#( i wrote this way too poetically for how stupid the actual idea is )

[downs1de-has-moved]

Takes a fistful of Han's shirt, dragging him close to crush her mouth to his, desperate and hungry. ❤️

The woman on the drive-through speaker grew increasingly impatient, but Han was too consumed by Amelia's kiss to care. It had a magical effect on him, making him forget that a moment ago, he was starving.

"Hello? Are you there?"

Her words came out from the speaker, and Han could barely make them out.

"Jesus Christ…"

Yet Han remained blissfully unconcerned. His hand instinctively rested on Amelia's waist, lips remaining locked even as the honking of the piled-up cars threatened their moment.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

I need more Ville Valo fics 😩 no one seems to do them anymore! I need another part to Love You To Death! 😍

Love You To Death (Pt. 2)

Y/N makes the painful decision to leave the romance she found in Finland behind, but fate has different plans in mind. By fate, I mean Bam and Ville.

Ville Valo X Fem!Reader, (slight Bam Margera X Ville Valo if you squint?)

(Fluff, angst)

2.5k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, alcohol, manipulation, power imbalance, toxic relationships, unwelcome flirting, creepy guys,

An: Thank you so much for the request!! I had a ball writing this and I’m sure you’ll enjoy t as well :) This was the first fic I wrote after finishing finals, so I hope this is up to par with my usual work! I really wanted to explore how Bam was affected by what was going on with Ville and how Ville feels almost protective of Y/N. As a note, there’s a painting referenced in this fic that was based off of a real piece in the Philadelphia Museaum of art! Anyways, thank you so much for the request and please keep sending them in!

“You’re not actually gonna stay with him, are you?” Bam raised an eyebrow at you from where he was laying against the hotel room mattress. Continuing to fill him in on what happened that night, you cracked open your own tiny mini bar liquor with a sigh, “No, I mean- I can’t.” Bending down to pick up the steadily growing pile of bottles at his bedside, you rolled your eyes, “I mean- it’s not like I could just pack up all my shit and move to Finland!” Trying to ignore your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, you went over the same thing you had been rolling around in your mind since you left Ville’s flat no more than an hour ago.

Tomorrow, you would be flying back home to Philly, away from Finland and away from him, and as well as you knew you couldn’t stay, you didn’t want to go. But as unobservant as he usually was, Bam’s liquor-addled mind made a connection there. He respected Ville. Ville was in love with you. You were friends with Bam. It would be so easy to earn himself a little easy cred with him if he set the two of you up- you know, play Cupid. “So, you got his number?”

Too distracted with stress packing, you didn’t give Bam’s question a second thought, “Of course I did. Why do you care?” Good. He gave you some BS about how Ville is his friend, and if you hadn't gotten his number, he would say you’re stupid, “I know he’s really hot, but I get it- he’s moving a little fast. I mean, you guys just met!” The lip service continued and you were lucky you couldn’t see that smirk of his he was so not hiding. But Bam’s words hit a little closer to home than you expected and made you pause a bit. “Yeah, yeah- I hear ya…”

Bam was getting a thrill out of playing double agent- maybe more than he should. That night, far after he was sure you were out cold, guess who he was calling up? “Ville, man- I got just the idea for you to win over Y/N!” His giddiness was a contrast to Ville’s half-drunk stupor he dove into after you left, still somehow as smooth as ever, “Hmm?” Cupping his hand around the receiver in the dark, Bam went on a rambling, half coherent rant about this master plan of his, which Ville periodically hummed in agreement to. In both of their minds, it sounded pretty foolproof. And there you were, fast asleep about five feet away from where this whole trap intended for you was unfolding.

☆彡

Months later, once the initial flames of desire died down, you kept in touch with Ville in the form of constant phone calls that seemed to stretch on for eternities. Even if he didnt go on and on about this romanticized, poetic vision he had of the two of you together in the future, you couldn’t help but find his voice so pleasant to listen to. It was hypnotic, the way he detailed something as mundane as how stunning the countryside in Finland was in the springtime, how plentiful and beautiful the wildflowers are there. “Of course, they couldn’t compare to your beauty, my dear.” Ville purred his words in a way that almost made you blush and giggle.

Based on the low chuckle he let out at your reaction, you were sure he picked up on it. “There is, however, something I’d like to discuss with you, Y/N.” His voice took on a conspiratorial tone that made you listen a bit closer. “I’ll be going on tour in a few weeks- and seeing as I’ll have a day off in Philadelphia, I was wondering if you would be interested in going out together?” Holy shit. You would be seeing him face to face- like, actually in person. “Oh- of course I’d be interested! That would be amazing!” A disbelieving grin spread across your face, your heart fluttering a little at the prospect, “I can’t wait.” Ville seemed content with your enthusiasm and the way this was trending, letting out a hum of satisfaction, “Neither can I, darling.”

★彡

Bam seemed pretty eager to get your ass out of the house the night before Ville was set to arrive in town. While you were perfectly content with spending the evening fucking around with him and the rest of the guys (because that’s you usually did on a Friday night), for some reason he couldn’t let that happen. “Y’know what? I’m really not feelin’ like going out tonight.” Excuses like this were uncharacteristic of Bam, but you suspended your dislebeleif as he got up from where the two of you were watching tv on the couch, grabbing something off the kitchen table, “It’s lady’s night at 15 North! I think you should go hang out with your girlfriends, have a few drinks, here-”

Turning around to where you had been following behind him, Bam shoved a handful of twenties into your hand and grinned, trying to sound nonchalant, “It's on me!” Part of you wanted to question why the hell he did this big three sixty from how cold he was acting towards you in Finland. But another part of you, a part with a little less shame, knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said horse was buying you and your friends drinks. Considering your options for a moment, you nodded, “You know what? I will go out!”

