the night as he closed the car door behind him. You managed to see his friend, Hoseok, waving you goodbye before he pulled out of the driveway and you started balling your eyes out. 

And then you couldn’t really see anything else. 

Namjoon did not hesitate to walk toward you, wrapping his strong arms around your lower back and pulling you closer to his warm chest. He smelled of vanilla and cigarettes, and your knees almost buckled at the thought of losing that scent forever. 

“Baby, you’re gonna catch a cold,” he mumbled, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. Namjoon positioned one hand on the nape of your neck, playing with your hair as you whimpered against his hot embrace, fists clenched over his pecs. You were wearing only pyjama shorts and a tank top, and the gelid breeze of the night showed you no mercy. “Why don’t we go inside?” 

For a moment you thought that your legs would fail you, but, to your relief, it was just a feeble impression. Namjoon held you tightly against him as you two walked back inside your house, mumbling how much he missed you, how much he couldn’t wait to see you again. All that you could do was to listen, with your nose stuffy and eyes tearing up, as he started telling you about his past few weeks.

You had been sure you had lost him that time. Namjoon had never stayed longer than a day without talking to you (or at least telling you that he would be a bit M.I.A. for the following weeks, because of the secretive nature of his work), and the fact that you had gotten nothing but silence for almost three weeks was enough to make your mind go wild. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the worst had finally happened. 

There was no one you could call — as in, you had a few numbers, but you were prohibited to get in contact with them. Namjoon had made it clear that he didn’t want you to get involved in his business, and something as simple as a phone call to the wrong person could be enough to get you wrapped up in an official investigation. He had made special efforts to make sure that, in case all went to shit, the feds could never prove that you knew anything about his illicit schemes. If something happened to him — prison, death, something in between — Namjoon would be at peace knowing that you were safe and taken care of. 

So, you had been good, and you didn’t call. You had just waited, fighting through your normal routine and forging fake smiles towards your coworkers. By the time that the second week rolled around, you were considering calling every morgue in the country — and then quickly melted down once you realized he was probably not even using his real name. There was nothing you could do but wait. For god knows how long. 

Times like those made you want to give up on everything. You and Namjoon had a chemistry that you never felt before, you understood each other in levels that you never thought possible. He loved you with all of his heart and you felt the same. And yet, you were exhausted from being so scared for him, from feeling so helpless in the face of his unstable and unpredictable job. 

You had told yourself that, if he came back, you would end it all. 

But now that he was standing in front of you, things weren’t so easy. 

Your boyfriend took you to the kitchen, where he warmed up a drink for you as he told you about how he had spent those last few weeks. Namjoon explained that one of his shipments had been stolen (of what, you didn’t dare to ask), and he had to take care of it himself. During that time, he and his crew were being attacked and watched constantly, and he would never risk the idea of pulling you into that mess. It was an unspoken truth that having you as a hostage would make all of his defenses crumble. Expressing any sort of weakness in his business was like bleeding in a sea full of sharks.  

You understood, because of course you would. And he understood when you told him about how terrified, how overwhelmingly worried you had been. 

“I wanted to call Yoongi, Hoseok… I don’t know, anyone,” you said, taking your cup of tea closer to your face. The heat emanated in waves, warming up your lips as the thin lines of smoke curled up in the air. You took a small slip, and the coldness of the night was just a memory then. “But I knew that I shouldn’t do that, so I just… Joon, I thought you were dead.” 

“I’m so sorry, love.” Namjoon pulled you in, wrapping one arm around your back and pressing a kiss against your forehead. You always felt so safe in his arms, like nothing could ever touch you. “I know how you feel, it’s unfair making you go through this.” 

“It is.” You sniffed, looking down at your tea cup. “But it’s all for you. And I love you, Joon.” 

There was a second of silence as the words floated in the space between the two of you, a deep sigh from your part as you placed the cup on the marble surface of the kitchen island. That house felt too big for you, too spacious and filled with expensive stuff, and it whispered doubts in your ear. You didn’t know where all that money came from, you often didn’t know what Namjoon was doing or what he was thinking about. You had no idea what kind of dangers he faced every single day, or the hoops he had to jump through to keep you safe. 

You could have given up on everything already. You knew that he would understand. But you didn’t. Time and time again, you would realize that all your momentaneous bravery towards a breakup was short-lived: you loved him more than you feared losing him. You wanted Namjoon and no one else. You knew that ending things and stepping into an ordinary life, with an ordinary guy and ordinary worries, would never cut it. You had learned to live in the danger zone that was your relationship with Namjoon, and you doubted you could ever truly step away from it. 

Namjoon knew that too. He looked down at you with a deep mixture of tenderness and devotion in his dark eyes, caressing your cheek as he dove in to place a kiss on your lips. “I love you too, baby,” he murmured. “I missed you so much.”  

You melted in his hold, surrounding his waist with your arms and pushing yourself against his chest. “Missed you too,” you said. “I know why you keep these things secret from me, but it fucking sucks.” 

Namjoon chuckled, his calloused hands caressing your hair. You realized that he probably was just as worried as you — not knowing if you were safe, if you hadn’t gotten yourself in a messy situation trying to find him. Needless to say, he was filled with pride knowing you did everything he had asked you to. “I’m gonna tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone.” The suspense in his voice was enough for you to pull away from his chest, looking up at him with expectant eyes. Namjoon cupped your checks with his hands and smiled. “You're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

You could not fight the smirk that crawled up on your lips. That simple sentence was enough to shift the weight of the atmosphere around the two of you, allowing for your hurt to slip away. “Bullshit,” you said. 

“I’m serious.” He raised his eyebrows, lowering himself so he could place another pec on your lips. “Inside and out.”

That time, you could not hold back your laugh. “You’re so cheesy.” 

Your comment seemed to light up something inside his head, because, the next second, Namjoon was pulling away with a click of his tongue. “Speaking of cheesy, I almost forgot,” he started to say, turning around. “I got you something. It’s in the bedroom with the rest of my stuff.” 

You stood still for a second, trying to understand his words. “You... got me something? In the middle of all of that mess?” Then you were rushing behind him, going up the stairs as Namjoon simply hummed in agreement. “Joon, it’s okay, I—“ 

“Accept my gift, baby.” He stopped as he reached the second floor, waiting for you to catch up. “It’s not gonna make up for the time away, but I want to make you happy.” 

“What is it?” You asked, wet eyes blinking up at him, but he only smiled and turned around, gesturing for you to follow him into the bedroom. 

~ 

Namjoon’s present was a dress — or, rather, the dress. It was this beautiful long gown you had seen a few months back during one of your trips to the mall, a grandiose red thing that wrapped around the mannequin’s upper body before expanding just beneath its thighs. You remember feeling overwhelmed by its beauty, holding Namjoon’s hand tighter as you shared your amazement with him. Your fascination was short lived, though, because soon the price tag scared you away and you made yourself forget about that overpriced dream. 

Until that night, that was. Namjoon told you he had the gift ready to go before it all went down with the shipment situation, and the image of you wearing it was one of the few things that managed to keep him sane for so long. The glimmer of happiness in his eyes was enough for you to silence yourself before you could argue about the dress’ ostentatious price, instead choosing to thank him. 

You changed in the large bathroom of your master suite, eyes lost in the way the red shade, pure as sin, clung to your body like it was made for you. There was a wave of love gushing out of your heart, a joyfulness that only came from those little surprises that Namjoon would give you. You loved it. You loved him. 

“God,” Namjoon mumbled to himself when you stepped out of the bathroom, his figure sitting on the corner of your large bed. There was a moment of silence as his eyes ran all over your body, trying to memorize every little detail of you, his mind going blank and his mouth dropping in awe. “I might as well fall to my knees and ask for your hand in marriage now.”

You giggled, stepping closer to the bed. “Careful, I might say yes,” you told him, placing your arms around his shoulders. Namjoon looked up at you with so much devotion that you thought you could collapse at any given point. “I loved it. Thank you, Joon.”

He hummed, taking his large palms to rest on either side of your waist. You could feel his heat emanating through the fabric of the dress, sending waves of anticipation up and down your body. “I’m glad you did,” he spoke, his voice much lower than before. You knew Namjoon enough to know exactly what he was thinking, and there was nothing you wanted more than that. “My girl is so pretty…”

His lips were on your neck soon after, nipping and sucking your skin like they were made for that. Namjoon’s hands were trying to explore everywhere at the same time, moving from to your breasts to your waist, then back down your thighs and up your hips and toward your ass — where he placed a strong grip. 

“So fucking pretty… all mine,” he was speaking to himself at that point, his breath heavy around your collarbones. Namjoon tugged at the sides of the dress, completely ignoring the zipper as he tried to take it off of you. 

You laughed at his eagerness. “Careful with the dress, Joon.” 

“I’ll buy you another one.” He tugged at the fabric again, harder that time, and you were afraid that he was actually going to tear it in half if you didn’t act soon. “I’ll buy you any dress you want, don’t care if I ruin this one.” 

“I don’t want any other dresses, though.” Your hands left his shoulders and moved up your back, finding the zipper and swiftly pulling it down. Soon enough, the dress was just a pool of redness circling your feet. “I just want you.” 

Namjoon swallowed hard at the image of your bare body in full display for him — he should’ve known you wouldn’t wear any underwear with that piece of sin, and he couldn’t say that he was disappointed. All that it took you was one glimpse at his pants to see his hard cock already straining against the fabric, needy for you. 

“So beautiful,” he said, reaching out to place his hand on your hip. Namjoon’s eyes were everywhere at once, drinking you up. You knew he was holding back, he could flip you over and fuck you into the mattress at any second he wished to. “Is this all for me, baby?” 

“Yes,” you told him, taking his hand and guiding it to your breast. Namjoon squeezed the soft flesh, making you whimper at the feeling. “All yours, Joon.” 

“All mine,” he repeated, finally breaking out of his trance and meeting your stare. Namjoon was probably stressed out of his mind, and you just managed to turn all that negative energy into pure sexual stamina. Not that you were complaining. “Want you to lay down for me, baby.” 

You did not hesitate to do as he requested, moving around the large circular bed and placing your head against the soft pillows. There was a fire of expectation burning at the pit of your stomach and accumulating between your thighs, which only grew as you watched your boyfriend undress for you. 

Namjoon was quick and objective with his movements and soon enough he was naked, his golden skin shining under the warm lights and his big cock standing erect and flushed, ready for you. Just by looking at him you could feel your walls clenching, a sigh perishing on your lips at the memory of his member inside you, stretching you out like no one else could. Your boyfriend didn’t only have one of the biggest dicks you had ever seen, but he also knew how to use it — a dangerous combination that mostly explained why you couldn’t walk straight after a good night by his side. Again: not that you were complaining. 

The mattress dipped under his weight, your eyes following his movements as Namjoon placed himself between your legs. His eyes were hungry and focused, more than you had seen in a while, and when he commanded you to “Open your legs for me, love,” you couldn’t obey fast enough. 

Namjoon hummed in content as he leaned down between your thighs, one finger lazily dragging upwards between your soaked folds. He barely touched you, but you were so on the edge that the motion was enough to make you sigh. “Such a pretty cunt,” he said, and the finger moved back down, tenderly rubbing around your sensitive entrance. You flinched at the feeling, biting on your lip to suppress a moan. “So wet for me. Did you touch yourself while I was gone, baby?” 

There was no reason to lie, he would know regardless. “Yes, but only once.” 

It was true: after Namjoon had stopped contacting you, you were so scared that you didn’t even think about anything sexual — nor were you in the right mindset for that. 

He seemed to like your response, humming for a moment before he took a second digit to your entrance — never going in, though, only teasing its surroundings. “Was it good, baby?” 

You knew exactly what he wanted to hear, “Not as good as you,” you said, leaning on your elbows so you could hold his gaze better. Namjoon was looking at you like a starved man, and you knew it was just a matter of time before his own self-control ran thin. “Your cock is so much better.” 

He chuckled — a deep, melodious chuckle that sent heat straight to your core. “Needy girl,” he said, gaze flickering towards your face. “I can’t give it to you just like that. What’s the fun in doing something so fast? You have to earn my cock.” 

Patience was not a virtue you shared with your boyfriend, though, and that was why Namjoon loved to push you to the limits of your self-restraints. You had been foolish to think that things would be different just because he missed you. “How?” You asked, ready to do whatever he asked. 

Namjoon hummed, pretending to think for a moment. His fingers left your opening behind and he moved closer to your pussy, taking a long look at it before saying, “Cum on my tongue and I’ll think about giving it to you.” 

Before you could even think about what to respond, his mouth was on you and your head was spinning. Namjoon repeated the same motions of his fingers — licking a thick stripe up your folds and then back down, protruding the wet muscle against your entrance, swirling his tongue around it. You whimpered at the feeling, body crashing against the bed and fingers intertwining on his hair as he decided to move back up, lips wrapping around your clit as he gave you a gentle suck, humming when you started to moan out his name. 

“Right there, please,” you asked, your voice nothing but a pathetic plea. 

Namjoon, however, was marching to the beat of his own drum. He ignored your request and neglected your clit so his mouth could return to your opening, this time allowing his tongue inside you, drinking every drop of wetness you were giving him. A tremulous breath got caught in your throat when he pressed two of his fingers on your hole, coating it with his saliva before plunging in. 

You cried out, your back arching off the mattress as he continued with his ministrations; his fingers stretching you out as his mouth returned to play with your clit. Namjoon had you the way he liked it: a hot mess sprawled on the bed, seeking your high like it was the most important thing in the world. And he, of course, wouldn’t mind giving it to you as many times as you wanted it. 

The sounds you were making were lewd, mixing with the noises of his fingers pumping in and out of your clenching heat. Namjoon was only human: his cock was so hard that he was losing his mind, and the gorgeous sight of you fumbling under his touches was making him wish you could just cum so he could fuck the soul out of you. 

And because you two were in sync, that was exactly what you did. Namjoon watched in awe as you came around his digits, tightening around him so perfectly that he swore he was about to spill himself on his pristine white sheets. But he managed to keep it together as you continued to roll your pussy against his face, milking the last drops of your orgasm as your wetness dripped down his fingers. 

Namjoon moved away when you started to produce those high-pitched whimpers that signaled your sensitivity. He climbed up over you and crashed his lips on yours, humming as your tongues danced together, filling your mouth with your own taste. His cock was enlarged and heavy against your lower body, barely brushing on your sensitive clit. 

He pulled away so he could speak, his voice was a devilish low groan swimming in the hot air. “Want my cock inside you, baby?”

You were spent already, both of you knew that, and yet there was no hesitation in your tone when you promptly answered with a timid, “Yes, please.”

No matter how much you loved Namjoon’s mouth and fingers on you, there was nothing in the world that could compare to the feeling of having his cock thrusting inside you, filling you up so perfectly. You could fight against a bit of pain, you had done that a few times already, and you knew how fast your boyfriend was to turn everything back into pleasure. 

“Can you cum again for me?” He asked, lowering his hand so he could align himself with your pussy. You swallowed at the brushing of his head against your hole, heartbeat quickening in anticipation. “Can you do one more, baby?” 

You nodded, looking deep inside his eyes. “Yes, as many times as you want.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Namjoon spoke gently, honest as ever. He leaned in and kissed you slowly, savoring the caresses of your lips as he sighed against the kiss. “You’re too good for me.” 

And then he was pushing himself inside you, spreading you open like he was meant to be there, filling you up to the brim. You heaved and held to his shoulders as Namjoon reached incredibly deep inside you, getting used to his size. No matter how many times he fucked you, every time still felt like the first. 

“Fuck, your pussy feels perfect, like it was made for me,” he cursed, slowly thrusting inside you. You whimpered at the delicious drag of his cock against your walls, already experiencing the switch of pain to pleasure. “Keep your legs up for me, baby.”

You could only nod, pushing your legs to the level of your chest. That small change was enough to give Namjoon just a bit more space to slip into, a grunt exploding on his throat. 

“Joon,” you called. Namjoon looked up at you, his eyes dazed and unfocused. “Fuck me, please.” 

That was all that he needed. Self-control long forgotten, Namjoon buried his face on the crook of your neck and went to town — fucking you so fast and hard that you swore you had never moaned so loud in your life. Suddenly, everything was becoming too much: the bouncing of your breasts, the pressure of his hands on your thighs, the drilling of his hard cock inside you. Every worry you had those past few weeks were washed away just like that, barely an echo at the bottom of your head. 

Namjoon was a mess above you, grunting and moaning out as his cock fucked you open, your walls clenching around him like you were his personal brand of heaven. “Fuck, you feel so tight,” he cried out, already recognizing that familiar pressure at the base of his spine. “Such a perfect pussy for me, baby.” 

“Feels so good, Joon,” you said back, tugging at his hair. “Look at me.” 

It seemed to take him an herculean amount of force, but Namjoon did as you requested, meeting that fucked-out gaze he adored so much. “What is it?” 

You smiled tenderly at him, a timid moan falling from your lips. “I love you.” 

Now Namjoon was absolutely sure that he was in paradise, floating in the clouds above. He could not hold back the smile that crossed his face. “I love you too, baby.” He kissed you. “Are you close?” 

You nodded. “Really close.” 