☆彡

That whole thing with Ville just happening to have that time off in Philly wasn't nearly as coincidental as he made it out to be, but that wasn’t the only dishonesty here. Even though they were more than capable of discussing it over the phone, Bam urged him to stop by the castle so they would have the opportunity to ‘talk about it more’. Really, the whole thing was a ploy to keep Ville in one place with him and to show off the castle in one big effort to impress him. Though he was unaffected by his childish attempts to win his favor, Ville decided not to say anything on his thinly veiled intentions or tacky choices in interior design. Bam was giving him some pretty useful information, so it wouldn’t be wise to write him off just yet.

Bam had told Ryan and the other guys the same excuse he told you, which they questioned even less. Adding to this web of lies was the fact Ville got in town a day earlier than he told you he would. You decided to stop by Bam’s to pick something up that you left there the previous night before retiring to your place, so you would only discover this fact when you stumbled through the door around the early AM’s to a figure in the darkness of the living room, lounging on the couch with a glass of something dark that he sat down on a table as you walked in. It was silent as you peered around a corner, still pretty tipsy. The light from the entryway illuminated this person’s silhouette enough for you to see a sliver of a swirling tattoo peek out from under a sleeve- one you instantly recognized. “Ville…?”

☆彡

You should’ve known; who else would look that good in the dark? Of course, you had a lot of questions for Ville, but he gave you the rundown after you nearly pounced on him, “We arrived at a hotel around an hour ago, and while Midge and Linde- and the rest of the fellows were getting settled,” Ville ran his fingers through your hair idly while you pretty much sat on his lap, ”Bam rang me to ask if I would mind staying at his place for a night or two. Who am I to say no to that?” Gently taking your chin to tilt your head up, he pressed a kiss to your cheekbone, “All the more time I get to spend with you, my love.” A hummingbird couldn’t have caught Ville at work, the way he was playing you, and judging by the way you were blushing and melting onto his lap like warm butter, his charms were working their magic on you.

“Anyways,” Glancing down at you, he quickly brushed it off as if he wasn’t just thrilled by how flustered he could make you with such a simple gesture, “I was wondering if you’d care to go out for drinks sometime?” Well, Bam had asked him if he wanted to continue their conversation tomorrow night over a few beers at Rex’s, which gave him the idea to ask you. Close enough. “Oh, I’d love to!” You giggled, laying back against his chest.

★彡

There was pretty obvious confusion in Bam’s half awake gaze the next morning when he saw first you in the kitchen making yourself some toast, then Ville at the coffee maker. Why the hell were you here? Wait, did the two of you…? “Y/N?” He thought he was having some kind of weird dream- some nightmare, but nope, this was reality. “Oh, hey Bam!” Turning around, you took a bite from your toast, “What’s up?” If the smirk on your face wasn’t telling enough, the fact that the two of you were half dressed certainly was. “You stayed here last night?” You could practically see Bam’s train of thought on his face as he looked between you and him, “Ohhhh…” Ville quietly chuckled at his reaction, not seeming to notice the traces of jealousy in his gaze.

☆彡

You were completely oblivious to the fact that there were serious art museums in Pennsylvania until Ville took you to one. Well, you knew there probably were some out there, but the thought never really crossed your mind that people actually go to these places. But there the two of you were, strolling through the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The only sounds that echoed off the tall ceilings of the exhibit hall were the clacking of rubber soles on marble and the hushed whispers among people who actually had opinions on this kind of art.

Sure, you appreciated the stuff, but Ville understood the meaning in seemingly any kind of art that you couldn’t even begin to grasp. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to gaze at a painting that caught his eye: this Christophe Guérin piece titled L'Amour Désarmé. You looked at it as well, trying to gather any meaning from what appeared to be a pretty straightforward subject: a woman holding a bow and arrow away from Cupid, who was reaching to grab it. Standing there a moment next to you, Ville spoke up in a low murmur, “Even though I feel the Metamorphoses is a bit overdone, I’ve always found paintings depicting them impactful...” He didn’t even need to see you to visualize the confused look in your face from his words, so he explained. “See, the woman, Venus, is disarming her son, Cupid- but what she doesn’t know is that she’s already been pierced by his arrow.”

Well, you gathered some of that on your own. “So, now she’s going to fall in love with someone?” Eyes no longer fixed on the painting, he turned to you as you still admired the art, completely oblivious, “Yes. In the myth, it’s a mortal: Adonis. It’s symbolic of love as an uncontrollable force-“ In awe of the way he could just think so deeply about things, the double meaning of his words went completely over your head. “One that binds people together beyond what can be grappled with or comprehended by you or I…”

☆彡

You didn’t really mind that Bam tagged along with the two of you to the bar after Ville finished the show that night, but you were starting to get an inkling that he did. Honestly, at this point, you didn’t really care. Sure, you had known him for way longer than you knew Ville, but not in a million years could he hope to compare to him in your eyes- not now. It was like Bam was some child, constantly vying for attention, and it was starting to get on your nerves. Almost as much as that guy who had been flirting with you since Ville left to use the men's.

“Y’know, I saw you from across the bar over there …Can I buy you a drink?” Looking over to Bam for any hope of getting out of this situation, the only response you got from him was the cold shoulder as he glanced away, pretending not to know you. Asshole. Glancing away, now both angry at him and the guy, you replied flatly, “I’m with someone.” Still, he kept pressing, not getting the hint in the slightest, “I didn’t ask who you were with- I wanted to buy you a drink.”

The aggression in his voice would’ve put you on edge a little if it weren’t for Ville’s return with incredible timing, sliding between you and the creep. “Hope you weren't too lonely without me, love.” Having seen everything, he still paid the guy no mind, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your lips. Too preoccupied with your little victory, you didn’t notice that, barely out of your line of sight, this bitter look crossed Bam’s face as he took another swig of his drink.

★彡

Ville had to leave the next morning. You knew that when he showed up, he would have to leave- you would be an idiot for thinking this could end in any other way, but you didn’t want him to. There was no logic to how you felt, but yet again when did logic have anything to do with love? Bam wasn't awake, but even if he was he’d probably still be sulking in his room. He probably hated you now. But there you and Ville stood, in the living room at Castle Bam among all the dark velvet, the dim light of early day flooding in through the back window. “My heart aches for you, Y/N.” Delicate features bathed in cool blue, he took your hand in his and his words came to you, deliberate and earnest. “But you have a life to live. I have a tour to finish.” Your heart wept at his words. This whole situation with Ville- it was killing you. In three months, your life was turned upside down by a complete stranger, and you were helpless to do anything about it.

“No more of what’s keeping you here, and no more of what’s pulling me away from you. If not today then some day, my dear…You will be mine.” Lifting your hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to your knuckle. “Only mine.”

[buckyarchives]

Domestic Life Of a Living With a Runaway Assassin. [Intro.]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

Summary: you hate many things in life. you hate soulmates. you hate the avengers. you hate guns. you hate loud snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can't find yourself hating him

W.c: 2.1K

Series playlist linked here

Author note: this was actually one of my first long form fics I wrote in many years, its carrys a nostalgic feeling and means a lot to me. i wrote it like last October and thought abt kinda rewriting some stuff and posting it here! I thought some of you guys woudk enjoy this story. this is only a short darbble that teases the story, next chapter shows how they met and everything after that. It takes place right after CA:TWS and it’s a soulmate AU!

Masterlist

Soulmates.

The legend goes that when the universe was created and whatever higher power you believed in created humans to have two sets of legs, two sets of arms, and two heads. Now because the world is cruel and no one can have nice things, whoever is in charge up there split us up into two beings but forever being connected by our souls. Spending the rest of our life waiting and searching for our other halves. Never being our true whole selves without them. How poetically tragic.

It turned into a weird way to make money nowadays, you felt like no one really cared about the reality of soulmates now. It was made into shitty romance movies, or stupid scientific searches for your one and only soulmate that was definitely an internet scam. People literally faking soul marks towards celebrities for their one chance with them that their delusional minds make up. 

All just a desperate attempt to feel whole and loved but your one and true person. Always and forever destined to be.

What a touching story. Too bad you think it's all bullshit

No genuinely, you were supposed to believe your life's purpose was to find this one person in the entire universe that matched you, and without them, you what? you were going to be miserable for the rest of your life? The universe is a scam. You had given up on the whole mad search for your other half years ago, you didn't understand why you couldn't go out and find your own partner without having to match up those stupid words on your shoulder. 

“I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

Those stupid words. You hated the idea of soulmates but you couldn't stop yourself from the hours of wondering just what the hell that was supposed to mean. You had no interest in seeking out your soulmate but you could wonder what type of person they may be. Were they really a dangerous person? Would you genuinely not feel safe with the said person when you first meet? Would you even meet them?

Questions had swirled through your head since the day you got it. Those questions had died down a little, you were getting older and most of your peers had already met their soulmates. You noticed soulmates were not just romantic, they came in friendships, some didn't work out, some came between children and parents, and some came through your fire escape at night, covered in blood and knocking down your favorite plants.

With a loud crash, your feet carried you through your new york apartment to your living room. You saw the outline of him crouched down on the floor. “I'm so sorry, I know that was your favorite plant.”

Okay, spoiler. You had found your soulmate. You weren't excited about it as the rest of the world expected, but it happened. You weren't some hypocrite that would suddenly abandoned all beliefs and fell head over heels for your soulmate once you met like one of those stupid romance movies you mention earlier, you were not some cliche. Especially not with a poor excuse of a runaway-brainwashed-assassin soulmate, at least you would try convincing yourself that.

“My god Bucky, how many times do I have to tell you to just go through the door.” you pinch the bridge of your nose as the tired old man scrambles to clean up the dirt and scattered pot beneath him. “I mean, you practically live here now.”

“I'm not using the door, someone could see me.”

You think Like that's better than having someone see you climb through the fire escape, asshole. You scoff and shake your head and begin dragging yourself to the kitchen. You had a slight quirk at the end of your lips, an amused smile, you hoped Bucky didn’t see in the dark. Maybe he did, you didn’t really have enough time to ask him the deets on the effects of the serum. 

You swing open the cabinet door and grab a trash bag and first aid kit. God only knows how bent out of shape bucky is tonight. Making your way back into your living room, Buckys still muttering under his breath about your stupid plant and “god dammit it's fucking freezing out there.”

throwing the trash back at him, he looks up at you. His eyes are beautiful. His hair is sopping wet and you were hoping to any god above that he wasn't bleeding out on your floor. You were not losing your security deposit for your reckless runaway assassin soulmate. God, that's a mouthful, you need to give him a new nickname.

 “So, what's the damage?”

“s’ nothing, I'm just cold. It started raining hard.” he looks like a wet shaking dog. Your heart aches.

You look him up and down. Noticing the water dripping from all his clothing. “I see that.”

You sigh and take a few steps toward him. Bucky eyes follow your moments precisely. He has a bit of a staring problem. You snag the hair tie off your wrist and swiftly tie his brunette wet mop of a head into a little man bun. Cute. you shake your head.

“Stay, I'll be right back.”

Bucky watches you in awe as your body ascends back into the darkness of the room and around a corner. He's uncomfortable and his socks are wet. The leather vest is wet and he feels like he's trapped in his own skin, and Bucky feels too heavy. 

Slowly, he begins to unstrap all weapons on his body and toss them to the side so you don't have to see them. You didn't like guns. He had a designated place where he hides them because god-forbid Bucky messes up your apartment aesthetic with his dozen of unsettling and quite scary weapons. Your words, not his.

Unzipping the leather top and peeling the fabric off himself was less than a nice feeling, it made him cringe and sent a quick shiver down his spine. Bucky tossed it to the side, he’ll deal with that tomorrow. His hands feel the thin black shirt that's left, it's wet too. Fucking hell. He doesn’t remember the New York weather being this bad in September, he also barely remembers anything so his memory isn’t too reliable. Bucky slowly peels the fabric over his head, he hopes he doesn't mess up the bun you did, he never did it right.

Bucky hears your feet pad against your floor. He pushes back a smile. You're holding a towel and some clothes. He watches you as you crouch down next to him on the floor, he notices that your eyes are squinted and your bed head is apparent. A twinge of guilt hits him now knowing he had woken you up. Bucky whispers, “I woke you up.”