“Cum on my cock for me, then,” he urged you on, not stopping with his advances. He felt so good inside you; your mind was consumed by all of him: his smell, his warmth, the deepness of his voice and the lust in his gaze. At that moment, Namjoon was everything in the world for you. “Come on, I wanna feel it.” 

And you did as he requested, clenching around his cock not even two minutes later. You sobbed and whimpered at the feeling, calling out his name again and again until Namjoon found his own high, spilling himself inside you, milking his cock in your pussy until you were full of him. He thrusted a few more times, trying to make that moment last a bit longer, and he only stopped once he started to grow soft inside you. 

Namjoon turned around and crashed next to you on the mattress, his arm curling around your waist as you fumbled closer to him. With a happy sigh, you nestled against his chest, drowning in his warmth as his fingers caressed your skin. 

The instant of peace was glorious, and you had almost started to drift away into a tranquil sleep when his voice broke the silence. “I’m gonna have to travel again next week,” he said. 

Your heart started hammering against your chest, stomach curling in anxiety. You raised your head from his chest and stared at Namjoon, your lips opening and closing before you finally found your voice. “But… You just got home.”

“I know, that’s why you’re coming with me.” He smirked. You must’ve shown him the most confused expression, because Namjoon could not hold back his laugh. “It’s not business, baby, don’t worry. You and I are just going to have some well-deserved time together. How does that sound?” 

Relief washed over you for the second time that night, calming your anxiety instantly. “Amazing,” you admitted, resting yourself back against him. You could really use a vacation, you didn’t know the last time you had a proper one. And even better if it was with him. “Thank you, Joon.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” He breathed out. The caresses on your skin were calling the sleepiness back into your body, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you floated into the land of dreams. It has been a long time since you had a proper night of sleep — you had been too restless waiting for his return. “I know this is really hard for you. You know I’d understand if you wanted to leave.” 

You smiled lovingly, placing a kiss against his chest. “It’s worth it if it’s for you,” you mumbled. 

And you knew he felt the same. 

[aminiatureworld]

A Sea of Fragment VI

Word Count: 3.964

Warnings: Slight violence

Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.

After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.

You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.

“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”

“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.

“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.

“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”

“Fair enough.”

“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”

“Alright.”

The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.

 “My lord.”

Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.

“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”

“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”

“Good. That will be all.”

“Yes my lord.”

Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.

Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.

Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.

Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.

Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.

It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.

“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”

“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”

“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”

“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”

“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.

“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”

“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”

“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”

“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”

“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.

As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.

“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”

“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.

“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”

The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.

“Is there something you want?” You asked.

“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.

Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.

“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.

Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.

 It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.

Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.

You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.

Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…

You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.

 You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.

Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.

There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.

Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.

You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.

 You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.

All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.

Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.

Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.

“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”

“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”

“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? Then, he…”

“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.

Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?

Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.

[cancerjupiter]

💨 air moons💨

If the Moon is in Gemini, Libra, or Aquarius, one adjusts oneself to the inflow of life experience by first assuming an intellectual detachment to assess things objectively through logic, or to test what is at hand using familiar concepts or theories. This tendency can of course lead to too much analysis, and a lack of clear decisiveness; but the potential for constructive and intelligent forethought can be valuable, and it is a quality often lacking in those with Water or Fire Moons.

gemini moon

If you multiply the fluctuations of the constantly changing Moon by the eternal changeability of Gemini, you arrive at some inkling of this Moon sign. It is the very opposite of stable and predictable. The strength of Gemini Moon is the quickness with which they react to input and to other people, and the rapid connections they can make with many ideas and possibilities. They adapt quickly to changes and their perceptions are often intriguing, motivated as they are by endless curiosity. In fact, they constantly need a variety of mental stimuli to keep them feeling alive and developing. The major problem for these folks, and for those who try to relate to them intimately, is that they never seem to know who they are for very long. They scatter their sense of identity and inner security along with their diffuse concentration. Emotions are a rather foreign territory for those with Gemini Moon and somewhat baffling for their illogical and fluctuating nature. They therefore need to communicate verbally about their emotional life to find some mental clarity about their irrational and changeable feelings (although sometimes talking endlessly and tiresomely with no resulting clarity). In short, they need to verbalize their emotions in order to feel connected with them. And, in close relationships, these glib and flirtatious individuals often continually experiment with their feelings, first expressing one thing and then another—to the profound dismay and frustration of their would-be partner—as if their chronic inconsistency and changeability have no impact on the other person.

This Moon sign is perhaps more averse to commitment than any other, and their emotional superficiality does not help the situation. There is a pitiful lack of touch with the subconscious, and although there is endless logical analysis of motives and rational examination, there is no change. This is only one manifestation of the dual-mindedness of this Moon sign, wherein one part of the mind does not know what the other part is doing or thinking. Contradictory reactions (even simultaneously) and unfocused thoughts and emotions often lead those with Gemini Moon to spread themselves too thin.

Gemini Moon desperately needs mental variety and learning of all kinds. But the primary challenge to them as they grow through life is confronting this question: With all these ideas and “facts,” do I have any depth of real knowledge, and with all this learning, have I gained any understanding? At their best, Gemini Moon people are witty and amazingly skilled in a vast number of areas, and they also have a lively communication style with a diverse array of people. At their worst, they seem possessed by—and thus at the mercy of—their own thoughts, leaving them endlessly perplexed and confused. They are also sometimes so subjective that they will not really even notice the other person with whom they are so actively talking and “communicating.” Grant Lewi also wrote perceptively about the intellectual pride of Gemini Moon:

“The picture of yourself that pleases you best is that you are an exceptional intellect to which the world listens to thankfully. To be as intellectual as you would like to be is a big order and may take more application than you are willing to put on it. Cleverness pleases you better than profundity. You would rather be funny than fair, exciting than stable, provocative than studious.”

Those with Moon in Gemini are often very clever, and they like to emphasize it, but their overly active minds, and their attempts to figure everything out through intellectual theories, can make them chronically unhappy. Despite the intellectual pride referred to earlier, their self-image is unstable, perhaps most of all because Gemini often finds it difficult to believe in anything. There is often therefore a confused self-image—and thus sometimes also an unclear sexual identity.

Women with Moon in Gemini are very talkative, very social, project a level of nervous energy in everyday life. Being around anybody with Moon in Gemini, there is a highly energy-charged atmosphere. The men share these traits with the women but also seem to be more like the types that “get around,” who are always on the go, doing something, giving somebody a hand. There’s a lot of versatility in both sexes, interested in many kinds of people and activities.

Emotional reactions are light-hearted, cool and startlingly versatile. Feelings flit like butterflies and are just about as hard to catch. To some, all the colour and brightness is irresistible. To others, the display is much too hollow, too unemotional, too fickle.

libra moon

Like Gemini Moon in the tendency toward indecision, but not nearly so scattered, this Moon sign weighs everything in their minds before reacting to any experience. One can get a feeling for this Moon sign by imagining a combination of the fluctuating Moon and the Libra symbol of the “scales of justice,” which oscillate up and down, continually adjusting even if a feather’s weight is added to one scale. Libra Moon often balances off whatever interpersonal input they receive, usually doing so gently. They take personal relationships seriously and pride themselves on fairness and being able to see the other person’s point of view. This tendency of putting themselves in the other’s situation, more marked in Libra than in any other zodiac sign, can be carried so far as to see them lean over backwards to please the other person—often even ignoring their own interests. Thei need to beliked that motivates much of their person-to-person behavior, to where it can undermine their highly valued objectivity. The desire to avoid unpleasantness can lead to relatively superficial, placating responses that may not be completely sincere—occasionally verging on flattery. They easily lose themselves in the other’s energy field and become confused about where they end and the other begins. Their spontaneous reactions are unconsciously modified by how the person they are interacting with is reacting!

There are, however, people with an imbalanced Libra Moon who exemplify one of two extreme modes of expression: either those with the tendency to please others and avoid any appearance of disagreement even to the extent of hypocrisy; or the occasional unpleasant ones who make it a point to be especially irritating and aggressive, as if to show you they don’t care what you think. In the first group, despite the powerful urge to play nice and pretend kindness, they seem almost unconscious of other people’s real thoughts and feelings. And of course, the second group would never in any situation bother in the slightest with anyone else’s thoughts or feelings. With either extreme type of Libra Moon personality, there is an inability to relate deeply and authentically.”

In both of the “imbalanced” types of Libra Moon just mentioned, the result can be a rather lonely life, something that is difficult and depressing for anyone with an emphasis on Libra, the sign of partnership par excellence. Libra Moon folks need sharing of ideas and idealism in life, and without that dynamic interchange and companionship, they do not feel secure or fulfilled. One sometimes wonders if there is deep down a profound fear of personal intimacy with some of these people, the emotional reactions often being so inhibited, regulated, and unspontaneous. One could easily interpret the motivation of the aggressive group mentioned above as a way of guaranteeing that no one likes them, thus making a close relationship, wherein they would have to give of themselves honestly and openly, completely impossible. This type of Libra Moon is completely self-centered and insensitive to others, and very exclusive in their views of other people and in their social lifestyle. They are also extremely opinionated. Although even the more pleasant and considerate Libra Moon folks can be very opinionated (even though they rarely acknowledge their true views in case it would cause disharmony), the irritating type of this lunar position is usually rigidly opinionated in a way that makes true communication a hopeless impossibility. People with this Moon sign often seem to lack intellectual confidence and thus seem unable to be comfortable with the natural Libran ambivalence toward important ideas. They then retreat into a safe opinion that does not have to be questioned or shared. The truly balanced Libra Moon personality can readily handle many sides of any issue or concept with impartiality.

aquarius moon

Those born with the Moon in Aquarius are the ultimate nonconformists. They instinctively react to most experiences in an unpredictable, often eccentric way. They will respond in a rather contrary way if you say, do, or expect anything that is socially or intellectually conventional. Independence is their primary guiding principle, and they pride themselves on their objectivity and intellectual integrity. In many areas of life, they are extremely experimental, and they rarely take anyone’s word for “truth” or as an ultimate authority—a quality that does not endear them to most of their bosses, supervisors, or even close friends, who may be far more knowledgeable in a certain field. Aquarius is after all the sign of the truth seeker; and it is the most scientific sign of the zodiac, in the true experimental sense of the word.

These guys feel most secure when exercising complete personal freedom of ideas, self-expression, and innovation. They need freedom like they need air, and they habitually rebel against too much restraint or anyone who tries to control them. Periodic radical life changes (social, geographic, domestic, or intellectual) provide some of this desperately needed personal space, rejuvenating and nourishing them, even though it may be difficult for themselves or their partners to endure. They have a rather odd emotional nature that infuriates and frustrates more conventional, predictable people, and this leads to their reacting eccentrically to many situations. The fact is, although they seem coldly mental, aloof, and sometimes even without normal human feelings, their emotional pressure builds up over time (since they find it impossible to keep in tune with those bothersome and murky passions and embarrassing needs); and it eventually explodes in impulsive, radical actions, or in sudden changes of plans or viewpoints. More than any other, Aquarius is a sign of extremism.

This Moon sign must be socially involved either directly with many people (such as in teaching or organizing conferences) or through publishing, social activism, or politics. They have an emotional need to affect large groups of people. Their humane understanding of broad human and social needs is actually much more perceptive than is their understanding of the needs of individuals. In fact, they often like studying entire societies or languages or other global issues, and the social sciences are frequently fields of interest for them. Aquarius Moon people identify with a society or with humanity as a whole. Their impersonal approach often elicits criticism from others about their aloofness and “coldness,” but in fact that very detachment enables them to respond to the emotional crises of others by remaining objective and staying above the turbulent and confusing emotional level. They are great friends and need to have friends that they would do anything for. You can tell them anything, and they’ll understand. They are utterly trustworthy, reasonable, and straightforward.… You discover how irrationally loyal these folks can be. Cool and detached they may seem, but they stick like glue to the people they love and respect. They stay in situations long past what others could handle and put up with.…

In fact, Aquarius Moon people rarely find their sense of security with family or physical relatives. They feel especially uncomfortable with such groups and the obligations and social protocols involved. They always seem to feel dissatisfied with their parents’ lifestyle and lack of communication, and sometimes that feeling of dissatisfaction extends to the country or culture of their youth. Therefore, they not only feel the need to detach themselves from the “oppressive” family, parental, and cultural influences, but they also sometimes extrapolate their dissatisfaction onto all of society and often expound many types of social protest. Good examples are John Lennon, Marilyn Monroe, and Lady Diana. A streak of rebelliousness thus pervades their memory of childhood and parental influences, and this affects their lifelong behavior in society. They insist on freedom from social obligations and conventional values.

The automatic contrary streak I mention above manifests in interpersonal reactions, in ways of thinking and discussing ideas, and in lifestyle. But it is the emotional contrariness and independence that sometimes cause them difficulty in relationships through others’ resentment or feelings of alienation. There is often an aloofness toward the sensitivities of others. Aquarius Moon folks prefer to maintain their stable focus and broad perspective than to be drawn into what appears to them the endlessly confusing morass of emotions that many people would like them to indulge in.

A dislike of routine and a strong need to prove self-sufficiency. A thread of separateness in relationships always seems present, as does unconventionality. Security with excitement is a major hard-to-achieve goal in life; needs constant stimulation within a fixed environment. I’ve had several close relationships with Moon in Aquarius individuals and none of them put any pressure on me to be any different than I am; they either accept or reject people but they rarely put anybody on the spot. I find Moon in Aquarius individuals to be straightforward once they’ve opened up. I always find myself confused in trying to figure out the independent yet sentimental nature of the Moon in Aquarius.

Both sexes can fixate for quite a period (sometimes days) on some extreme mood—either negative or unshakably upbeat. But the men were usually far less analytical about their current emotional state. In fact, whereas men with Aquarius Moon are usually seen to have remarkably steady moods, perhaps too steady in the view of many people who would like them to be more obviously responsive on a feeling level, women with Aquarius Moon seem to focus on their emotions and moods and then act them out in quite an extreme way. 

These people are very detached in daily life!! You can never tell what they are thinking or feeling, often they seem not to be listening at all! They dislike hassles and can withdraw at the drop of a hat, becoming very hard to reach or read. They are very matter-of-fact, very independent, self-assured when they do respond. They usually have something “different” about their lifestyles or interests. They usually have a very liberated sex life, experimental and blunt towards it.

[sketching-shark]

I think we should start a protection squad (although they don’t need it because they can protect themselves) for Sun Wukong and Guanyin

“Begone monkie kid fandom trying to down grade these really interesting characters with interesting personality’s and backstory ( the both of them like seriously Guanyin backstory is so cool) to a villain wile trying to justify your angsty backstory (that are no where near as cool as monkey who fights gods and Person who has 1000 arms and heads to help people in need) for the actual villain”

So who wants to join

Me:*raises my hand*

Ps: sorry if I got Guanyin backstory wrong am not an expert on it.

Haha okay so some critiques on the jttw & associated media western fandom & fandom in general coming up, so please skip this upcoming text wall if you don't want to encounter my undoubtedly ~devastating~ words (i.e. don't like don't read as people love to say, & if I have to be inundated with images of my notp every time I go into the sun wukong tag then I imagine people can be chill with me expressing my opinions & giving people fair warning that I WILL be critiquing common fandom trends, but no need for you to see that if you don’t want to. Cool? Cool.)

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PFFFFFTTT oh man there are many times when I feel like signing up for such a protection squad...when it comes to the current western jttw & Sun Wukong fandom I do feel like I'm often swinging at a rapid pace between "well it's fandom & people are allowed to make the stories they want" & "I am once again begging my fellow monkie kid enthusiasts (& sometimes creators) to do more research into the og classic/show it more respect so you can avoid any potentially offensive/off-the-mark misunderstandings of the status & cultural context of the characters in their country of origin (I promise it's super interesting & I can provide you with links to free pdf copies of the entire Yu translation, i.e. the best one ever created, so feel free to ask!) & maybe also stop constantly stripping away all the nuance of Sun Wukong's character for the sake of either making him an entire asshole so your little meow meow can look completely innocent in comparison and/or making the monkey king's entire life & character revolve around said meow meow."

Like I get that fandom's supposed to be a kind of anything-goes environment, but one thing that honestly seems to be true of a lot of fandoms--and the western one for Sun Wukong & co. is certainly not immune from this--is that there often seems to be a kind of monoculturalization at work in what stories are created & what character interpretations are made popular. Across a multitude of fandoms, you frequently see basically nothing but the exact same tropes being made popular & even being insisted on for the canonical work (especially hasty redemption arcs & enemies to lovers these days), the exact same one-dimensional character types that characters from an original work keep getting shoved into, the exact same story beats, etc. And I get it to an extent, as fandom is generally a space where people just make art and fic for fun & without thinking too hard about it & without any pressure. 