You sigh, again. “I was having a bad dream anyways.”

“About?”

You inhale, scoffing to yourself. “I was being chased by Jimmy Fallon with a jar of pickles – because you know, I hate pickles – and he was yelling at me about the importance of eating vegetables, but he sounded just like my mom.”

Bucky didn’t remember who Jimmy Fallon was, “you must think you’re so amusing, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky curls his toes and is unfortunately reminded of his very wet socks. He leans forward to untie his hefty boots. Your eyes trail along his naked back, his muscles flex and suddenly you are just a little more awake. You watch his left arm in all its glory, taking note of the ragged and scarred tissues where metal meets skin. Scratch marks are littered around the edges, and you feel sad for him, imagining how those got there. The moonlight highlights his metal arm, making it shine and look quite beautiful. You could never tell Bucky that.

“It's been a week.” you finally breathe out. Bucky freezes in place as his fingers wrap around his laces. He feels guilty again. “And you didn't leave a note this time either. I thought...”

Trailing off, you stop yourself before you say something you were going to regret. Your mind wanders, you felt so incredibly stupid right now. Truth is, you didn't agree with the whole soulmate ordeal but it seemed like ever since your unconventional first meeting with Bucky, he has stuck to you like glue. He just kept coming back and then leaving again. 

It took you many of his overnight stays and weirdly domestic mornings making scrambled eggs together and then turning into a worry machine after he leaves. You realized had grown to care for him deeply. Bucky always came back, but you were scared for the day we might not. 

Bucky is– literally, a lost puppy. He had been on the run and actively avoiding the few stray agents that knew he was still alive when he met you. 

Bucky remembered back when he was a kid, dreaming about the day he would meet his soulmate. He and Steve would stay up all night talking about their soul marks, or just words (as they used to call it), and what they thought their soulmates would be like. Bucky was obsessed and simply put, a hopeless romantic. 

Then Steve met his soulmate, Peggy. And then he technically died and Hydra happened, Bucky thought his soulmate would have been dead because he was out of his time now. After being brainwashed and having been broken and put back together by Hydra, Bucky could still never shake the feeling of you still being out there, it was like some instinctive feeling in his bones, he had hope and it was one of the only things keeping him going. 

And he was right.

Bucky had many doubts when he first met you, given his situation. But you were not scared. And that was enough for him at the time.

But now he just feels guilty for giving you the burden of being his soulmate. He was trying, really.

“I'm sorry, doll.” his voice didn't sound like his own, he shrugged the rest of his boot off and followed with his socks. Finally. “I should have left a note. I'm safe, you're safe, and I'm here now.” 

Bucky heard you sniffled and you turned your head with an embarrassment look and glossy eyes. Like you were ashamed for caring.

“sweetheart...” he scooted closer, hoping you wouldn't mind his damp skin on yours. Bucky reached for you, wrapping his flesh hand around yours and giving you a small squeeze. Your head turned to him, a small smile hidden on your face by the darkness of the room. He saw it. Bucky might even think you're an angel. “I won't leave without saying something next time, I'm sorry.”

“Do I even want to know what you were doing out there?”

He hated lying to you but his life was complicated. “Just trying to fix some things I did.”

You nod. “Good.”

The silence between the two of you isn't uncomfortable, the past few months have been silent– at least with bucky. He is your soulmate. He is also the winter soldier, and the winter soldier is always moving and hiding. Bucky Barnes is always moving, always. He had been that way even way back in the Howling Commandos. 

You were his safe haven. Your relationship was on and off but your bond was strong, it was wordless and tentative and strung together by patching wounds at midnight and soft, domestic glances over coffee. Your house– just you were his place where he could just stop, pretend as if nothing mattered and sit on the couch and watch reality television that you loved. Bucky found it questionable but you said “it will help you get with the times.” Bucky just watched it because he knew it made you happy. 

Bucky Barnes had been moving all week, fast. He had almost died, twice. He was never going to let you know that though. Bucky was due for some Hell's Kitchen or dance moms. He was also not going to tell you that. 

The moonlight was fading and you could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside, barely silenced by the bustling city life of people leaving for work. You are still sitting next to Bucky, and you nudge him with your elbow. His attention is now drawn to you. You bite your bottom lip, a horrible habit you had, bucky hated it. Bucky brings his thumb up to your face and pulls your lip away from your teeth. He wants to kiss you.

“Go take a shower, you stink.” That works too. He smiles and you laugh. Yeah, Bucky thinks he can stop for just a little longer this time.

-

Feedback and comments make the work go round, comment to be added to the tag list!

Tag list : @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

[aaternum]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

name. cherub

pronouns. she/her

preference of communication. discord

name of muse(s). ryu

rp experience / how  long. a very, very long time. i've been on tumblr since 2012.

best experience. over the years i've had a lot of great experiences with other writers, i can't boil it down to just one. it's just a really fun time when i can chill and casually discuss with other writers.

fluff,  angst, or smut.

fluff: fluff is so fun to write! i enjoy soft and sweet interactions between characters, but i will confess that outside of drabbles, writing threads that are solely just .. fluff drains me (and maybe this is just an area of writing i need to work on better), but eventually i don’t know how else to progress the thread – especially if it's with characters that are meeting one another for the first time and i have no plot to refer back to. now .. fluff with some sort of deeper conversation, just two characters getting to know one another on an intimate level to build on their current relationship? i absolutely adore writing that!

angst: i relish in story-driven angst, so not necessarily angst for the sake of putting characters through pain, but for the development that comes with it and the eventual after. there’s something really enjoyable about writing a difficult, stressful situation between two characters and seeing how that shapes the overall dynamic between them. but i do .. prefer it to lead to something positive. writing never ending pain with a character that will always try to overcome that or find a way to deal with it just becomes so unvaried its tiring. BUT, writing angst with this notion of .. how will this character push past this and what will this do/better/worsen in their relationship? that's always fun for me!

smut: so i actually enjoy writing smut, i find it to be a neat challenge trying to balance introspection with the actual action and of course avoiding being repetitive/overly flowery. i don’t have a whole lot written on the blog to represent that, but the creative process is always fun when the opportunity arises. (i also am way too shy to directly ask someone if they’d like to write a romantic ship/assume no one would want to so .. that leaves minimal chance for it to happen in the first place lmfao!) personally, i have held back from writing it in the ways i’d prefer to out of fear of being too explicit. mainly because i feel like everyone has a threshold for how they’d prefer to digest reading about sex if that makes any sense. some people prefer poetic introspection that may not directly describe the act, whereas others enjoy it being crude. and i like to write a blend of both? so yeah. 

plots or memes. i will 100% of the time prefer plots over memes if we don't have some sort of base to work off of. i know a lot of people don't enjoy plotting/have a difficult time with it and that's so valid. as long as i can ask you if it's ok to place our characters in xyz setting before i write a response then i'll be fine. but i just find the longevity of a thread and interactions to increase when i can refer back to a plot.

long or short replies.  either or. once upon a time all i wrote were long replies, but nowadays i just want to have fun and write what i can.

best time to write. whenever i can tbh. (always at the most inconvenient time) i used to say i can only write at night, but since i finished school i have had better success inspiring myself to write during the day. which is strange,

are you like your muse. i think it's natural to share some aspects with your muse. i'm not like her socially or physically at all, i do wish i related to the ability to say what you feel. being lighthearted and patient. growing up i loved the comic relief character that had a lot of darker things they harbored within them. i enjoyed the confident shoujo characters that owned themselves and loved it. and i unintentionally embodied a lot of that in her including things i wish i saw in myself.

not tagging or tagged by anyone. just take it if you wanna do it too.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary245

5/19-20/24

sunday - monday

soon i rlly will quit work.

today was a good day off of work, i got stuff done around the house and worked on one song, + wrote something new ( i feel like almost every day i'm writing little new things, little riffs and new sounds (need to track those better in my notes soon too (i might save that for after i quit cuz it's a bit like busy-work which is too soul crushing to do when i have a real job (maybe why the mixing stuff is so hard for me also))) but this one feels like there's a lot possible for a song, or like, it's already kind of pretty formed as a couple ideas. starting w/ a lady gaga idea which is "start with the chorus" which i don't necessarily believe in, or i guess i don't believe in the other half of the quote (obvious hyperbole on her part) but it's "your song sucks otherwise" or somesuch thing. anyway, that seeped its way into my head and then the little idea i had, some fucked up chord thing, emerged as a chorus to me i guess. so that's fun.

i did also do some other mixing stuff, a couple songs i remixed weren't where i needed them so i got them there, so it's more like i worked on 3 songs but only 1 bit of headway in the track listing basically. it's crazy to think about how much effort i put into all this, and how many people will even notice? it's such like, fast and sloppy sounding (intentionally) music, does the fact that the snare's ring is kind of harsh and weird even come through in the timespan of these songs? it doesn't matter, honestly. just odd to think about.

so 15/32, not too bad, the goal today was 16/32 but that's okay, if i'm too tired and busy with like, having fun i guess, that's better for me probably and i need to not be hard on myself always.

i spent a lot of today, beyond doing the prep for cooking, and actually cooking, and dealing with the horrible creatures we have to share our stupid apartment with, playing vampire the masquerade bloodlines. the game really relaxes me, in a way lot of other games do not. i just really love the atmosphere and that i can be a weird awkward looking vampire girl (i playe tremere cuz the blood magic thing is like so cute tbh. like is there anything cuter than being able to make people explode from the inside??). n-e-wayzzz, why can't i be a vampire irl?? it's so messed up. i would be really good at it. or maybe not but i'd be good at the 'stay in the dark all the time' part.

anyways i am super sleepy, i stayed up too late but i go in pretty late at work tomorrow, so that's okayyy.

i sent off the assemblage poem, or part of it only, to a friend, to see if that can be put somewhere. hope that gets accepted, if not, i'm going to try and work out some shorter poems/poetic-ish things. that has to happen this week!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have to make sure i do that or at least approach it.

summer break starts for the kids, i'm really horrified about that. hope it's really nothing but it could be something. awful!!

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[noteguk]

a little while | kth | m

↳ inspired by the song “a little while” by yellow days. 

— summary; in which Taehyung realizes that he was wrong in thinking that being friends with benefits with you wouldn’t backfire. 

— contents and warnings; angsty smut!!, pretty much pwp, taehyung is emotional, fwb au, Taehyung x reader, protected sex, dirty talk (honestly like one sentence), unrequited feelings, kind of soft sex :( taehyung is whipped and sad about it 

— words; 2k

— author’s note; I’ve been feeling kind of stuck with my other wips so I wrote this drabble to unwind :) idk if I plan to write more of it but who knows!!! My two functioning neurons are very unpredictable. 

That was supposed to be easy. 

That was all that Taehyung could think about: you two, whatever you had going on; that was supposed to be easy. It was the whole point of even starting something like that in the first place. It was the entire motive behind why anyone would ever accept a friend with benefits — no strings attached, no clingy calls, no emotional baggage. It was supposed to be a quick situation, convenient; Taehyung was supposed to see you every once in a while, maybe even forget about you, until he decided that he wanted to get his dick wet again. 

It was supposed to be easy. 

“Is this okay for you?” Taehyung asked, leaning a bit closer to your face. He loved staring at you like that: with your hair sprawled on the pillow and your pouty lips inviting him into a kiss. He had grown used to having you under him, and it had quickly become one of his favorite pastimes. “Want me to go faster?” 

You shifted around under him, your hands moving up to rest on his shoulders. “It’s alright, I like it slow too.” 

And he could only nod, because his mind was thinking too many things that he could not say. It was supposed to be fucking easy, but somewhere along the way, Taehyung had ruined everything. It was just a matter of time before the whole situation went up in flames and he managed to lose both his friend and what might just be the love of his life in one go. 

Because Taehyung had broken the first and most important rule of having a friend with benefits: whatever you do, don’t catch feelings. 