This seems to, however, often unfortunately lead to the mentality that it’s your god-given right to do literally whatever you want with literally any cultural figure without even the slightest bit of thought put into their cultural, historical, and even religious context, even (and sometimes especially) when it comes to figures that are really important in a culture outside your own. For such figures--even if you first encounter them in a children’s cartoon--you should be a little more careful with what you do with them than you would with your usual Saturday morning line-up. It of course has to be acknowledged that there exists a whole pile of absolutely ridiculous & cursed pieces of media that are based on Journey to the West & that were produced in mainland China, but for your own education if nothing else I consider it good practice for those of us (myself certainly included) who aren’t part of the culture that produced JTTW to put more thought into how we might want to portray these characters so that at the very least (to pull some things I’ve seen from the jttw western fandom) we’re not turning a goddess of mercy into an evil figure for the sake of Angst(TM), or relegating other important literary figures into the positions of offensive stereotypes, or making broad claims about the source text & original characterizations of various figures that are blatantly untrue, or mocking heavenly deities because of what’s actually your misunderstanding of how immortality works according to Daoist beliefs. Yet while a lot of this is often due to people not even trying to understand the context these figures are coming from, I do want to acknowledge that the journey (lol reference) to understand even a fraction of the original cultural context can be a daunting one, especially since, as I’ve mentioned before, it can be really hard & even next to impossible to find good, accessible, & legitimate explanations in English of how, for example, the relationship between Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China & according to the Buddhist beliefs that define the original work. 

That is to say, I do think it’s an unfortunate, if unavoidable, part of any introduction of an original text into a culture foreign to its own for there to be sometimes a significant amount of misinterpretation, mistranslations, and false assumptions. There is, however, a big difference between learning from your honest mistakes, & doubling down on them while dismissing all criticism of your misinterpretation into that abstract category of “fandom drama.” The latter attitude is kind of shitty at best and horrifically entitled at worst. 

Plus, as I’ve discovered, there is a great deal of interest and joy to be drawn from keeping yourself open to learning aspects of these texts & figures that you weren’t aware of! I can say from my own experience that I’ve always really enjoyed & appreciated it when individuals on this site who come from a Chinese background--and who know much more about the cultural context of JTTW than me--have taken the time to explain its various aspects. It often leaves me feeling like woooooaaaahhhhhHHH!!!! as to how amazingly full of nuanced meaning JTTW is like dang no wonder it’s one of China’s Four Great Classical Novels. 

And I guess that right there is the heart of a lot of my own personal frustration and disappointment with the ways that fandoms often approach a literary work or other piece of media...like don’t get me wrong, a lot of the original works a fandom may grow around are just straight-up goofy & everyone’s aware of it & has fun with it, yet the trend of approaching what are often nuanced and multi-layered works in terms of how well they fit and/or can be shoved into pretty cliche ideas of Redemption Arc or Enemies to Lovers or Hero Actually Bad, Villain Actually Good etc...well, it just seems to cheapen and even erase even the possibility of understanding the wonderful complexity or even endearing simplicity that made these works so beloved in the first place. Again, I feel like I need to make it clear that I’m not saying fandom should be a space where people are constantly trying to one-up each other with their hot takes in literary analysis, but it would be nice and even beneficial to allow room for commentary that strives to approach these works in a multi-faceted way, analysis & interpretations that go against the popular fandom beliefs, & criticism of the work or even of fandom trends (yes it is in fact possible to legitimately love something but still be critical of its aspects) instead of immediately attacking people who try to engage in such as just being haters who don’t want anyone to have fun ever (X_X).   

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Anyway, I know I didn’t cover even half of the stuff you brought up in the first place anon, but I don’t want any interested parties to this post to suffer too long through my text wall lol. I was asked to try my hand at illustrating Guanyin, but as with you I’m nowhere near as informed as I should be about her, so I want to do more research on her history and religious importance before I attempt a portrait. I’ll try my best, and do plan to pair that illustration with my own outsider’s attempt to summarize her character. From what little I do know I am in full agreement that her backstory is so incredibly amazing...just the fact that she literally eschewed the bliss of Nirvana to help all beings reach it, and even split herself into pieces in the attempt to do so (with Buddha granting her eleven heads and a thousand arms as a result)...man, I can see why she’s such a beloved & respected deity. 

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 As for what western fandom commonly does with everyone’s favorite god-fighting primate...I can talk about this at length if there’s interest, but for this post I’ll just say that I guess one lesson from all of this is that for all the centuries that have passed since Journey to the West was first completed, literally no one drawing inspiration from the original tale in the west (lol) has come even slightly close to being able to equal or even capture half the extent of the nuance, complexity, religious, historical, and cultural aspects, and humor that define Wu Cheng'en's story of an overpowered monkey who defied even Buddha.

So thank the heavens we'll always have the original.

[animeyanderelover]

I just wanna say I love your blog but I just wanna know would you ever be interested in writing yandere meruem

I’m not finished with the Arc yet, but I feel now confident enough to write about them. Hope I did you justice with that. For the royal guards I went with the scenario where they somehow managed to survive because I don’t think they would get obsessed with someone else as long as the king is still alive. Their devotion for him would keep them from falling for anyone else. That’s at least what I believe.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, sadism, controlling Yandere, strict Yandere, mentions of kidnapping, death, stalking

Chimera Ant Arc Hc’s

Kite

🤡Kite is shown as a very cold and blunt person, but I can actually see him as someone who’s really shy around his darling since he never felt such emotions before. He knows that he isn’t supposed to feel this way, making him the aware type. He also is absolutely whipped for his darling, making him a lovestruck one as well.

🤡I can also imagine him as an overprotective one. He didn’t grow up under the most ideal circumstances and normally is ready to let someone die, but that doesn’t count for his darling. Nothing should ever harm them!

🤡He’s very calm when it comes to his darling interacting with other people and let’s them most of the time talk to whoever they want to. But if someone gets to friendly with the s/o or makes them uncomfortable he’ll step in and tell the person bluntly to go away. He looks very intimidating whilst saying that so most people do what he says.

🤡He tries to be reasonable with the people, knowing that it would get him in trouble if he just kills everyone. He only kills someone when they harmed the s/o, mentally or physically. That’s one of the few times were he gets really enraged and also really disappointed with himself for not being able to protect them.

🤡I believe he would only kidnap them if they rejected him or they got hurt whilst he wasn’t with them. Then he would become incredibly paranoid and kidnap them. He feels bad for doing this, but he can’t do anything against it. But with enough time and convincing from your side he might be willing to let you out again.

🤡From this list a more harmless one who just wants to keep you safe even though his ways of doing so are sometimes a bit extreme. But he’s a very understanding Yandere who tries to suppress his Yandere side for as long and much as possible. He doesn’t want to scare you.

Neferpitou

🐈Neferpitou is a possessive one and obsessive one. They have some cat gene in them and so they are naturally fascinated with their darling, having a cat-like curiosity and wanting to know more about them. One of the most possessive out there especially after losing their king. No way they’ll let something like this happen again!!

🐈I can also imagine them as a bit of a cruel kind since they treat the s/o like a pet, punishing them when they don’t behave, cuddling and treating them when they please them and keeping them sometimes literally on a leash. They think they just protect the s/o from any wild humans, seeing it as taking a weak animal in and taking care of it what makes them the slightest bit delusional. But also an overprotective one. As mentioned Neferpitou lost their king what will increase their overprotectiveness a hundred times.

🐈It isn’t like they let their darling anywhere outside so no need to feel jealous. But if someone will somehow come anywhere near the darling for whatever reason this person will see a growling cat with a more than just sinister and enraged aura towering over them, ready to tear them to pieces. They also feel jealous when the s/o doesn’t pay attention to them, doesn’t matter what it was, Neferpitou will get rid of it.

🐈Pitou kills everyone who knows about the existence of their darling. No one should know that the s/o exists, this will reduce the danger of their darling being attacked by an enemy. Neferpitou has no mercy with anyone. Worst part about it is that they’ll come home covered in blood and want to cuddle their darling. They’ll tilt their head confused when the darling starts to cry when they see them, tainted in blood. Did they do something wrong?

🐈The moment they became interested in the darling was the moment they were doomed. Neferpitou most likely killed the whole village they lived in to ensure that no one knows about the s/o. After that they dragged them somewhere far away from any human to just keep them for themself.

🐈This really depends on your behavior. If you behave well then Neferpitou will be in a good mood and they’ll spoil you with affection and praises, after all a good pet deserves to be treated well. But when you don’t behave Pitou will get angry after a while and punish you because a bad pet needs to get punished in order to learn to behave. But Neferpitou can be really charming if they want too, cats have a very special charm on them and this counts for them as well. They just want to be a good owner with you as their cute little pet.

Shaiapouf

🎻I think that Shaiapouf will change his Yandere type over time, but let’s start with what type he is during the first period of time. Obsessive, delusional and strict. He didn’t expect to fall for a human and felt disgusted at himself at first. How dare he fall for a human?!?! Disgraceful!! He most likely saw a flash of perfection and beauty in them and he kept this image in his head, wanting to know more about them and what made them so special. He expected them to behave and would lash out at them when they went against the perfect picture he had about them in his mind, punishing them for their behavior. Also a manipulative one, guilt tripping his darling and wrapping them up with lies to ensure they behave and don’t run away.

🎻But the more time he spent with them, the more he changed. He was still obsessive, manipulative and delusional, but now he thought of everything his darling did as perfection, no need to punish them anymore. He gained also the traits lovestruck, worshipper and clingy. This guy’s absolutely enamored with the s/o, seeing them as his new queen/king he has to serve. He’ll stick to their side, no matter what and is also very touchy. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing, he does it all.

🎻Just like Pitou he keeps his darling somewhere far away from any humans since he doesn’t trust them. Every human, except his wonderful darling of course, is some savage animal in his eyes, completely uncultivated. I think he doesn’t really get jealous that much, but if his darling tells him they know someone who can do something better than him then he gets ‘jealous’. Of course he’s also more than disappointed with himself, feeling like he failed, but he’ll also make sure to do better the next time to show his worth.

🎻He is willing to kill anyone who even dares to look at the s/o. Lowlife like this doesn’t deserve to have the honor to look at them! Shaiapouf thinks of it as protecting his queen/king from any danger, his paranoia is pretty horrible.

🎻He won’t see it as kidnapping. He sees it more as saving the s/o from wasting any time with those savage things out there. He’s completely paranoid, he already lost his king to humans and will make sure to not lose the darling to humans as well. At first he won’t let them out at all, but after he changed his Yandere type he’s more willing to let them out. But only if he’s with them and only if they don’t go anywhere near humans.

🎻His delusions are the problem. At the beginning because he held this perfect picture of you and manipulated you into your perfect self and after his change because he saw himself as a servant who’s only duty it is to protect and spoil you. Arguing won’t be from any use, you’ll just exhaust yourself like this. But the worshipper Shaiapouf is definitely better than the strict Shaiapouf because now he doesn’t hurt you anymore and has infinite patience with you.

Methuthuyoupi

💥Youpi is more of a stalker, choosing to just watch the s/o from the distance. He uses this chance to also find out as much as possible about his darling what makes him an obsessive one as well. Every move they do makes him fall deeper into his obsession with them.

💥Also the overprotective one. He failed his king and he won’t fail his darling too. Surprisingly can him imagine as a lovestruck one as well. Everything his s/o does is just so adorable to him!

💥He doesn’t get jealous, he’s just overprotective over the darling. Since he stalks them all the time he knows who they’re talking and interacting with during the day. He just watches for the most part and won’t feel jealous, letting them do what they want. But that changes the moment he witnesses someone hurting his darling...

💥Yeah, if he ever witnesses someone hurting his darling, doesn’t matter if it’s mentally or physically, he’ll become a mad man and will destroy that person. Just imagine the last thing you see in your life is his crazed expression... That’s truly terrifying!

💥As long as he’s able to protect the s/o from the distance I think he’ll be fine with letting them walk freely around. Something really extreme would have to happen for him to kidnap you, the only example being the s/o nearly getting killed with him not being able to protect them. Then he’ll resort to kidnapping in order to protect them.

💥From all of the royal guards he’s the most tame one. He has no human DNA in him so he doesn’t really realize that his feelings aren’t normal, but that’s all. He just wants to protect you from every danger and is the most willing to let you walk around freely, but of course he’ll watch you from the distance, protecting you from any harm.

Meruem

👑Similar to Shaiapouf his type will change over time. At first he’s a strict, cold, cruel, obsessive and possessive one. He’s the king and expects the s/o to treat him like one. In his mind they should be thankful that he can’t kill them and that they should feel honored that he even pays them so much attention and he will punish them if they don’t act accordingly. The fact that he feels something for them was a surprise for him and so he wanted to know anything about them that was there to know, feeling like he would owe them if he would figure everything about them out. He won’t let anyone else have his darling, he’s the king and if he wants something then it’s only his!

👑But with time he became the possessive, obsessive, clingy, overprotective and soft type. He couldn’t think straight anymore when he wasn’t with his darling anymore and so he just kept them by his side all the time and became a much more nicer person to them, treating them more gentle and caring. He sees his darling as someone fragile and that’s the reason why he’s so protective over them. Nothing will ever harm them. Especially when Pouf is anywhere near he’ll be on high alert and keep a sharp eye on him.

👑He killed every human in the palace and since he keeps you always with him there’s no need to get jealous. No one would even dare to talk or look at you. But if you ,however, show some interest in one of his guards because they are the only ones you see besides him he’ll get jealous really fast and if you don’t want him to kill them it’s the best to quickly start paying attention to him.

👑I don’t need to answer this, it’s obvious. He kills anyone who dares to even mention his darling’s name. If the s/o tells him about a person who gave them troubles in the past or if he finds it out on his own then he’ll make sure to sent his royal guards out to find this person, planning on giving them an agonizing death so if you don’t want him to kill someone you cried over years ago don’t tell him anything. He’ll find out anyways.

👑At first he tried to kill the darling and failed, then he tried to avoid them and failed. That’s when he came to the conclusion that keeping them is the best thing to do. At first he didn’t let them out of their room, but after he softened up he let them walk through the palace, but only if he was with them since Shaiapouf was a problem. The only reason he didn’t kill that guy was because the s/o begged him to not do it.

👑At first he was a truly terrifying Yandere, scaring the living shit out of you and hurting you whenever you started to annoy him, but after he changed this took a 180 degree flip and suddenly he became so much better and understanding with you and also stopped hurting you.

[angelic-serenade]

Alastor + disaster cook! S/O

headcanons

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

you could not cook to save your life

any attempt at cooking would result in certain failure in the best case scenario and 5.4 magnitude earthquake damage in the worst

sure, you could make edible pasta and if you really put your best efforts into it, acceptable omelette too

but anything past that level of complexity was simply out of your league, a lost cause to put it mildly

don't you even think about making a cake, that shit's dangerous

as they say: as above so below

when you landed in Hell and found yourself joining the Happy Hotel soon after, you came to find out your culinary skills had not magically improved

which is quite ironic since Charlie had made you head chef of the hotel

the string of curses which had left your lips upon hearing the news had been legendary, even for Hell

you adored the demon princess with your whole heart (or whatever was left of it anyway), bUT REALLY CHARLIE? YOU DO NOT GIVE A GUN TO A CHILD AND EXPECT CASUALTIES NOT TO HAPPEN

at this point you were certain she was subconsciously auto-sabotaging

either way, you didn't have the heart to tell her no, so you decided to put your heart and soul into trying to learn how to properly cook, which didn't turn out to be the ideal choice of words since you were in Hell and your soul was probably rotten to the core

at least, nobody could say you hadn't tried your damn best

and hey! some days your cooking hadn't even been completely sickening

you decided to stick to easy, “safe” dishes though, you know, just to be sure

so pasta and eggs were definitely a thing

a constant and repetitive thing to be precise

you were trying your best, okay? nobody in your place with your limited set of skills would have taken the job, but you did and you deserved recognition for that feat alone

or a fucking donkey hat for your skyrocketing dumbness levels

things were not so bad at first

both Charlie and Vaggie were very supportive, each one of them in their own way - even though you had totally seen Charlie trying to swallow pure unadulterated fear that one time you had announced you wanted to try to cook something more elaborate

Angel Dust on the other hand... hadn't been as considerate as to lie to your face about what he thought of your cooking

"fuck me doll, this shit's disgusting"

*insert the I don't have friends they disappoint me vine here*

Vaggie had proceeded to give Angel quite the earful while Charlie tried her best to cheer you up

you went full hermit mode on them for two days after that

you were proud of yourself, handling criticism so well

anyway, the cycle kept repeating, with the only difference that most days Angel would grab something to eat outside of the hotel and join you during meals only to blankly stare at the plates and silvery

Charlie had tried to shield you from the truth, but you weren't that stupid

you respected Angel's choice, really, you did, and you had decided to be the bigger person among the two

that's why you began to put a lil bit of laxative into his portions whenever he decided to grace your efforts and actually eat your "disgusting cooking"

y’know just to spicy things up a little

at least now he had a valid reason to complain

with the whole fiasco on live TV and the sudden and suspicious appearence of the one and only Radio Demon at your doorstep, however, things started going haywire

Alastor's presence was eeirly demanding and unsettlingly charmimg at the same time

so it was only natural for you to gravitate the fuck away from him whenever you could

you always acted politely, greeting him whenever you bumped into him through the corridors of the hotel, but you only went as far as to appear courteous because you didn't want for him to go Hannibal Lecter on you. thanks, no thanks

“and what can you do my feminine fellow?”