And now he was rocking into you slowly, sensually, actually making love to you instead of the way he usually fucked — fast, rough, with your loud moans filling his lungs until he found his high. It was ridiculous. He felt nauseous. 

Worst part was that he was almost sure you didn’t feel the same — and the “almost” was because there was a small fragment of hope inside his chest that really tried to convince him that he had a shot. That maybe the way you looked at him showed something beyond hunger and lust. Maybe you actually cared for him. Maybe you wanted more and you weren’t brave enough to tell him. 

“Actually, could you go a bit faster?” 

Your voice shot him straight back down into reality. Taehyung only nodded, mumbling something that not even he understood before burying his face on the crook of your neck and raising the speed of his thrusts. The world around him felt suffocating and confusing, not even your honeyed moans against his ear could raise his spirit. 

Still he tried to ground himself, his hands digging to your hips as he closed his eyes, focusing on the drag of your walls against his cock. The feeling was overwhelming, dizzying, earned a low groan from him as he continued to fuck you like you deserved to be fucked. Taehyung managed to pretend that everything was alright for exactly two minutes before you spoke up again. 

“God, that feels so good,” you cried out. His cock throbbed inside you at your words, his mind spinning at the sensation of you growing tighter. Taehyung was obsessed with you in every way, completely enthralled by how your body reacted to his, so eager to feel more. “Want you to kiss me, Tae.” 

You always asked that when you were getting close and Taehyung was always fast to do it. His lips were on yours before he could even think about it, his tongue crawling inside your mouth as he groaned against the kiss. God, he could make out with you forever, it wasn’t even a joke. 

Taehyung was absolutely whipped and that was a problem. 

He removed one hand from your hips and trailed it down your arm slowly, reaching your hand and intertwining his fingers in yours. He moaned against your mouth, feeling his orgasm building up on the base of his spine, and pressed your hand down on the mattress as he continued to bury himself inside you. 

“Tae,” you sobbed his name so beautifully that he swore he could cum right at that instant. “I’m so close.” 

“It’s okay, baby, you can let it go,” he said, his voice so deep that you felt it vibrating inside your chest. “I got you. Cum on my cock for me. Wanna feel you.”

And you did, because it was like the universe was mocking him about how perfect you could be. Taehyung groaned — both in pleasure and in frustration — as your pussy clenched around his aching cock, your thighs trembling on either side of his body while you cried out his name. It was a flawless melody composed just for him: your voice dancing in the air, the lewd sounds of your wetness as he continued to thrust in and out of you. 

Taehyung, just to top it all off, committed the huge mistake of actually making eye contact with you as you came down from your high. It suddenly was too much: your hooded eyes, your parted lips, the blissful expression that covered your features. You were too much. 

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung cursed. He closed his eyes, paying full attention to his growing pleasure. “You’re so beautiful.” 

He didn’t really mean to confess that out loud, but you didn’t seem to mind. You smiled, that gorgeous, drowsy smile you always gave him after he had made you cum, and Taehyung swore he was in heaven. “Are you gonna cum?” You asked, earning an eager nod in return. His hair was a mess over his eyes, sweaty and disorganized, covering his gaze as he looked down to see where the two of you met. You were made for him, your pussy was made for him, and he couldn’t take that idea out of his mind. “It’s okay, Tae, you can cum.” 

Again, the universe was mocking him, because within a few seconds he was doing just that. Taehyung pressed his forehead against your shoulder and spilled himself inside the condom, wishing profusely — pretending, almost — that the latex barrier wasn’t there, and that he was filling you up with his cum instead, making you his. And that was enough to prolong his high a little further, his cock throbbing as he dove into that fantasy. 

But, eventually, it had to end. 

The silence that followed was thick and overbearing, but comfortable regardless. Most of the time it went like that: with the two of you basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, drowning in the heat of one another without saying a word. Taehyung did not know what went on inside your head, but he knew that he needed those few seconds of silence to reset his thoughts, to try and bury the emotions that ever so gradually started to build up. 

Basically, he had to take a moment to remind himself that he had absolutely no chance with you. 

You sighed deeply, your fingers diving into Taehyung’s soft locks. He had collapsed against your chest, trying to regain his breath and, at the gentle caresses of your fingers, you felt his heart leap inside his chest, pounding against your skin. 

“That was nice,” you said daintily. He only hummed in agreement, worried he would slip and say something he didn’t mean to. “I have to go, though.” 

Just like that, Taehyung felt like he just got stabbed in the fucking jugular. He whipped his head away from your chest faster than he could think (after all, he should’ve enjoyed a few extra seconds of boob time if he had the chance) and his mouth fell open for a moment before his words finally came out. “Don’t— Don’t you wanna stay the night?” 

If you thought that his plea was desperate, which it was, you didn’t let it show. You smiled, leaning back to you could shift into a seating position on the bed. The two of you were facing each other then, so close and yet miles apart. “I don’t think I have the energy for round three,” you answered playfully. 

Taehyung had two conflicting answers fighting in his head. The first one was that it wasn’t for sex, something along the lines of “actually, I might be in love with you and I don’t want you to go”; the second one was the one that you wanted to hear: “it’s okay, I’ll do all the work anyways”. And, yet, as the brave battle continued inside his mind, he was left to stare in silence as you jumped out of the bed and started seeking for your clothes.

“Besides,” you continued, “I have that research presentation tomorrow.” 

Oh yeah, that stupid research thing. The reason why you had to schedule that Emergency Unwinding Session with Taehyung in the first place. His initial bliss, but his final demise. How poetic. 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Taehyung watched your little wiggling dance as you placed your pants back on. He would’ve teased you about it if his heart wasn’t in absolute shambles. “Can I see you later tomorrow, then?” 

You didn’t even hesitate to twist the blade. “Won’t happen. It’s Yongsun’s birthday and we are going to this fancy sushi bar downtown,” you said. The universe truly hated Taehyung and you were completely dressed by the time you leaned in to place a kiss against his forehead. “But we’ll figure something out. I owe you a third round.” 