“I can suck your dick!”

you had snorted a bit at that which immediately shifted the strawberry pimp's attention to yourself

“and what about you, pretty dame? I take it you're in charge of the kitchens around here?”

dressed in your chef attire, you were going to meekly answer him, but before you could, roaring laughter erupted in the room. it belonged to the one and only slutty spider you found oh so irritating

in the fraction of seconds, Alastor snapped his neck at an unnatural angle to stare at the spider with a strained smile on his face

needless to say, the cursed image would forever haunt your traumatized psyche

“hasn't your mother taught you it is rude to interrupt a conversation which you have no part in? that just won't do!”

static filled the air and you feared you were going to implode if the heavy pressure didn't lift off soon enough, so you decided to take action

“ugh... yes, I'm the head chef! but, well, I... could actually use some practice and proper training?”

you hated how uncertain you sounded, but Angel's comments and your own dissatisfaction with your culinary products made you quite self-conscious about your skills

“don't fret your pretty little head about it, my dear! I, for one, am a culinary connaisseur and wonderful chef, if I do say so myself. I'll be ecstatic to guide you through your training!”

how you'd be able to handle his booming voice during hours and hours of practice was your first and main concern, but you had never been one to refuse the chance to finally prove the people who had criticized you wrong *cough cough* Angel Dust

since that day, Alastor began to personally give you cooking lessons

he was exuberant and pretty sly when it came to veiled jabs about your dreadful cooking, but he really took his time to help you out

which you had been both grateful and suspicious about

“now, we can't have our future patrons starving to death, can we?”

he was strangely patient and an overall good teacher too (emphasis on overall)

he guided you step by step through each dish, simultaneously showing off his own flawless culinary skills

you hated that you daily found yourself boosting his already GIGANTIC ego, but you couldn't help it. you could only dream about reaching that level of artistry in cooking

he always came up with creative recipes to test your limits and cooked for you in order to make you more familiar with different tastes. his mother’s were your favorites, jambalaya being his one true specialty 

he had blindfolded you once and proceeded to present you with various samples of spices, oilments and all kinds of food so that you could acquaint yourself with the smells and flavors of the ingredients and figure out yourself which ones would best suit a certain dish

saying you were hesitant at first was an understatement, because you know? being completely at the mercy of a sadistic serial killer who had terrorized the seven circles of hell? not even being able to see him? not on your bucket list

he had tried to ease your nervousness with the whole “if I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would have done so already” thing, but it was getting kind of old pretty fast

“if I had been one to play with fire, I'd have joined a circus”

he found your sense of humor as endearing your sheer presence

(when he rolled up his sleeves to cook, you felt like you could catch fire any minute, you were a slut for strong skinny arms) 

yes, Alastor had always loved to show off his own impeccable skills but he unexpectedly found himself enjoying the moments spent in your company too

he relished in seeing you fail again and again, but he also admired the way you always managed to bring yourself back up to your feet each time

he had yet to fully understand if it was foolishness or stubbornness to guide your steps

either way, you turned out to be his favorite form of entertainment in the hotel!

no matter how many slights would he send your way, you'd always manage to find an appropriate remark that made his permanent smile stretch a little more in sheer amusement

“oh dear, this beef is so undercooked one could still hear the poor beast’s lament”

“the only noise I hear is the obnoxious ramblings of an arrogant boomer”

he wasn't technically a boomer but it was always so satisfying to irk him with terms he had no knowledge of

during your cooking lessons, when the only thing left to do with a dish was wait and pray for the best, you'd come to talk about everything and anything

he'd talk to you about his precious New Orleans as he remembered it and you'd fill him in on recent historical/social developments of your time

he always looked so taken when you shared with him that modern knowledge and it made you feel useful for a change

it was, dare you say it, almost adorable how he'd ask you countless questions about your home town, the catastrophes of the last century and had there been any other war since his death?

the topic switches almost made you dizzy though

once or twice, when the timing allowed, he'd even indulge in a musical show to pass time

on the days your mood soured because of a particularly complicated recipe or bad result, he'd drag you along and dance until you were so distracted by the absurdness of the circumstances that you forgot about your previous sadness

with time, his musical shows became more frequent as he realized you'd always offer him a genuine smile after his flashy performances

it was out of personal indulgence, not because he liked the way his music always seemed to cheer you up

he'd not been vocal about the way he tried to comfort you, but you were grateful nonetheless

the first time you managed to succesfully complete one of his complicated recipes, you had almost cried

“now, now deary, under my watchful eye, it was only a matter of time until you'd finally blossom into a fine cook!”

“Alastor can I... can I hug you?”

and how could he say no to such an adorable expression? he found himself stunned into silence, not being able to tell you yes either, therefore you slowly came closer as if trying not to scare a wild animal away

when Alastor passively stood before you, not moving away, you wrapped your arms around him

he really was such a dorky noodle

he didn't relax into the hug, but he kept still as you relished in the moment and let the pressure you had hoarded for months now loose

Alastor proceeded to show off your dish during dinner and even Angel Dust could do nothing but shut up and dig in

The all powerful Radio Demon was simply so proud of your progress - not that he doubted you'd prevail in the end, thanks to his expertise and guidance

from that moment onward things only got better and even if you didn't necessarily need Alastor's help anymore, neither of you ever mentioned going your separate ways

you were both secretly glad for the silent agreement

friendly banter and dad jokes were a daily occurrence and with your new-found confidence in the field, you'd always bite back showing off new delicious dishes instead than words

you still had trouble every now and then, but Alastor was always there to help you out

not that you'd ever hear the end of it if you actually asked him for help

“what was that, my darling? is the mightiest chef in Hell having trouble in Paradise?”

you had noticed however that he'd started sneaking glances your way more than usual lately and he also started following you around wherever you went in the hotel. he became your shadow both inside and outside of the kitchen

the attention soon became unnerving, even more so when you'd go in the kitchen only find a different flower on the counter each morning

you came to realize that Alastor's advances were rather old fashioned, but you would amuse the dork and yourself for a while before taking charge

gifts became an ordinary occurrence as well as praise and you preferred not to think about what praise could do to you when it came from Alastor

he enjoyed your reactions to his flattering words a little too much, he had to admit

you had had enough of his childish antics one day and you decided to finally put your plan into action

“Al, can you come here for one sec?”

he wasn't particularly fond of the nickname, but you just loved to get under his skin as much as he did when it came to you

“what can I do for you, my darling chef?”

“here, I have a gift for you”

he looked uncharacteristically unsure of what to do but slightly amused as well. in the end curiosity took the best of him and he finally decided to open the box you had handed to him rather unceremoniously

“what is this dear?”

the apron you had chosen was a perfect fit for your long boi

“read it, please”

“kiss the cook? well, if you ask me so nicely, I just might have to”

he then proceeded to peck your cheek and you swore you could have fainted right there and then by the sheer sweetness of the gesture

it hadn't exactly been what you had planned, but you weren't going to complain

your relationship was bound to be full of surprises apparently

[the-littlest-goblin]

Shadowgast prompt: Essek was spying on the dinner convo with Trent (shhhh I know he probably has anti scrying wards all over that tower but idc), his reactions to hearing Trent justifying his abuse as love (maybe with thoughts about his own family situation?)

It’s angst time, folks.

______________________________________________________________

The first time, he was able to justify it to himself.

He didn’t want to contact any of the Mighty Nein directly, not with how they had left things, but he still had to know they were ok. He had to. 

He told himself that he would cast the spell just to test that it reached its target, to confirm they were alive. Maybe a quick peek to make sure they weren’t in immediate peril. Perfectly fine, not an invasion of privacy. 

The next few times were… less defensible. 

It became a pattern: Scry on one of them. Reassure himself that they were all alive. Vow not to do it again. Spend another week with a stifled fear whispering at the back of his mind, growing louder each passing day that was not interrupted by a cheery voice invading his mind with some inane message. Give in. Scry again.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to cast it on Caleb this time. A previous scry confirmed that Caleb no longer wears his anti-detection amulet, but even without it, he was able to resist when Essek attempted to spy on him directly. He should pick a surer target, or risk wasting the spell.

But Caleb remains his focus as he completes the incantation, and miracle of miracles, he feels his magic break through Caleb’s mental defenses a split-second before the scry overtakes his vision.

There are flashes of a bustling city, Empire architecture everywhere. The spell homes in on an imposing wizard’s tower and then zooms into a room inside, crystallizing on a red-haired figure seated at a lavish dining table.

Caleb is wearing the same finery he sported in Nicodranas on that night, and the sight of it sends an uncomfortable jolt through Essek. He shoves the memories aside. Focus. This is a spell that requires full concentration.

From the blurred edges of the scry, a voice reaches Essek’s ears—a sickening, familiar voice.

“...the prodigy I always knew he was. While some students take direct tutelage and study, some are unique in how they best develop: through self-discovery, others inspired through hardship.”

Trent is seated a few feet away from Caleb, far enough that he is barely a blur of pale skin and dark robe in Essek’s vision. Regardless, his insipid voice is recognizable enough on its own, with or without the unfortunate visage that normally accompanies it.

Essek feels his mouth curl uncontrollably into a sneer as Trent continues in the course of whatever it is he’s monologuing about this time.

"Historically, the most talented mages have indeed walked this path, or the greatest ambitions come from those who have endured the dark and crawled their way back."

Veth, her form equally hazy as Ikithon’s, pipes up from the other side of the table, “So you're apologizing, then?”

Beau responds, her tone and diction unmistakable even though her visual is fully out of the limits of Essek’s scry. “No, it sounds like he's trying to take fucking credit.”

Apologizing for what? Taking credit for what? Curiosity bubbles up in Essek, insatiable and undeniable.

Through all this, Caleb is the only clear thing he can see, and Essek watches as his face contorts itself in pain—not the wailing, open-mouthed countenance of physical injury, but the subdued, tight-lipped expression of internal anguish. He is looking in Trent’s direction.

There is misery behind his eyes. There is also hatred.

Trent is speaking again. 

"Forgive me, Bren.” Essek’s brain does a momentary double-take at the unfamiliar name, but it doesn’t take much to put the pieces together. 

"I could see your gifts, and your faults and limitations. To truly grow, you needed to be broken and left to build yourself. It took longer than we anticipated, but when you were ready, we turned on the light and showed you the door."

Without more context, it is impossible to fully understand this conversation, even for someone as shrewd as Essek. But though he does not know the exact nature of Caleb and Trent’s history, or what it means when Trent produces a symbol of the Arch Heart, or why Caleb appears even more distraught when he looks at it, Essek can still recognize the dynamics at play here. A slimy, squirming disgust curls in his gut, like the unctuous voice of Trent made manifest.

I understand the pressure of being young, and the expectation. Caleb had said this to him once, a thousand years ago, on the happiest night of Essek’s life. He had sensed the kinship between them long before that, the shared spark of brilliance, of curiosity, of a life shaped by cruelly pragmatic hands. 

He had replied, Experience is what hardens you, prepares you for the worst. I think you're prepared for more than you give yourself credit for, Caleb. He knows now, with absolute certainty, that he was correct. Yet another thing they have in common.

Trent is still talking. "And I cannot tell you how proud of you I am—we are. And I know you hate me, Bren. Hate what I've put you through, and I accept those feelings. For it was a hard choice for me to make. What I did, though, I did out of love."

There’s an immediate scoff—Jester, Essek thinks, though it’s hard to tell. Whoever it was, Essek wholeheartedly agrees.

No one who claims that their actions were done out of love has ever said so sincerely. If they have to justify it as such, then it wasn’t real love. Essek knows this for certain, having been on both sides of the matter, and also finally understanding what real love actually looks like.

He’s heard selfishness pitched as altruism, cruelty twisted to sound like mercy, has had as much said to his face by those who claim to love him, but whom he fully believes care nothing for him beyond his abilities and the services he can provide. The greater good has been invoked in the name of so many evil acts throughout history.

Which is exactly why he has never tried to delude himself, or others, that his own terrible deeds were done out of good intentions. Anything can sound justified with the right turns of phrase; that is half his job as the Shadowhand. That doesn’t make any of it true, or make the perpetrator any less blameworthy.

“To what end? To use me?” Caleb asks. Essek can’t help but admire the steady strength of his voice, though he knows he has no right to the pride that fills his chest at hearing it.

"No, to show you what you are capable of.” Trent’s voice is full of intensity, sounding almost desperate to make Caleb understand. "It was your parents' wish when I told them of the spark that I saw within you. They asked me to do whatever it took to help you realize it, for the glory of your family, and for the Empire.”

For the Den, Essek. For the Dynasty. How many times has he heard appeals to family and legacy and patriotism? From the Queen ordering her soldiers to battle; from the Umavi demanding nothing short of perfection from her children, whatever is takes to achieve it. How would they feel, to know their most detested enemies use indistinguishable rhetoric?

“I did just that, as much as it hurt to hurt you. It is the greater man who puts the needs of others over himself, Bren. And this nation needs you."

With that, Essek’s vision fades into black as the scry reaches its end. The image of Caleb’s pained expression stays imprinted behind his eyelids even as he blinks them open back to his candlelit laboratory. 

The sick feeling does not dissipate. It is joined by the sour taste of bile in the back of Essek’s mouth as his mind replays pieces of what he heard over and over again.

It’s not verbatim what’s been said to him in the past, but it comes from the same crop of manipulation.

There is nothing Essek can do to help Caleb, nothing whatsoever. Despite this, a part of him yearns to teleport to Rexxentrum right this second, damn the chances of a mishap, and damn the fact that if he arrives in the Empire successfully, he is sure to be arrested or killed on sight.

What ultimately shuts the impulse down is reminding himself that, even if he could get there and evade capture, it is highly unlikely that Caleb would be happy to see him.

He really hopes the Mighty Nein send him a message soon.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Together

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33196183

Kairi creeps into the Hall of the Cornerstone and ends up seeing a memory of Minnie's--and perhaps gets more than she bargained for, as her own emotions and regrets come to the surface--and with it a friendship that will carry her through any trial.

For @mademoiseli Happy late birthday, sweetie!

Kairi sat down on the steps that led out of the Hall of the Cornerstone, wondering if she should go down there or not

She wanted to be a bad girl for once—as a sort of fun, perhaps, as her world had so recently fallen down—and go there against her better judgement … and some of the other Guardians of Lights’ judgement as well, if she was being honest.

Because now that they all knew that strong lights could be used to house darknesses without being corrupted—and strong lights and darknesses might call to each other like moths to a flame—there was even the chance, that a strong light like the Cornerstone of Light could resonate with Kairi too strongly. What if it tried to pull her into it, or she pulled it into herself?

These were the reasons that the Guardians had thought it a good idea that Kairi stay away from the light that kept Disney Castle safe from harm.

…But curiosity had killed the cat, and Kairi found that was very much her case when she found herself wandering down into the basement, anyway, just to get a look.

Though what ended up drawing her attention was not the Cornerstone of Light. Rather, it was this almost liquid—thought not quite—with wisps going into it, on a nearby table that had recently been erected, if its drying silver paint was anything to go by.

Kairi grew closer to it, peering into the water, where she curiously saw what looked like Lady Daisy, Huey, Dewey, Louie, Chip, Dale, someone who looked as though they were related to Goofy, and Aqua watching as Queen Minnie gave Pete an earful!

Kairi had no idea how this scene was playing out before her, without sound, but she definitely wanted to find out! So, she walked even closer to it, but ended up tripping, with her face falling face first into the water… and there, she could see this memory—perhaps that’s what it was—in all its glory.

“…Pete, we counted the votes very carefully. Ventus, Aqua, and Terra won. Oh, Pete. I think you tried to do something good, but you were doing it for the wrong reasons, and you went about it the wrong way. Still, a couple of citizens must have thought you had goodness in you, because you actually got a few votes. They knew you were looking out for them.”

Kairi didn’t know what was going on exactly, but maybe she could make some guesses based off of the Queen’s words? But Pete seemed to be boiling with anger, as he often was, and Queen Minnie seemed to be very sweet in dealing with him now and trying to reassure him that the people still cared about him, Kairi saw.

And though this was surely a memory of the past, the Princess of Heart almost wanted to believe that the other light wielder could get through to him. And that maybe things could be different for them all, going forward, if she could…

But then it all took a turn for the worst, as Pete turned towards Queen Minnie angrily.

“Big whoop! I don’t need their lousy votes! Just cough up my prize!”

And then he extended a hand towards Queen Minnie. And Kairi didn’t know if he’d meant to harm her or steal the prize, but she felt her heart go out for the small queen all the same, and her plight here.

And Kairi wanted to believe she would have had such strength and heart in the situation, without her own king.

“Pete!” Queen Minnie exclaimed. “They voted for you because they believe in you and care about you. How could you look down on that? I’ve tried to forgive a lot of things you’ve done, but this is too much. Now you’ve finally crossed the line.”

“Like that matters to me,” Pete shot back rather expertly, not seeming to care how he’d hurt Queen Minnie in the slightest with his line. And it pained Kairi to see.” Besides, what are you going to do about it?” he challenged.

“Ha! I’m gonna let you cool off for a while. Guards!” And at that point, some of the magic brooms showed up and carried Pete off, while Queen Minnie frowned at him, heartbroken, the whole time.

Kairi wondered if this was when he was banished to another dimension—another world—for all he’d done, like Sora had told her about before. She wouldn’t have been surprised.