Taehyung forced out a laugh, trying to brush away the storm cloud over his head. However, he couldn’t even convince himself that he was fine. “Sure. We can figure it out.” 

You hummed and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to make it a bit more presentable. “I have the copy of the keys that Jimin gave me, so you don’t have to worry about locking the door. Just go to sleep and I’ll lock it on my way out.” 

Taehyung simply nodded because he seriously didn’t think he could say anything without completely confessing his emotions. They were so bottled up that he felt them building up in his throat, like a shaken bottle of soda about to explode. 

“See you, Tae. Thanks for tonight,” you said on your way out of his room. 

He responded with a timid, “See you,” that he was a hundred percent sure you didn’t even hear. A few seconds later, the sound of his front door closing was like thunder echoing around his empty room. 

Taehyung sighed and threw himself back against the mattress, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was so fucked. So fucking whipped. He just wanted to scream against his pillow until it all went away, but he knew that it wouldn’t. He couldn’t confess to you because he was sure that you didn’t feel the same, and he couldn’t let you go because he was selfish: he wanted you one way or another, even if he had to disguise his emotions and pretend that everything was fine. 

He removed his hand from his face and stared up at the white ceiling, at the slices of moonlight that came from his open window. Taehyung decided that he would just continue faking that he was fine with the idea of being friends with benefits with you. But could he do it? Could he keep it up? For how long? Taehyung had endured those acting sessions for a bit too long then, and he didn’t know how much he could take before he reached his breaking point. 

He groaned and rolled around on the bed. He just wanted to sleep. 

That was supposed to be easy.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Would lowkey kill to see Kauri attempting to write poetry in his relationship with Jake era (omg Jake helping him/being the one to write it down) I always forget that he was a writer and loves poetry and I love him 10 times more every time I remember

CW: Some references to past trauma, forced illiteracy, some brief internalized victim-blaming/slut-shaming, Kauri’s low self-esteem

Takes place after Worth the Risk and Kauri’s first glimpse of his own past

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t fucking do this.” Kauri picks up the notebook, hard-backed blue with little golden stars twinkling on the cover, and throws it full-strength across the room until it smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to his own scrawling, struggling handwriting.

Chris, wrapped in a big fuzzy blue blanket and curled up in an armchair playing a game on his phone or texting Laken or maybe both, flinches and looks up. “Kauri?”

Kauri looks away from the earnest concern in those huge green eyes and kicks ineffectually at the coffee table, hissing when he doesn’t actually miss and his toes connect with the hard wooden leg. “Fuck. Fucking-... bullshit, I’m an idiot trying to do this, just-... god damn it. I should know better.”

There’s a silence, and then Chris asks, softly, “Know better than, than... than to what? What were you, um, you doing?”

Kauri’s jaw is set and for a second he considers lying. He’s a good liar, after all, and Chris is always so ready to believe him, he wouldn’t even question it. Safer to lie, hide the ideas inside his head, talk instead about something soft and surface-level. 

Safer to be stupid, always.

But he’s trying not to do that anymore.

He’s trying.

“Writing,” He says, finally. “I was... trying to-... write something.” The words are ground out of him nearly against his will. He glares at the notebook lying open on the floor, the scrawling handwriting of the fucked up slut still thinking he can be anything else. Looping and childish, too big almost to fit within the lines. 

“Oh.” Chris pauses, and then brightens, setting his phone aside and straightening up. “You, you sad you think that you used to, to, to, to write, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Kauri’s head hurts, a sharp punishing ache. How dare he think in metaphor and simile, how dare he try to build the villanelle, how dare he remember vaguely arguing with someone in a coffeeshop over old poetic forms being superior to poems that don’t even try to fit within a rhythm, and he just-

This is so-

He’s so stupid, thinking he could just pick it up again like it hasn’t been a decade or close, like he’s still whatever stupid shit lived in his body before he-

signed up for this-

followed a fucking hot guy outside in the dark and got thrown into a van and made into Kauri. 

“Well, my... my professor for, for, for, for Playwriting says... says writing is a muscle. You, you have to exercise. And you can’t do the, um, the, the, the-the heavy weights until you start with, with small ones.”

Kauri snorts, derisive, but it’s not because Chris is wrong - of course he’s not wrong. Part of Kauri knows it, too, that he used to write all the time, around the pounding inside his skull he knows that he used to scribble lines on napkins and paper towels and the margins of his study books, bringing together the poem itself only later, usually alone or with a boyfriend on the other side of the room. He used to be able to do this.

He used to do this all the time. 

“I wish Owen had wanted someone who could write a fucking poem,” Kauri says, voice breaking on the tears that threaten. “Maybe then I’d still be able to.” He pushes himself to his feet and stomps over to scoop up the notebook almost violently. “Why are you taking Playwriting, anyway? I thought you wanted to do set design.”

“I, I do.” Chris shrugs, eyes on Kauri, watching him walk back towards the doorway that leads to a hall and then to the kitchen. “But I thought-... I, I, I figured-... maybe if I learn how to, to write a play, it would help... visualize. For, for, for set-building. You, um. You know?”

Kauri exhales, slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. I get it. That’s a good plan - I mean, not that I would know, I’m a college fucking dropout, right?” He laughs, bitterness in every word, in every sound.

“No,” Chris replies, simply. “You, you were... abducted. We were, um. We, we, we were stolen. Your words were, um, were stolen, too. That’s what Dr. Berger-”

“Fuck Dr. Berger,” Kauri snaps, and leaves the room before Chris can make any more sense and possibly break apart Kauri’s determined self-loathing while he still wants to soak in it. 

Hating himself for what he can’t do - or what he’s been told he can’t do - is so much easier than trying to do it anyway.

Everything was easier than trying to get better.

So why is he still trying?

Notebook clenched in white-knuckled hands, Kauri climbs the stairs like a man moving to the gallows, one by one, his thoughts a swirling morass of self-hatred, and then he moves into the bedroom he shares with Jake here and stares at the rumpled covers on the bed.