And with that last sad image of the Queen being the last thing Kairi saw, the memory must have been over, and Kairi was pulled out of it, gasping. And she was surprised to see none other than Queen Minnie herself was watching her now!

“Quite an ordeal, wasn’t it young Kairi?” she asked. And somehow, she seemed to look at Kairi with sadness for Pete, she guessed. But not for Kairi. And no disappointment, either. It was as if she was okay with Kairi spying on her memories. Even though she’d had no right to do it at all.

“Your majesty,” Kairi stammered, dropping to a bow right away, and trying to find her graces, and the girl who might have once belittled Sora and Riku for getting into a situation, because her past self never would have… how sad it was that her present self would. “I’m so, so sorry. I had no right at all to do any of this. Especially since you’re being so kind as to let us look all over your world for Sora right now… I’ll go now.”

Queen Minnie laughed. And it was a pretty sound… and an encouraging one, that had Kairi stopping from going back up the steps that led to the audience chamber, and rather turn around to face the woman. “I acted quite like the Queen there… but part of me regrets it, you know? Because surely Pete had done worse things than that. Why was it him not appreciating people believing in him, that was the final straw for me? Was it that I was just too angry that day?”

“I think my subconscious mind, though not my conscious one, partly wondered about that when I saw your memory just now, too,” Kairi admitted, offering Queen Minnie a small smile, in seeing that they thought very much the same.

“N-not that you were too angry!”, she quickly explained, realizing her words could be misconstrued. “But what it was about that day in particular… And sometimes I wonder about my own anger. Like why I was so livid at Organization XIII. Maybe if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been part of the Keyblade War and Sora would still be here…”

And God help her, Kairi was crying now. Something she definitely didn’t want to do in front of this Queen at all.

But Queen Minnie was merciful and kind, and motioned for Kairi to lean down, so she could wipe her tear away. “You mustn’t blame yourself for that, Kairi, dear. As I understand it, if you hadn’t been there, Sora would have died, and that awful prophecy about light expiring would have come true. So, it was a good thing you were there!

“And goodness me, you don’t have to be so formal with me. I’d like to think we’re all friends here. Call me Minnie!

“But it- it’s hard, isn’t it? I think we who strive closer to the light, often doubt ourselves when we get away from it. But I think those reasons happen for a reason, too. Like with Pete: when you can’t see the goodness of people recognizing you, I feel you can no longer see anything. And you can too easily become caught in the darkness then… and I think that’s why I did what I did with Pete … Do you understand, Kairi?”

“Yes, I think I do!” Kairi beamed, pulling the mouse Queen into a hug. And she didn’t know if this was right or dignified or whatever, but since Queen Minnie said that they could be friends, she decided to just go for it.

And when Queen Minnie hugged her back like it was the simplest thing in the world—magic and healing seeming to fill up Kairi’s heart as she did—she wondered if this was the start of something here.

“Thank you so much for comforting me today… Minnie. I don’t know what I would have done without you. And thank you for not caring that I accidentally spied on your memory!”

The two women started out of the audience chamber now, and would begin a journey through the hall and back to the library, much like the one Queen Minnie had taken with Sora before—feeding off each other’s light as they did so—and it would end up being a key to them finding Sora.

Queen Minnie held Kairi’s hand in hers, like Donald and Goofy had Sora’s multiple times, and Mickey had Riku’s, that many times, as well. “Hehe. Of course, my dear. And know that we’ll find Sora together.”

“Together.”

Author’s Note: Yes, it was a pensieve Kairi used. And my explanation for one being here, is that Disney apparently almost made the first Harry Potter movie. This is mentioned in the “A Conversation Between Daniel Radcliffe and J.K. Rowling” video on the Deathly Hallows DVD.

Written for you, Mademoiseli! I hope you enjoyed!

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 10

Read on FF.net

Read on AO3

The atmosphere around him had become much colder and darker as night descended on the Gerudo Highlands. The prophet stirred. Everything hurt, but there was also the headache that only intensified when he tried to reason with what had happened.

It had to have been a dream… A very terrible and ridiculous dream… Yes, a dream… Not a prophecy...

His mind couldn’t accept that Hylia herself spoke to him.

Yet, If it hadn’t been real, then how had he survived Sooga’s attack?

Hylia… That vile goddess had turned his whole world upside down, her ways more bewildering to Astor than even the Yiga Clan.

The conflicting thoughts had been tormenting to begin with, now they were only magnified to an unbearable intensity. As devoted as he was to the Calamity he was only mortal, and he didn’t want to perish over what he’d so blindly followed for too long. But the alternative would make him a failure in Calamity Ganon’s eyes, and wasn’t the Calamity the only thing that mattered? 

She had known everything… Every thought and emotion no matter how deep or repressed, she had laid it all bare, and it terrified him. He feared his thoughts of the princess and his potential to be disloyal to Calamity Ganon.

That wasn’t the only thing he had to worry about. The Yiga Clan was almost certain to make another attempt on his life, and they knew the location of his hideout. The prophet gave a frustrated groan and turned to leave the Gerudo Highlands before a potential ambush could be devised by the clan.

He began to wander northeast aimlessly, only having a vague idea of where he was going. Eventually, desert cliffs gave way to lush green fields.

He could see Hyrule Castle’s silhouette in the distance, and he began to feel jittery, nearly breaking into a burst of insane laughter. He tried to focus his thoughts on how ironic it was that he and the princess now had the Yiga as a common enemy. Anything to not have to think about what was revealed to him by the goddess. It couldn’t be true…

Oh, I’m sure that would go over well. The king would be so thrilled… The prophet thought facetiously.

He gave Hyrule Castle and its surrounding town a wide breadth, also avoiding villages or other areas where people might congregate.

As he rounded the perimeter of the Lost Woods he couldn’t help but notice how visible the back of the castle was from this vantage point. Which window belonged to the Princess? The castle’s wide moat separated the ground he stood from the castle, but still, it was breathtaking to be so close.

The Lost Woods was much the same way. It was surrounded by water, with only one foot-path going in. The pink flowering top of the Great Deku Tree could be seen at the center of Great Hyrule Forest, and Astor thought back to that fated day he crossed paths with the princess before that great, imposing tree. Somewhere, within those woods was a much more mysterious place he had only seen in visions -  that place where the Silent Princess flowers grew rampant, and he was intent on finding it.

oOo

“No matter what it takes, you must awaken your power before the Calamity returns.” King Rhoam’s commanding voice filled the castle’s sanctum.

Zelda looked down, gathering her resolve. If the Calamity was going to rise on her 17th birthday, as newly uncovered images from the broken Guardian indicated, she didn’t have much time left. 

Whatever it takes? What is that supposed to mean? I’m already doing everything I can.

She bit back her protests, one more time, ever the good, obedient daughter. “Understood.”

“I sense you have become complacent regarding your duty,” King Rhoam said, becoming colder.

Zelda slowly looked up, at a loss. She could sense Impa’s sympathetic gaze on her, and she wanted to cast a glance back at the advisor in shared exasperation but thought better of it. “I - I’m sorry father. Please believe me. I’m trying my hardest. I really am -.”

“No more, excuses, Zelda! From this moment on you are to have nothing to do with the childish hobby you’ve been carrying on with Sheikah technology and you are to devote yourself fully to unlocking your power. You must be single-minded in this crucial duty. Or perhaps it is your poor attitude that is interfering with your training.”

Zelda flinched internally, but it barely showed on the outside.

“Yes, I understand… I will try harder.”

The King’s expression hardened and he raised his voice. “No, you don’t try! You do it! You are going to the Spring of Courage immediately, and Link and Impa are to accompany you, do I make myself clear?”

The Princess held her head high as she headed to her chambers to change into her ceremonial white gown. As soon as she was out of sight she let out a big huff and nearly broke down, but somehow held herself together.

She took her time getting changed, disconsolate and a little bit spiteful to have been humiliated in front of her friends. 

The gown was pure white and was designed with the goddess Hylia as inspiration. It was a small consolation to feel closer to her ancestor by donning the dress and royal heirlooms. 

She fixed her hair, undoing her braid and brushing it out. She put on the gold bracers and tossed her hair to one side to fasten the gold Hylia crest necklace passed down in the royal family for countless generations.

As she languidly moved about her chambers, her mind raced with thoughts of hopelessness. She had already trained at the Spring of Courage and Spring of Power in the past, and both had yielded no results. All that remained was the Spring of Wisdom on Mount Lanayru, and she would only be permitted to make the trip up the mountain when she reached the age of 17. But with knowledge of the day of Calamity Ganon’s return she knew it would be too little too late.

Before she left her chambers, Zelda paused to look at herself in the mirror. She gave a sharp exhale. All of Hyrule was believing in her, leaning on her to save them... or at least that's how it felt. Zelda wasn’t unaware of the fact that she was the subject of mockery among those who were aware of her unfulfilled duty. And although those closest to her were doing their best to support her, a void remained.

The worst was coming. She knew it. If only she had someone to brace herself against for when the Calamity would inevitably rise and consume everything and everyone she loved.

Zelda rested her forehead against the mirror and closed her eyes, holding back tears one more time, unsure how much longer she could hold on before she gave out.

oOo

Astor found himself in that mysterious place. The one seen in his visions as of late, particularly when the princess drew near to him. It was an ethereal and dark forest, hidden away within the Lost Woods much in the same way as Korok Forest. Perhaps it was the goddess who led him there and allowed him to find it, although Astor wasn’t sure if it was real or illusionary.

Moonlight peaked down through the tops of the trees, the blue and white Silent Princess flowers seeming to glow in its light. Was it always night here? It was clearly a refuge for him.

He took an uncertain step forward, looking around. There was a small spring of clear water.

He thought of the princess and how she would likely go to the Spring of Courage and Power soon. Let her try, the prophet thought. She wasn’t going to be unlocking that power anytime soon. He could envision her visiting one such spring, her shoulders bare, her dress clinging to her form as she stood in the water so focused on unlocking the power that evaded her. That jittery feeling came back in full force.

Kill her… You’ll be in control again… 

No, no… I must stay as far away from her as possible, lest the goddess’s prophecy comes true…

He wasn’t sure which one was Lord Ganon’s will. His trust in the Calamity had been so compromised he couldn’t discern Ganon’s or even fate’s design any longer. There was a part of him that wanted so much to remain faithful to Lord Ganon. He didn’t know how else to exist, even knowing that to remain loyal would end in regret for a prophecy unfulfilled and his own death.

The prophet held his head in his hands. He hastily disrobed, leaving his clothing in a haphazard pile, signaling his mental disarray. He got into the small spring, completely bare save for the circlet he wore with the Malice Eye. Many bruises from his earlier fight marred his pale skin.

Thoughts and feelings he might have easily shoved away before were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. No, it was downright impossible after the goddess’s parting words, and his thoughts of the princess were running wild. He could feel the distance between himself and the Calamity widen further, and he panicked.

He slid under the water’s surface, holding his breath as long as he could. If Hylia was merciful maybe he’d drown and in death, those vexing feelings would stop plaguing him. The urge to take a breath was increasing, and he came back up, gasping.

Astor relaxed a bit, resting his head on the edge of the spring and stretching out into a comfortable position in surrender, hoping this place was indeed illusionary and that no one would stumble upon him in such a state, not that travelers typically explored these woods for fear of becoming lost.

This place was so… otherworldly… so beautiful. Astor wondered briefly if Calamity Ganon could even ‘see’ or perceive this place.

And at last, he confronted the goddess’s prophecy with a clearer mind, although wavering between doubt and resent. How could it come true? He had acted with such cruelty toward Princess Zelda, why would she ever look at him with anything other than disdain?

Astor had once been very disciplined in his mindset towards the princess and his plan to bring about her demise, but he was out of reasons to fight what had been repressed. His thoughts of her lingered and then intensified. He yearned to embrace her, to touch her, and ached to feel her hands on him. He was paralyzed by the thought, but he couldn’t deny how exquisite it would be to give in to those feelings if the opportunity ever arose, despite knowing he would continue to resist out of fear of losing himself.

The desire to have her was increasing to a point of no return and Astor knew he would have no peace until he could, at the very least, see Princess Zelda again.

[startledstars]

Theology 101: Dispensationalism

A Matter of Salvation

(What are biblical ‘dispensations’ and why are they important for salvation? What are the requirements for the current dispensation? What does the Bible say about the future?)

God saves people in different ways during different periods of time. These four examples in Genesis are archetypes that align with salvation in Exodus, the Old Testament, the New Testament, and Revelation.

1) Enoch: Faith and Grace 

Enoch was a prophet in Genesis. He was called up directly by God, and did not leave a body behind.

By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God.

“Pleasing” God is not an action that Enoch was instructed to take. It was a natural outcome of his faith.

2) Noah: Grace, faith and works

Noah preached for almost a century about the coming flood and was ridiculed and ignored. He built the famous ark.

 But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

These are the generations of Noah: Noah was a just man and perfect in his generations, and Noah walked with God.

Thus did Noah; according to all that God commanded him, so did he.

If Noah did not follow God’s precise instructions in building the ark and what types of animals to take, he and his family would’ve been destroyed along with the rest of the antediluvian world.

3) Lot: Grace and faith

Lot and his family escaped Sodom, a city so corrupt, it was destroyed along with all its inhabitants.

At dawn the next morning, the angels begged Lot to hurry. They said, “Go! Take your wife and your two daughters with you so you will not be destroyed when the city is punished.”

 But Lot delayed. So the two men took the hands of Lot, his wife, and his two daughters and led them safely out of the city. So the Lord was merciful to Lot and his family.

Note that even though Lot was slow to follow God’s instructions, verging on disobedience, God’s mercy still saved him.

4) Abraham: Grace, faith and works

God promised Abraham to bless all nations through his descendants. Specifically through Abraham’s son, Issac. God made this promise before commanding the infamous sacrifice.

When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. But the angel of the Lord called out to him from heaven, “Abraham! Abraham!”

“Here I am,” he replied.

“Do not lay a hand on the boy,” he said. “Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.”

Along with faith in God’s promise, Abraham had to follow God’s instructions. There was some testing and proving required.

Summary

Enoch and Lot were saved because they pleased God by their faith. They were not asked to preach for a hundred years, then build an ark following God’s exact instructions, as Noah was. They did not have to prepare an altar for their own sons, as Abraham was commanded to. They only had to find the truth and believe.

The Old Testament: Grace, Faith and Works

From Exodus to Jesus’ death on the cross, God gave specific instructions to His People. If they failed to follow those instructions, they were punished for a time. Despite their experience with God and the great signs He provided, Israelites in the Old Testament turned to evil practices, such as sacrificing their own children to Pagan gods. 

(Child sacrifice is the worst thing any parent, or society, and partake in; in such a society, incest, child abuse, bestiality, and other atrocities may also be normalized. Imagine the level of corruption in such a population. The Canaanites, the pre-flood population, and Sodom were steeped in sins too dark to even consider, and had no desire to repent. That’s why they had to be destroyed. Even today, with the disclosure of Jeffry Epstein and his connections, we see hints of the same secret, deep-rooted corruption plaguing our society. There’s also an epidemic of pornography, much of which fetishizes incest, minors, and sometimes even animals or animalistic behaviors being consumed in secret on a massive scale. The corruption of humanity exposed over and over by the Bible, is evidence that this book is Truth. The corruption we see today shows that the words here remain relevant, despite the passage of millennia.)

Then, imagine God’s mercy in the face of such corruption. 

If Israel kept God’s instructions and had faith in his forgiveness, they were saved. Still, they had to work very hard to fight the corruption within, and the corruption that surrounded them on all sides.

The New Testament: Grace and Faith

From Jesus’ death on the cross until just before the first seal in Revelation is opened, God saves people by His grace, and through their faith. 

This is why, after the events of the book of Acts, we see very few great signs and wonders. There is no great cloud of smoke, no parting the Red Sea, no fire raining from heaven or flaming chariots visible in the sky or even miraculous, instantaneous healing. It’s impossible not to believe when you see the supernatural out in the open. In the absence of such signs, faith becomes a choice; a matter of free will.

Right now, the only prerequisite to salvation is a love of the truth that surpasses any love you might have for the world. Inevitably, this love leads to the Cross, to realizing your own fallen, sinful condition (how many times have you let your loved ones down? how many times have you let yourself down? why do you keep doing things that are bad for you? why is it so hard to change? why do you feel like you’re wasting your life?) and then, asking God (through faith that He exists, despite never having seen His face) to save you.

And God does all the rest. Even if you try to delay like Lot, He will carry you out of the city before its destruction.

That’s why this is the greatest time to be alive, the best dispensation, but it will end soon. Like Enoch and Lot, believers of the present dispensation will escape the time to come.

This dispensation will end with the rapture of the Church (a matter for a different study) and the revelation of the anti-Christ:

Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition; Who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, shewing himself that he is God.

In the next few years, the “great falling away” of professing Christians leaving the faith will continue. It’s getting harder and harder to be a believer (and we are commanded not to hide our faith, or be ashamed of Jesus. If you keep your faith a secret, it calls your salvation into doubt). You already see how Christians are villainized, stereotyped, and scapegoated in pop culture, movies, and media. 

Once the falling away is complete and the last true believer comes to faith, the body of Christ will be removed, and the anti-Christ will reveal himself.

Watch for him if you’re not a believer, and please heed the next part carefully.

Revelation: The Mark of the Beast (Grace, Faith, and Works again)

In the coming dispensation, God will once again save people by his grace, but also requires their ‘works,’ just as in the Old Testament. 

There is a ‘mark’ coming. You will be compelled to take it, or be violently persecuted and unable to participate in society. 

And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads:

And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.

Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.

The King James translation from 1611 says “in” while other translations say “on.” This word would not have made sense in context 400 years ago, but considering the jab and RFID/microchip technology, “in” is key evidence that this prophecy is meant for those alive today.

God requires those in the coming dispensation to NOT take the mark, no matter what. That, along with faith, is the only requirement for the coming dispensation.

And the third angel followed them, saying with a loud voice, If any man worship the beast and his image, and receive his mark in his forehead, or in his hand,

The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his indignation; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb:

Those who take the mark will, without exception, be tormented even in this life.

And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.

This ‘rona jab is a test run for the upcoming mark. If you’ve taken the second dose and thought those symptoms were bad, the mark of the beast will be unimaginably worse. 

So, if you don’t believe me now; if you’re not willing to accept the gifts of this dispensation, at the very least, please remember this warning about what’s coming next. If you see the signs come to pass, you’ll know that this is true, and you’ll know what to do.

[faulty-writes]

Those headcanons about the ineffectual villain soulmate, would you please do some sequel headcanons? I think you mentioned once where maybe a cop or another hero would get tired of the reader making a nuisance out of themselves and then try to seriously hurt or kill them, so the boys save them.

[ I think I know what you are talking about. These headcanons right here. I enjoyed writing those, so hopefully this will be fun to write as well! I hope you enjoy! Do you guys prefer long or short headcanons because I wrote too damn much. Haha. ] 

Tenya Iida 

Being associated with the hero Ingenium could prove to be dangerous for any villain, however, you found that he had a certain charm about him. Very proper and straightforward. But you always had to watch your back, knowing that if any other villains knew about your connection to the turbo hero. It would cause trouble and despite Ingenium's efforts to try and change you. Steer you onto the path of heroism, you continued to refuse. Soulmate or not, you wanted to be a great villain. One that everyone would take seriously, though even Ingenium didn’t seem to fully believe your capabilities. 

So you had decided to try and prove the hero wrong, your latest scheme involved kidnapping the young child of a Pro Hero that happened to be rising in the ranks. You had tied the child up and though their crying was rather annoying, you stood on top of the tallest skyscraper you could find and grinned to yourself as you held your phone up and proceeded to make a live video. “That’s right! It is I, the villain you failed to take seriously! Well, what about now!?” you grinned as you held the child over the edge by their shirt collar. “Come now! Pathetic hero! Or your child shall suffer!” you threatened with a devilish grin. 

When the hero showed up, it was a rather messy battle that you knew was being filmed live on television and while various other heroes arrived to contain the scene. You were almost sad Ingenium wasn’t among them, especially because you had ended up dropping the child as you tried to fight against the hero, though unlike your past experiences. It seemed this hero was out to kill you, but you managed to escape when they made the choice to save their child. But your injuries had slowed you down and the authorities apprehended you, after going to the hospital you were locked away in a cell. 

Of course, no true villain can be kept behind bars and you made a hasty escape. Once more roaming the streets. News of your jail break immediately went up on the news and heroes began patrolling the streets to locate you. Like before, you expected Ingenium to arrive on the scene, instead you were greeted by the same hero whose child you had stolen and it was clear they were not happy with your behavior. 

“Hah, try your worst hero. You might have beaten me before, but this time you shall be the one on your knees.” you threatened, not hesitating to charge at them. However, they were quick and it seemed they memorized your fighting style as they proceeded to dodge every swing and kick. “Stand still!” you growled, trying once more to land a hit. But, it was clear you were outmatched and when you felt their fist collide with your cheek, you yelped. Your jawbone felt as though it cracked and the taste of blood filled your mouth. 

You whimpered as you tried to push yourself back up from the ground, but instead, you were greeted with the hero's foot colliding with your stomach and your body skimmed across the ground. You felt fresh cuts and scrapes oozing as you struggled to get up once more. “What a pathetic villain, I’ll be doing a favor by ridding this world of your existence.” the hero threatened and before you could react, their hand wrapped around your throat. 

You knew it wasn’t a villain’s place to feel fear, but with those fingers tightening. Cutting off your oxygen, you couldn’t help but feel scared and you hated it. At a hero’s mercy, yet another cruel reminder you couldn’t be the villain you wanted to be. But almost as if a miracle, you heard a voice break the tension. “Halt! I insist you release them and step away! For I...will not allow you to cause any harm to the one I cherish.” your eyes widened as you recognized it was Ingenium and for the first time, the idea of being saved by a hero made you smile. 

Ingenium had taken care of the so-called hero that attacked you with great haste, however, you ended up blacking out. Leaving your fate up to the hero that claimed to be your soulmate, of course, Ingenium could never leave the wounded behind and when you opened your eyes, you found yourself in the hospital. Ingenium was sitting by your side and gave you a warm smile, “I am very glad to see you are awake! I was hoping I could see your rather...beautiful eyes once more.” he said, and though you were a tad suspicious what would happen next. You managed to hold a conversation with Ingenium, but it led to a question you didn’t expect. 

While Ingenium had tried countless times to get you to turn sides, become a hero instead of a villain. He was shocked to know that a hero had done something so disgraceful to you, yes a hero’s job was to stop villains. But intentionally going in for the kill was unnecessary. “You are quite admirable in your efforts, that drive to not surrender, to not weaver to the troubles that interfere with your goal are unshaken. However, I am fearful that another will try and harm you,” he confessed before he reached over to take your hand. “Please..reconsider your path and...join me as my sidekick...” he said with a firm tone as if you had no choice but to agree. 

A villain...turned sidekick. Would that be reasonable? It was clear Ingenium would not give up and honestly, in your injured condition, you couldn’t argue. You knew there was a chance you’d end up in jail after you were released from the hospital, was Ingenium trying to save you yet again? Nearly losing your life had scared you, but heroes too risked their lives every day. Yet, you knew Ingenium would protect you from suffering such a fate. You found yourself hesitantly agreeing, though you were a little weary what the future would lie ahead for you. 

Izuku Midoriya 

Since you met the number one hero, Deku. Your life had been slowly changing, for better or worse you weren’t sure yet. But you cursed yourself because of your inability to actually hurt Deku, no matter how hard you tried. He had checkmated you and it was frustrating. Deku seemed to be the only one that took you seriously and you wanted everyone to treat you with that same respect. So you made a plan to attack the Hero Appreciation Festival. Surely that would get others to understand just how serious you were about being a villain. 

You had planted several bombs underneath the ground of the festival and when the timing was right, you set them off. It was almost a joy to hear those screams and watch as the heroes scurried around trying to fix the situation. It was a joyful sight, yet you almost expected to see Deku. It was a little discouraging he hadn’t shown, perhaps you needed to step up your game. Of course, you had managed to become a member of a villainous gang. They were recruiting new members and though they had laughed at you when you first wanted to join. Upon revealing your plan for the Hero Appreciation Festival, they seemed to change their mind. 

However, you might have left out a few details. For when you returned to them. You were greeted with severe punishment, maybe it had been unclear that your attack would be...explosive. But you quickly learned what it meant to be outmatched by villains who thought nothing of it as they pressed a knife to your already beaten and bloody throat. “Useless villain you are, pathetic even...one less member means nothing to me.” one of them said just before you felt that sharp metal press harder against your throat, creating a cut. A small amount of panic came as a thick line of blood began oozing down, soaking into the collar of your shirt. However just as they were about to drag it across your neck. The ceiling caved in and there stood the tall shadow of none other than Deku. 

“Deku!” you couldn’t help but exclaim the man’s name, hero or not. He was the only one that you seemed to trust and the only that would show up to save you. He looked at you with a smile before narrowing his eyes on the group of villains. “I’d suggest you...put that knife away,” he warned, but like most villains. They did not take the hero seriously and began to laugh at Deku’s warning. “Well...alright...have it your way,” he said before he kicked off the ground, leaving behind a large dent filled with cracked pavement. Your eyes widened as the blurry image of Deku closed in on you and before you realized. The villain that had the knife to your throat was smashed into the ground and you, in turn, were cradled in Deku’s arms. 

You hated to admit it, but once the battle was over and Deku had taken you to his apartment to patch you up. You felt nervous and a strange feeling seemed to weigh you down, was this the feeling of guilt? Deku had placed you in his bed and though you were expecting him to take you the police. Deku had instead pulled up a chair and looked at you with a serious glance. “Mind telling me why you were a part of that gang? You know...you...you deserve so much better than that,” he said and while you were shocked at his words, you ended up confessing why. Because no one took your villainous acts seriously. 

Deku seemed to understand, “That might be true, maybe you’re not the most feared but...y-you...you’re still amazing and I’m happy I arrived on time if anything happened to you...” he trailed off and your eyes widened, if anything happened to you what? No one would miss a villain, would they? You gasped when Deku rose from his chair and leaned over you, his hands pressing against the top of yours. “Well...maybe I can explain it better...this way...” he said as he leaned in, you found yourself backing up before you hit the headboard. Effectively trapping yourself and sucked in a breath as you felt the hero's lips press against yours. 

Mirio Togata 

Despite your best intentions in trying to work alongside Lemillion, your so called soulmate. You felt too awkward as if it wasn’t your calling. Despite Lemillion encouraging you every day, it was nice to hear such words but you just couldn’t keep up this act of heroism. Lemillion seemed to take notice of this, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Aren’t you happy with me?” he questioned with a frown, and while you almost wanted to lie. You confessed that you weren’t cut out to be a hero and wanted to leave. But Lemillion had tried to prevent you from doing so which resulted in you trying to attack him, but you couldn’t match up to his strength. 

Still, you managed to make a hasty escape and proceeded to try and resume your villainous ways. The easiest and quickest thing to do was to rob a jewelry store, of course, that was also tricky. With heroes patrolling the streets and citizens that might interfere, but even if you got caught. At least word of your evil deed would spread, still as soon as you broke the window to the jewelry store. An alarm sounded and you cursed before grabbing a handful of gems and rings. You ran out of the store and proceeded to climb onto the roof. Of course, several citizens gathered outside the building and pointed as you stood above them. 

Though you didn’t often find yourself second-guessing, you took a step back and scanned the crowd. Wondering if Lemillion would show up, but you shook your head. No, you didn’t need him. A growl escaped you and your hand reeled back before you threw the jewelry you had stolen. You heard some citizens shout and for a moment, you wondered if you had injured them with the jewelry you had thrown. You curiously stepped closer to the edge and looked over, however, that proved to be a mistake when a rock came. You yelped and stumbled back, holding your bleeding nose. You ended up missing your footing and fell to the ground below.  

As if it wasn’t bad enough to have fallen from a roof with a bloody nose, the wind had gotten knocked out of you when you hit the ground. But that didn’t stop the “innocent” civilians from kicking you when you were down. You cried out when you felt a surge of pain course through your sides from their abuse, further impacting your current inability to breathe. You tried to crawl away but let out another struggled sound as someone stomped on your hand. The taste of iron filled your mouth and you let out a whimper before one of the civilians was pulled back. You heard several gasps before you weakly looked up at the shadow that now loomed over you. They got down on one knee and reached their hand out, “Are you okay, sunshine?” they questioned. 

It was almost stupid for you to have felt safe when Lemillion scooped you into his arms, you could recall the way he glared at the civilians, “Not to be rude or anything, but no one is worthy of protection if they beat on the innocent. That includes my sunshine, you need to leave punishments up to the Pro’s.” he warned before walking off, you found yourself burying your face into the crook of his neck and he didn’t seem to mind, but you were a little concerned as to where he was taking you. But as soon as you saw a tall building with the words “Big Three Agency” you realized. 

It was strange to think an Agency would have a recovery wing, but in a way it made sense. Even heroes got hurt, but you kept quiet as Lemillion sat you down on the examination table and allowed the nurse to work on you. Once your injuries were patched up, the nurse ordered you to lay down as some of your ribs had gotten bruised. “I know that you want to be a villain and maybe being a hero isn’t your thing. But that's no excuse to put yourself in danger like that. What those people did was wrong but...what you did was wrong as well.” Lemillion said, crossing his arms. You almost wanted to roll your eyes, but deep down you knew he was right. 

You stayed in the recovery wing for a few days, Lemillion would come to see you every day. Honestly, you were almost glad for his company, that is until the day he decided to yet again remind you that you were his soulmate. He reached to grab your hands, placing a kiss on each one. “I know you may not believe this, but...I love you, villain or not, and...I’m sorry if this seems kind of harsh. But I can’t allow this to happen to you again.” you frowned, knowing where he was going with his words. “So I’m going to tell you...I’ve decided to give you a job here at my Agency. You’ll be safer and...” he paused and leaned over to hug you. “I’m not giving you a choice...” he said, but you were forming yet again another escape plan in your head. 

[delusionland]

CASSROSE FOR THE SHIP MEME COWARD idk if it's all of the questions or i'm supposed to choose one but y'know i'll let you decide

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

Cass & Rose first met when Rose tried to kill her! She was currently in the middle of her Dad’s WORST abuse. Cass spent the whole fight thinking about the parallels between them---two fucked up girls with even more fucked up Dads, still wanting their approval, still wanting to be Good to them.

What was their first impression of each other?

Cass didn’t stick around long enough to get Rose’s impression of her---but Cass’s impression of her was that they were mirror images---and that was beyond just the fact that Rose could copy her every move. She would never admit it, but there was something exciting about the fight. She felt like she was trying to beat the sense back into her---trying to beat the sense back into herself, remind herself that daughters are more than the Fathers they loved, girls are more than men & their approval, and people are more than killing---even as she stabbed Rose not in the back---but right in the neck.

But Cass also couldn’t help thinking she was beautiful. She couldn’t help thinking her moves, the way she moved her body---was perfect in so many ways, a fine-oiled machine. She was impressive. Better than so many other people she’d fought, so many grown men---if only she could see that.

Cass can’t wait for Rose to snap out of it, to come to Cass on her own terms, to fight her again as her own person, like Cass feels she is... mostly her own. She wants to feel the full brunt of who Rose is through her moves. Not just copying---but her passion, her tension, her strength, unhindered by what Daddy wants.

She wants to be infinite with her. She wants to bite & claw & rip. She wants Rose to show no mercy---no hesistation. She never wants Rose to worry about what her Dad thinks of her moves again. Because Cass sees her as capable of so much more.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Steph thought it was hot, Tim was okay with it, since Rose then became a Teen Titan. But Bruce did NOT approve.

Who felt romantic feelings first?

Cass. Love at first tremble, love at first cartoonishly cry for ‘Daddy.’ How can someone so broken match you so well? Sometimes loving someone is also... an attempt to love the part of you you see mirrored in them, that hurts you, but you feel is still worthy of love. Cass wants to ‘fix’ Rose. But she also wants to see her wild & free & strong, and that’s what love is to Cass. Being yourself.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Nah, because it started out as sexy murder times and then calmed down to ‘I’m tired. You want food?’ And then just... blossomed naturally.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

I think Rose would laugh, but I think a part of Cass would agree. She’s never met a match for her quite like Rose. If they’re not soulmates---they’re definitely twin spirits, seperated in two different worlds & bodies, that met each other again. Cass isn’t particularly superstitious, but she thinks that, at least, MUST be true.

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Cass initiated. She saw the hesitation in Rose to leave, and just... offered she stayed. When Rose touched her and melted closer, she kissed her, and their bodies---tired from battling their perfect match, melted like butter together, into limbs & sweaty skin into a salve of satisfaction.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Cass introduced Rose to ‘rooftop tag’ with Steph. This was also Cass’s way of asking Steph’s approval. They all had so much fun together, though Rose initially didn’t understand what was going on.

What was their first kiss like?

It wasn’t magical. It was the most natural thing. Just the thing they were supposed to do, because they wanted to. It was the next step, the next logical leap. When you want to touch someone---in every possible way---to rough girls like these, first you fight, then you touch, then you kiss.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

Not on Cass’s end at least.

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Cass is 5′7″, so a little taller. Rose is sllightly older mabe?

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Cass has fucked Deathstroke up and wil AGAIN.

Who takes the lead in social situations?

Cass, Rose can be kind of awkward. Cass never does so in a convention manner, however. She is silly & endearing and floats through life with a sense that everything will go right---because nothing can be worse than it used to be.

Who gets jealous easier?

Rose.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

BOTH.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Rose. And Cass repeated it back in a whisper, just for her to hear. Words are hard for Cass, they’re special. Cass had thought Rose always knew she loved her---that they didn’t have to say it. Words take things to a new dimension of reality that Cass was never privy to. Unlike the ‘real world’ of feelings & bodies, sometimes words feel like too much, too tenative, too scary. But Cass trusts those words with Rose, and only Rose.

What are their primary love languages?

TOUCH. And gifts!

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Cass LOVES cheesy pick-up lines and uses them with WILD ABANDON to make Rose blush!

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

ANY TIME CASS CAN GET AWAY WITH IT.

Who initiates kisses?

USUALLY CASS, SHE JUST LOVES TO KISS HER GF!

Who’s the big and little spoon?

Cass will physically fight to be big spoon. And she WILL win. This is LIFE OR DEATH!

What are their favorite things to do together?

Fight, playfight, and cuddle while listening watching Cass’s language youtube pages. (She’s trying to learn sign language and Mandarin.) They also like to cook together. But mostly Cass likes to eat her food, even though it’s WAY too spicy for her most of the time. They also like to play pranks on the Batboys / Titans. Cass tries to force Rose to come dancing with her, also, at punk shows.

Who’s better at comforting the other?

Cass is, probably, unless Rose needs WORDS. In which case, Steph is lol.

Who’s more protective?

Rose. Cass believes Rose can protect herself.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

PHYSICAL!

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

we fell in love in october / girl in red

daddy issues / the neighborhood

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

cass calls rose ‘copycat.’

Who remembers the little things?

ROSE PROBABLY.

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes?

ROSE...

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

they have a small wedding and only invite GIRLS and alfred. it is streamed in the batcave but the boys are not allowed to come!!!!!

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

oof. i don’t see them having kids tbh. too much trauma. they end up having their own sidekicks eventually, though, and they kind of get adopted lol.

Do they have any pets?

a cat that cass also calls copycat squared just to make fun of rose. it is missing one eye.

Who’s the stricter parent?

cass!!!!

Who worries the most?

rose!!!

Who kills the bugs in the house?

cass!!!

How do they celebrate holidays?

they just eat a lot of food and have sex tbh. after patrol, of course. the worst crimes happen on holidays!

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

cass refuses to wake up any earlier than 2pm.

Who’s the better cook?

ROSE.

Who likes to dance?

CASS!

[originofjaehyun]

Interlude: No More Drama | Part 11 | Not Alone

Interlude: No More Drama Masterlist

Word count: 5,432

Warnings: Graphic description of violence, mentions of rape, language

Part 11 | Not Alone

“One step, one step, one step each. Closer, closer, closer to the place that appeared in my dream that looks like me, can you feel not alone?”

Prev • Next

The laughter and the applause in the room are quickly replaced by whispers between each other. They are clearly baffled with the turn of the event, trying to solve the puzzle.

“What is the meaning of this?!” While he still talks in a somewhat calm manner, the way his eyes stutter tell Jaehyun that he is anything but calm.

The officers in uniform reached to where they are standing, each proceeds to hold the arms of Mr. Jeong’s and Kyungmi’s. As expected, at least one of them goes berserk.

“Don’t touch me!” Kyungmi swatted the officer’s hand, refused to be taken away, “Jaehyun, tell them who I am! They don’t have the right to do this!”

“Oh, but they do.” Jaehyun talks calmly. A side of him that you know –when he locked on his prey and he knows the percentage of his success is almost absolute.

“Jeong Jaehyun, you don’t want to do this.” His father warned him, and for the first time that night, he whispered instead of speaking proudly, possibly so that the mic wouldn’t catch his words. “Don’t mess around.”

He took a glance at his father and his so-called fiancée that he never acknowledges. He gave a nod to the officers, cueing them to proceed with the arrest.

Before any of them could make a scene, Jaehyun took the mic again, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m terribly sorry for the commotion.” He didn’t even bother about the ruckus behind him, “I understand that today was supposed to be a celebration of our new launch, but I’d like to use this opportunity to address a few things, and why it is important to announce it right here, right now.”

His eyes are now directed to your table, where he mainly locks his gaze to yours, “Also, I’d like to apologize to the involved team, especially to Mr. Seo and also Ms. [Y/L/N] as the person in charge of this project. Really, I do regret that I need to steal the star of the show.”

The way he calls you flinches you. Not only does it causes the whole hall to look at your direction, but also it feels extremely strange for Jaehyun to address you that way. It’s foreign, so foreign.

“Objections!” Frustrated that his own flesh and blood did not obey him, you can tell that he starts to lose his composure, “Jaehyun, what are you doing?! You’re clearly not thinking straight. You exposing me means you exposing yourself.”

Jaehyun just stands there, giving his father a disdainful look.

Obviously you can hear a bit of their words from the microphone, but not enough for you to grasp the full picture as the stage was quite far. Everyone seems perplexed and share the same sentiment with you, except for Johnny.

“Johnny,” Noticing that it is very strange for him to be this calm, you called him in hope you could get an answer, “What is going on? Do you know anything?”

Smirk appears at one corner of his lips, “Just wait and see.”

“Mr. Jeong,” Jaehyun said, purposefully talking in front of the mic so that the whole hall could hear him loud and clear. There’s a hint of contempt in the way Jaehyun called his father. 

He no longer addresses him as his own.

“Before you could object to anything, I’d think it would only be fair for our valuable guests to know where I’m coming from.”

“Don’t you dare…!” He tried to threaten Jaehyun, but at the same time he was being careful not to taunt him too much. He didn’t want to lose his pride, even so, there was a trail of fear in his tone.

“Oh, I do, sir,” Jaehyun said, ice cold. “Taeil, would you please.”

“Guards!” His father tried to intercept, calling his own men.

However they never arrived. The imperious man finally lost his presence of mind, looking around, puzzled. On the other hand, the strikingly handsome person who is stationed at the FOH immediately granted Jaehyun’s command.

“So, your father, how is he?”

The screen at the stage displayed an audio-only footage. And even without the picture, it is no brainer to figure out who is the owner of the voice.

“You know, it’s the same old, Jaehyun.” The other counterpart owns a fairly high-pitched voice, and it was no other than Kyungmi’s. “Thank God your dad is well connected to Chief Jang! If not it will be over for us.”

“Chief Jang?” 

“Yes, him! Daddy was telling me he was involved in poker scam when all he did was to invite that stupid rich guy from Sri Lanka!”

“Ms. Hyun, if I were you I wouldn’t say such information in a public place like this.” That is when you realized the audio was mixed with rustles, including a few sounds of people’s laughter in the background.

“Oh, Jaehyun, you’re so square!” Kyungmi squealed, borderline annoying, “We’re going to be husband and wife soon anyway. Also, I know your father would take care of it if things go bad, so it’s toots fine!”

“So yeah, I was saying,” She totally dismissed Jaehyun’s warning, “Daddy’s worst habit is he never checks on his client’s background. Who would’ve thought he was a criminal, a mafia or some sort!”

“Well that’s a surprise,” The clinking sound of cutleries being put down –presumably fork and knife– leaks in the audio, “I mean, knowing our backgrounds, Ms. Hyun, I thought your father would take extra precautions.”

“I know right! But I think daddy felt safe because we’re about to get married. Nobody messes around with your father, Jaehyun, we all know that. In any case, the seven hundred million that daddy gets from him will also be split to your father’s bank account too.”

The whole audience gasps.

“Nonsense!” His father tries to escape the officer’s grip. “Jaehyun, I command you to stop! This is ridiculous!”

“Jaehyun! You recorded our conversation?!” Kyungmi also protests.

“What are you doing, son?!” His father used all of his strength to move closer to where Jaehyun is, suit all wrinkled from trying to escape the officers’ grip. “Don’t you realize the consequences we’ll have to deal with once all of these leaks out?!”

“Everyone!” She pleaded, “This is all fabricated! My father and I are people of honor! We, The Hyuns, would never do such things!”

“Fabricated?” Jaehyun stared at the two people who looked awry in front of him. 

That is when they know they just landed on the minefield.

Jaehyun scoffed, mockingly, “Initially don’t want to show this because the footage is not very pleasing. Believe me, if only the two of them would admit the truth, I wouldn’t.” He speaks to the audience, dismissing the protests behind.

“For the record,” He continues, “I would like to warn everyone that what I’m about to show you is containing graphic content and might be upsetting to watch. So if you are sensitive to the subject, I advise you to not look, but this is needed to unfold the truth.”

Jaehyun gives Taeil a nod, permitting him to play the infamous clip.

Suddenly the screen plays a motion image of a corridor. By the setup, you’re guessing the location was in the corridor of a luxury hotel. A penthouse, probably.

“Ready, Chicago?”

“Whenever you are, Winnie.”

The unfamiliar voice called for the unfamiliar name, but after spending so much time meeting with him, you know that the voice belongs the man who’s sitting next to you. You seem to be the only one who realized this, as you are the only one who shift your gaze to him who casually watching the footage while crossing his legs.

At the cue, they forcefully enter the room, at the sight of middle-aged men in the middle of intercourse, where a lone woman is unconscious. There are no subtitles available, but it is evidently clear that she was drugged. One of the men who was in the middle of recording the lovemaking panicked. He tried to escape but unfortunately for him the person who wore the camera got him. Johnny, on the other hand swiftly took care of the man who was raping the lady.

“Do we got them all?” Johnny checks.

“We do,” Another man appears on the frame. He was wearing a uniform so you couldn’t tell who it was.

“Good.” The cameraman applauds them for their swift and clean job. “Teddy, help Winnie tying them up. I got business to ask this guy.”

“Roger that, Casper,” The person with code name Teddy exclaims, before the camera pans to a disgusting figure of the rotten old man. Not only you were horrified with the fact that the footage wasn’t censored, but you were also shocked by the fact that you know there could be only one who possessed the low velvety voice like the cameraman’s – no other than Jeong Jaehyun himself.

“Chief Jang,” He approached the man in question, filming the man’s then-horny face. “Look what we got, a prestigious man gang-banged an immobilized woman. What would the society say?”

“Don’t!” The man asked for mercy. “Please, I’ll do anything! Don’t let people know!”

He whimpers, but Jaehyun shows no sign of backing off, “Anything?”

“Yes, yes! Anything! What do you want? Money? Gold? Oh, I can give you women, too!”

Johnny clearly was not satisfied with his answer. He almost lost his temper at the way this man looked down on women, he reactively choked the man out of anger.

“Easy,” Jaehyun commands, “Now listen you piece of shit,” Jaehyun squatted so he can be on the same eye-level as the man. He pulls his hair so he could get a clearer shot of his face, which in return gains a shrieking yelp from the man.

“Tell me, where did you get all of these accesses?”

The man writhed in pain but refused to speak a single word.

“Chicago,”

Johnny slammed the man’s head to the end of the bed, causing him to scream in pain, and blood started to ooze from his head. The audience screamed at the sudden violence. Some even took a napkin and rushed to the nearby toilet, feeling nauseated.

“Talk,” He pulls the man’s head once more, revealing his ugly sobs that are mixed with blood. “You don’t want to mess around with our friend here,” He gestured to Johnny, “He’s a man of brute strength.”

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” It’s almost disgusting how he easily gives in. “It’s Wonshik Hyun! He told me if I could let him out of his gambling cases, he would exchange it with these!”

“Wonshik Hyun?”

“The founder of Hyun Ventures!” He choked, almost out of breath due to the pain. However when he looked at Jaehyun’s glare, he was instantly intimidated, “He is addicted to gambling, and it is thanks to his partner, the founder of NCT Corporation he’s able to walk away!”

“You’re from fucking law enforcement, Chief Jang.” Jaehyun scowled, sickened by the way he acted, “At the highest ranking for fuck’s sake, yet here you are.”

“I’m sorry!” He cries, “I was about to investigate it but I just can’t stop.”

Jaehyun clicked his tongue in disbelief.

“Please let me go! Don’t tell anyone about this! I have a family back home.” He sobs, asking for their pity.

“My son, yes, my son!” His pathetic face quickly turned bright, as if he just found a way out. “He’s about to enter college! My child, he aims to enter law school this year, surely you don’t want to ruin his future?!”

A fist landed on his cheek, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie. He didn’t stop with just a punch, not until Johnny held him back.

“Enough, Casper. He won’t be able to speak.”

“Fucking bastard.” Barely holding his anger, you never know Jaehyun is capable of releasing such wrath. “We are the one who’s gonna ruin his future? Look at yourself you filthy fuck–”

The video stops, and the crowd quickly starts to murmur. They closed their mouths at the sudden revelation, and it’s obvious that they’re giving displeased looks to Jaehyun’s father.

“How…”

Cat got his tongue. He can’t say anything when the evidence is crystal clear.

“Sir,” Jaehyun answers confidently, “You, introducing me to Ms. Hyun is exactly the key that I needed to unfold the truth. That part I have to thank you.”

“Jaehyun, you used me?! How could you, I’m your fiancée!”

The crowds let out a loud gasp before Jaehyun calmly handles the situation, “Fiancée? Did I ever say yes to the engagement? You’re the one who’s acting on your own. Our meetings are always arranged by my father, telling me I should get close to you. But I’m glad I can turn our dinners to gain the information I needed, Ms. Hyun”

His statements made Kyungmi lost all the strength on his legs. She couldn’t accept if this is her fate so she continues to freak out, “How dare you, Jaehyun! I loved you, and I thought what we share was real!”

If a gaze could cut, Kyungmi would be in pieces right now. Jaehyun’s stare was sharp, and cold, causing her to flinch. “How could I love you when I don’t even have your number, Ms. Hyun? I know nothing of you, except the fact that you own a loose mouth.”

You can start to listen to the people behind you talking to each other.

“She’s his fiancée?”

“What kind of fiancée that doesn’t have each other’s number? What a crazy woman!”

“She’s just delusional, Jeong Jaehyun probably just talked to her once and she thinks he’s her!”

“Ms. Hyun,” Jaehyun continues to speak, this time looking directly at her, still standing near the mic. “I’d like to thank you for giving me the most crucial information regarding…” He hesitates but decides to proceed. “This father of mine. But I’d like to tell you and,” He looks forward to the guests. “To everyone who attends.”

“There’s only one woman in my life that was able to change my heartless soul. She’s the one that I will always treasure. I never know my heart is capable of beating the way it beats when she’s around me. Her views, her visions. She’s different from any other woman I knew. She’s a fighter, a firecracker, in fact. And that is why I love her. She’s the one who introduces me that there is always hope.”

“Because of this,” He looked back at the two people, scornfully, “I was unable to keep her. But like a ray of sunshine after rain, I hope tomorrow, or the day after, or even after it passes seventy years.” He took a quick glance at you, before directing it back upfront. “I hope it could bring her.”

You bring both of your hands in front of your hand, not expecting his sudden confession. You swore you’re not a crybaby, but the last few minutes are probably the most information you have to take in a short period of time and it’s understandable that you’re unable to keep your emotion in check.

Your heart is about to jump out of your chest, heart racing from his words. Tears welled up, but you’re not a fighter –like what Jaehyun mentioned, if you didn’t try to fight your own tears.

“Fool!” Finally snaps, his father uses every bit of his strength to escape from the hands that are holding him. “You just expose our family, Jaehyun! Do you think you can escape this?! Or your filthy ungrateful brother?!” He said, grabbing his son’s suit. Jaehyun, who’s clearly on the upper hand in term of strength, easily broke free from his grip.

“Don’t act like we’re your own,” Jaehyun grunts, “I’ve not used a single penny you gave to me. You can check my bank account where you always transfer my money. The amount is exactly whatever you gave to me in years.”

His face slowly lost its vibrance, “And don’t act as you care about Mark,” Jaehyun looks at Mark’s direction, nodding at him to make him feel secured. “I did this for our family, when you failed to do so. I bet all of my net worth that you don’t even know that Mark has been working part-time for his own spendings. Also, from this day onwards all of his necessities will go through me as I will be his guardian.”

Mark’s jaw drops, he could not believe the turn of the events –of his rotten father finally meeting his doom.

You thought by now his father would turn himself, but you were wrong. Instead, he started to laugh hysterically.

“Heh, do you think it will be easy, boy?” His father snickers, as if he lost his sanity. “Wait until I talk to my lawyer. Do you think my men would stop? You just took one person, son. That is barely enough to take me down.”

“Oh?” Jaehyun raised one brow upwards, “Three months ago when you first introduced Ms. Hyun at Seo’s office, we’re already more than halfway in on our operation.”

“Not only I was involved, but I am connected to your people too. I hope you haven’t turned insane to not remember that you do planned on making me the next heir.” He said, unfazed.

“Most of your powerful men are now waiting for their trials. You’ll be the next in line. You’ll have the right to consult with a lawyer prior to any further questioning at your own expense. Though, your personal lawyer, Mr. Yang would not be able to attend due to the fact he receives money from illegal transactions.”

“You son of a bitch!” Jaehyun’s father finally lost it, about to throw his fist to Jaehyun. Him, being well-trained in combat, is able to tackle it easily, twisting his father’s arm.

“Bitch? Who are you referring to, my deceased mother?” He looked low at his father, who’s writhing in pain. “Let’s finish this in the court. Though, I’m positive you’ll end behind the bars for the rest of your life. Then, go and think twice before you call my mother that way.”

He pushed his father away and the officers quickly grab him. With Jaehyun’s commands, they finally take both Mr. Jeong and Kyungmi away.

“Sorry for the scene,” He runs his hand through his hair, fixing it before he greets the audience, “There will be another separate session for the press release regarding this. So for tonight, do enjoy the food and the champagnes. I was told the canapés are marvelous.”

He then goes down the stage, to where Mark is. Mark practically runs to his older brother, asking for a further explanation about the whole situation. Same goes with the rest of the people. As expected, the crowds start to swarm around both of them.

“I guess nobody is interested in the canapés, huh?” Johnny said, finally turning his body to where the rest of you are.

“Duh. But before that,” You lean forward so you’re closer to Johnny, “You are a fucking secret agent? What the heck is going on! How could I not know?!”

“Language, [Y/N]. And if you do know then I’m doing a lame job as a secret agent, no?” He chuckles, rightfully earned your tiny punches.

“I thought you invited me for your project launching party, [Y/N].” Yuta finally spoke, after every single one of you on your table was silenced due to the drama that happened on the stage. “You never told me that… we’re going to watch a soap opera.”

“Believe me, Yuta,” You rolled your eyes, “How could I know?”

You guys were busy discussing what just happened, and then suddenly you sensed that flocks of people were coming to your direction.

You turned your head to find the fine man in white suit was the one who brought the crowd to you.

“[Y/N],” He says softly.

“Jaehyun,” You reactively rose from your seat, but quickly hesitated. Jaehyun did declare his love to you. Sure, he never mentioned your name but that doesn’t change the fact that the first woman he approached was you –and you know how much people quickly jump into the conclusion. The last thing you want is to gain people’s attention by being together with him.

“Johnny,” As if he could read your mind, he quickly glanced at Johnny’s direction, which Johnny replied with a single nod.

“Alright, everyone,” Johnny stands up, fixing his suit. “Donghyuck, let’s guide them to the VIP room.”

Without any further explanation, Donghyuck escorts both you and Yuta to the designated room. The journey there was tedious, you couldn’t imagine how Jaehyun could even walk to you with the crowd constantly barging him with questions. 

“Mr. Jeong! What makes you do this?”

“Is it out of revenge, Jaehyun?”

“Our transaction with NCT Corporation is legal, right?”

The crowd was more persistent than what Jaehyun thought. They keep pushing, demanding for an answer while Jaehyun kept his mouth shut. As the result, they squeezed you. Of course, Jaehyun would stay by your side in a heartbeat if he could, but there’s a line that he couldn’t cross –Yuta trying his best to protect you next by your side. But there’s so much that Yuta can do, fighting the rest of the hall by himself.

“Sicheng,”

Jaehyun uses his eyes to point in your direction, and a person named Sicheng who was stationed nearby quickly guards you. It becomes more bearable, since he granted you with enough space to walk, especially when you’re wearing an evening gown.

When they almost reach the end of the hall, more bodyguards are stationed, letting you and the rest of the group in while they hold the crowd who are still curious.

“Alright,” Johnny closes the door, now that everybody is inside the room. “So, how should we start, Jae?”

Now all eyes are on Jaehyun, including yours. But Jaehyun only fixes his gaze to yours.

He was drained. He might win this, but that was after he pulls every of his ace cards. All he wanted was to hold you, and for you to pat him on his head and thank him for his effort. 

But he can’t, not when Yuta is crossing his arms in front of his chest, waiting for an explanation. Yuta might not be directly involved, but now that he knows, he won’t accept a cliffhanger.

“Uhm, so where should I start…”

In contrast to his excellent stage presence, he is now stuttering, clearly awkward after engaging in eye contact with you. You are equally as nervous, fidgeting on your own fingers.

Yuta seems to notice the tension, breaking the awkward atmosphere, “I think you guys should talk.”

Everyone is in shock with his statement. Clearly giving him a ‘you just let your lover talk with her ex, though?’ kind of look. Yuta, on the other hand, finds his action to be very logical.

“I think you owe [Y/N] plenty of explanation, man. Probably something that’s only between you guys.”

You give him a look, asking him once more whether he’s sure with his decision. He gives you a gentle nod. “Just make sure you’re back for me.”

As much as Jaehyun is thankful to Yuta for giving his permission to talk to you, it doesn’t change the fact that his last sentence stings. The fact that Jaehyun is no longer the owner of your heart makes his heart feels heavy. 

Eventually you and Jaehyun agree to his suggestion, making your way to the room next door.

“I, uhm,” He scratched his head.

“Since when, Jae?” You asked first, giving him the hint where he should start.

“Well, let’s sit down first.”

He then proceeds by telling you that it started after he met Johnny again. They were teammates back in high school but turned out the friendship actually didn’t start there. Johnny entered NCT Corp. due to the fact he was the agent that was stationed there, for a mission that was obvious; arresting the head of Jeong.

He approaches Jaehyun, but Jaehyun outsmarts him to figure out his identity. Johnny thought he failed his mission, with his target’s son finding out who he was, but what a twist of an event it was for Jaehyun to actually offer his hand to help.

“So you were living this life even when we were together?”

“[Y/N]...” He gently speaks, as if he was afraid to break a heart that is so dear to him, “It was never my intention to put you in danger. It was a miscalculation on my side to fall for you that night.”

“Miscalculation?” You emphasized his choice of word, ready to snap at him.

“The best mistake I’ve ever made.”

Your cheeks start to turn pink at his remark, makes you forcefully break the eye contact.

“Uhm,” You awkwardly converse back to him, “No wonder you always came home late. You were rarely at home before midnight.”

“Aren’t you pushing yourself?”

You were about to tug one of his wild strands of hair, before you back off and remembered that he’s no longer yours.

He lets out a disappointed smile.

“I met you and I was already in the middle of my mission.”

“Yet you’re still asking me out?”

“I wish I could blame it on the alcohol that night, but I know they just unleashed my deepest desire. I couldn’t forget you ever since that night where we met at the bar. Ever since we made the first eye contact.”

“But you’re keeping secrets from me, Jaehyun. And not just any secret, you being a COO is already a big step that I have to take. Then suddenly you are the next heir of an underground business, and the next thing I know you’re also a secret agent! I was living a pretty normal life, Jaehyun, then you suddenly came into the picture. How do you expect a person like me, dating a powerful man like you?”

“It’s just the consequences that I have to take eventually.”

“You could’ve just told me properly, you know, as a warning.”

His voice was saturated with regret, “I know it’s wrong, but I swear I would never purposely put you in danger. The reason why I didn’t tell you all of these was because the egoistic part of me didn’t want you to leave me out of fear. I was overly confident that I could overtake my father in no time. I thought I could keep it hidden and live my life peacefully with you, but I didn’t expect him to... meet you.”

Part of you felt guilty at the way he mentioned how you would leave when you discover the truth. On how accurate his predictions were.

“It’s just…”  He sighs, “I was this close, [Y/N]. Of course, Hyun Kyungmi was an opening I never knew would come, but even so I was confident I could arrest him on my own. And I have to do this. For Mark, and for my future, our future.”

The sentence ended with a pregnant pause, both of you unsure how the conversation should continue.

Was it always this awkward with Jaehyun?

“So…” He finally breaks the silence, “Yuta, I think he’s a great guy.”

Your eyes quiver at the way Jaehyun speaks Yuta’s name. 

“He is, Jaehyun.” You carefully replied, “Though his jokes are borderline rude, it’s just his way to show his affection.”

Jaehyun dryly laughs, “He’s different from me, doesn’t he?”

His words stop you from going, prolonging the pause.

“But I’m glad he’s able to make you laugh like that.”

You saw how his gaze turns soft. It’s been forever since Jaehyun got a chance to look at you, and only you. It’s been a while he could have all of you for himself, for you guys talk in private like this.

He was intoxicated, in you. And he let you slipped away. He finally reached his goal, but he didn’t receive his prize.

“I miss you, [Y/N].”

You pressed your lips together. Air of melancholy filled the way you look at him.

“Jaehyun, I-”

“I know, I know. Just… let me get this out of my chest.”

He took a deep breath in, “Please let me this one go,”

He hugs you, and it feels like years since the last time you’ve felt Jaehyun’s warmth. 

There was a momentary pause before you could react.

Is this okay?

Is this fair, for you, Jaehyun, most importantly, for Yuta?

But how could something that feels so right be so wrong?

So you hug his broad shoulder back, pulling him closer to you. Indulging his embrace that’s been missing from you.

“You know, I always thought by hiding it from you means I can have my own haven. Living a triple life is can be quite chaotic.”

You laughed, “I could imagine.”

He scoffed warmly, “I have to wear three different masks in each settings, and there are times where I feel like I could break into pieces.”

“But then I met you,” He carefully caressed your hair, making sure he didn’t ruin your hairstyle for the night. “Every time I woke up next to you, I just knew what I’ve been missing in my life. How our mind connected, the sound of your laughter, and the way you teach me how to love, and the way you loved me back.”

Jaehyun always feels perfect, but he is a human too. You can feel he’s trembling, fighting the waves of emotion, “For once, I could be just myself when I’m with you. Not COO Jaehyun, or the next heir for some underground business, nor a secret agent. I can just be just Jaehyun, and it was liberating.”

His words hit you hard. You never knew how much weight he has on his shoulder, and how he hold everything on his own. You never knew that Jaehyun leaned on you that much.

It’s not fair for him to tell him all of this now. Not when you thought you can live your life without him.

“The next morning after you left, I thought I just had a nightmare.” He continues, “That night was probably the longest night I ever experienced. I fell asleep, drunk. When I woke up and I couldn’t find you next to me, I thought you were in the kitchen. You always said you wanted to make me breakfast.

Jaehyun took another breath in, “Yet the only sight I saw was the mess from the night before and everything finally became a reality for me.”

He lets you go, to see that you’re about to cry. He forcefully smiles, trying his best not to show the already apparent sadness.

“Don’t cry. You’re kind, that’s why you pitied me.”

No, that’s not it, Jaehyun.

You wonder why it is so hard for you to tell him so, but words just won’t come out.

“I realized that I meet someone and we sometimes drift apart. Sometimes it seems to be too much and too vague, so I get anxious over it. Even so, the world moves on, and so are you.”

Are you?

“I’m happy that Yuta’s able to make you smile. Something that I took away from you that night. I’m sorry for hiding things from you, but please know everything that we shared, our relationship, is real. Probably the most genuine feelings that I ever felt.”

You took one of your fingers to wipe the corners of your eyes, preventing the tears to ruin your makeup.

“Jaehyun, please don’t be so hard on yourself. Now that I know every reason behind it, it would be stupid of me not to forgive you.”

He nods, and there goes another silence.

Are you OK leaving things this way? How could you figure out your heart when your mind is filled with numerous tangled threads?

Suddenly the room next to you became so loud, surprising both you and Jaehyun. 

“Looks like he’s here,” Jaehyun stares at the wall, seeming to know the reason behind the fuss.

“Let’s go?” He offers his hand, shocked with his own action.

“Sorry,” He quickly shoved his hand to his pants pocket. “Old habits die hard.”

Oh, Jaehyun.

That, you too know very well.

Both of you walked to the first room to see Taeyong who’s busy crying while Mark continuously patted him, telling him to stop.

“There’s no way I could not cry, dumbass!” Taeyong pouts, receiving tissue from Johnny, “You’re finally free, Mark.”

A/N: Can you believe next week we’re going to have our last chapter? :o

So quick question, are you team Jaehyun or team Yuta? lol

[oldmanatom]

wrote a whole long post about how i “did” “NaNo,” thought i saved it to my drafts, came to post it tonight and it’s not there. that’s genuinely a bummer since i had other Thoughts™ baked into it, but i’ll take it as an opportunity to write a second draft version instead, now that i have my thoughts more together:

my version of NaNo, much like my version last year, was just to hit a word count goal with whatever writing i could scrape together. this year i set the goal lower than last year, and actually more or less hit it, which was cool and tbh surprising.

i’ve been resistant to writing to hit a word count in the past—seemed like an easy way to psych myself out, plus how i write (jumping all around the story/page/doc) makes keeping track of word counts annoying at best, challenging at worst—but succeeding last month made it far more appealing. i’m going to try and hit it again this month, to see if it might be a good way to keep myself on the writing...treadmill? hike? grind? [insert relevant metaphor here].

for the first time in literally (literally!) years, i’ve completed a first draft of something. it’s objectively not very good, and will need a lot of work—i didn’t know what the hell i was doing for 50% of it, and once i figured out what i was trying to do i didn’t know how to do it for the other 50%, and it took me basically the entire month to put it together brick by brick, so what i have now is about as scattered as you’d expect from that process—but it’s done, which means i can actually do that work and make those edits with a holistic view on what i’m working with, instead of, like, trying to fix the foundation as i’m also trying to build the frame and hang the drywall, so to speak.

thinking also about this post, and about that Terry Pratchett quote about how the first draft is just you telling yourself the story, and about how impossible it is to know and see everything there is to know and see about my story on the very first pass. this idea—that something being done is better than it being good when it comes to first drafts—is something that’s both obvious and easy to understand, and yet has taken me years to realize and more years to actually implement.

why? lots of reasons. one of them: i get stuck in write-edit cycles—write something, go back and edit it, write more, edit that and edit the other part to fit in with the new part, write more, etc etc. it’s a momentum killer. if i do that, i finish nothing, as i’ve proven over and over again over the years as i’ve started a million things and followed through on exactly none of them. trying to break myself of this habit has been a struggle, and mostly i lose, but i’m losing less often and less extensively than i was at the beginning, which i’ll take.

why care about this? lots of reasons. one of them: i am extraordinarily tired of looking at my folders full of bits and pieces stuck in Google docs that get forgotten about and left to collect virtual dust. they might be “good,” but i’m not satisfied with just writing them and letting them sit and do nothing, like some sort of dragon’s hoard of words. i am, regardless of how i feel moment to moment, a decent writer; if nothing else, i’m writing things that i like to read, and that i’d like others to read; i should find a way to bridge the gap and finish these off into something i can share.

(feeling like nothing’s ever done enough to share is its own point which i’m still trying to figure out, and which might be the next meta “thing” i tackle on the first edit/second draft of this piece. how much can one oneshot teach me? is it wise to make this into The Little Story That Could? i guess we’ll find out.)

one thing i’ve been learning as i’ve been trying to put this idea into practice, which will absolutely sound sappy but keeps proving itself true: my story’s going to teach me as i go. it’s going to tell me what needs to happen with the plot and characters and everything else, and it’s going to do that regardless of whether or not i have a 19 page scene-by-scene outline or a conversation i like, an image in my head of the scene, and a vague idea of what i want to happen next. and, whatever i miss on the first round i can pick up and work on in the next rounds. but it only teaches me if i keep writing it, unfortunately.

basically: it doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be done. that’s it. that’s the only requirement of a first draft: that it be complete. just keep writing until the damn thing’s finished. polish comes second. i keep repeating this like a fucking mantra, like something you’d chant to yourself to get through a root canal or the last hour of a truly terrible shift, and honestly that’s what it feels like half the time, but it worked once, so who’s to say it won’t work again.

i think there was a third point in my original post, but i can’t remember it so i guess it can’t be that important. i’ll end with a few quotes from this past month of NaNo, entirely from that draft, which is partly because that was 80-90% of my writing this past month and partly because the other 10-20% is stuff that i’m likely going to be posting soon (yes, i do have plans to post something soon, sorry @ my poor neglected writing sideblog). without context, because i think that’s funnier—

1.

To your eternal shame, you can't actually manage to look up at the woman you know is standing in the doorway, one sandaled foot through the threshold and leaning heavily on the Death First to Solicitors and Thieves doormat. Instead, you glance partway over and see weak, yellowish light spill out from inside, cascade over the porch steps, and reach with dim and blunted fingers out towards her soaked half yard. You trace the watery edges of it with your eyes instead of looking at her, and it's a coward's move but that relief is back again, so.

"Harrow?" she says, barely audible over the pounding water around you.

You remember, then, when you told her ages ago that her vintage standing lamp needed its bulb replaced and the two of you had gotten into a nice little row over well, it's not dead yet, now is it, and where the hell am I supposed to find another weird filament bulb like that, and who exactly decided to get the damn antique showpiece thing anyways. It's entirely unsurprising that after all these years it's still the same almost-flickering bulb stuck in it, that it's somehow still alive and managing to bleed light out onto this miserable scene.

2.

Being shorn down to your shirts and jeans and socks makes you wrap your arms around yourself again. No longer having five pounds of wet denim on your shoulders lets your body remember what warmth is, and more importantly reminds you that you have none, and so what had been a vague shaking for the last hour turns into full-on shivering, teeth clacking and everything. You ask, not for the first time, for some reasonable God to show you mercy and cut you down.

Instead, Ianthe covers her smile half with her hand and says, "Oh, look at you, Harry, you poor thing. Soaking wet and I didn't even have a hand in it."

"Shut up," you try to say, but your chattering teeth and jaw make it come out more like "s-s-s-hhhht 'p," and Ianthe doesn't react regardless, just shakes her head and throws you another towel.

3.

"Harrow, please. It's late and I've never been fond of your insistence on bullshitting when I have your back against a wall. Besides, ending up huddled on my porch in the worst storm of the year is a little much, even for—"

"Even for me," you interrupt, "as though I was the one who slept in front of our front door for three nights so that I wouldn't 'run out on you with the rent' after you lost an argument."

The corner of Ianthe's mouth twitches, but it's the only slip of her otherwise curious, focused expression. "To be fair, it was an argument about the rent."