He sleeps here every single night, wakes up to the same face pressed red on one side from the pillow, hears the same deep voice rumbling good morning, feels the same arm slide over his waist, the same scratchy stubble rubbing his jaw when he’s kissed. 

I have generally found, in my work, the fucking therapist’s voice echoes inside him, that when you begin to do the work to rebuild, you will find yourself dedicated over time to reconstructing not just a room, Kauri, but the entire city that was once leveled. Does that make sense?

He’d told her it didn’t.

Kauri spent years dodging therapy whenever Nat didn’t talk him into it, and he hates going. He hates having to spill all the darkness inside him to someone who never stops being so goddamn calm.

But the first time she’d said, have you ever heard about the effect that solitary confinement has on the human mind? He had told her he didn’t know, but he’d started crying, too, and hadn’t been able to explain why. 

Part of you knows, Dr. Berger had said gently. Part of you always knew.

He had never really wanted to know the person who had inhabited this skin, or try to be him again. But standing here looking at the evidence of the life he is slowly building - his clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed, his toothbrush in the little cup in the bathroom, a picture of he and Jake in a frame by the bed now, the very small silver ring he wears sometimes even though they’re not and they probably won’t but it kind of feels good to wear it sometimes... 

He wonders if Liam Harker wanted a life like this one.

---

“It’s really dumb,” Kauri mutters, pulling the pillow over his face, burning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t even really mean for you to see it-”

“It’s not dumb,” Jake says, gently. Kauri feels the dip in the mattress as he sits down, feels the warmth of his hand resting on Kauri’s thigh through the blanket. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t know what I was looking at. If it was supposed to be a secret-”

“No. I didn’t. I forgot I left it out on the dresser. It’s not your fault. It’s so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I even-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice sharpens, a little. “Stop. Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not, and you never were, and you don’t have to repeat what that asshole told you about yourself anymore, remember?”

Kauri swallows, hard, a lump in his throat he can’t quite breathe around. “When does it stop being his voice,” He asks, muffled, “and start being my own?”

“When you let it,” Jake says, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Just like my dad’s voice. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m sorry I read it, but that’s because it wasn’t mine to read, not because it was dumb, or bad. It wasn’t.”

Kauri hesitates, then pulls the pillow to the side, looking at the sincere affection in Jake’s face, his slight smile. “Yeah? You’re not just-”

“Saying that? No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not, like, a poetry person-”

“It’s not even a real villanelle, anyway.”

“I have no idea what that means. I just... I thought it was pretty good, actually. When I realized-...  I put it down when I realized you were writing about-... you know. Yourself.”

“Liam,” Kauri says, hoarse, barely able to pronounce the name. “I wrote-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes his hand, pulls it to his lips, presses a kiss to Kauri’s knuckles. “I know. It’s really good, Kaur. You should keep writing. I promise I won’t look at any stray papers I find anymore, yeah?”

Kauri takes a breath. He feels almost dizzy, in a way that is both terrible and wonderful. The way you open yourself to the people you love is a horrible, amazing risk. The way you spill the darkest parts of yourself, not things you’ve done wrong but the things you are afraid of allowing back into the light, in case it washes them all away again.

But the light he lives in now isn’t cold, and it isn’t taking him away from himself. The light he lives in now is sunlight.

“What?” Jake’s eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s that face for?”

“Jake. What if-... what if I ask you to? Read them?”

Jake’s lips press together, and he nods, smiling slightly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Kauri’s hand. He’s always warm, Jake, even on the coldest days. He’s always warm. “I’d be-... be fucking honored, or something that sounds less bullshit than that, but I mean it. I’d be... I love you, Kauri. Seeing inside your head is what I want to do for-... for forever.”

“Maybe I’ll ask then,” Kauri says, and pulls Jake’s hand and then Jake himself, the taller, larger man settling on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows, careful not to rest all his weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s pretty fucking great.”

Kauri’s eyes glimmer, but he closes them so Jake can’t see, and kisses his forehead. “It’s nice to think that I’m lucky and mean it.”

“I think you should read your poem to Dr. Berger,” Jake says, and when Kauri groans, he pulls back. “I mean it. She should know.”

Kauri wants to argue, but he looks into Jake’s eyes, and sighs, and says he’ll think about it.

---

AN APOLOGY

I am built from the hollow air left after your heart stopped beating

Your hands still gripped tight to the life they were ending

I know you thought of home but I don’t know where your home is

The sound of my voice is a green valley that only sends back screaming

Covered in smoke and dust that I told myself smelled like cologne

Pathways that remember your laughter silent in the years that followed

Have I done enough to build a life you would have enjoyed living?

I am built from the hollow air left over when your heart stopped beating

The heat of their hands as inevitable as a river tore down every foundation

Their cruelty buried you so deeply that only I remain

I don’t deserve the love that should have been yours to receive

The sound of my voice is a valley echoing back your screaming

I owe you an apology for walking around inside you

Crumbling ruins with my touch and calling it preservation

I’m sorry for every blade of grass growing through our bones

Am I nothing but hollow air from when your heart stopped beating?

-

Wildflowers grow inside me from soil windswept over ash

Is that life worth everything not quite dead so deep below?

Is Kauri Grant good enough to make up for Liam Harker’s loss?

In the valley of my body, does anyone but me still hear you screaming?

I owe you an apology and have to hope the life I live provides it

I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the shape of you  

We’re both ghosts, in the end, mosaic pieces shattered in shadows

I’m sorry that I’m all that’s left.

I built myself from hollow air in the shape of a heart still beating

The sound of my voice will always carry the echo of yours screaming

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @orchidscript @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump

[kstewdeux]

For a span of a minute that felt like an eternity, the entire world focused in on one singular point. A small painting. It’s edges well worn. Finer details faded and lost due to the passage of time but otherwise, in shockingly good condition.

But for all it’s antiquity, there was no mistaking the young woman who had been depicted. Whoever wrote the small exhibition label had simply labeled it:

Unidentified Artist, Japanese

Late Tokugawa Shogunate, Edo Period, 1853-1867

Young Woman

Painting on Parchment

H. Nakamura Trust, 88.251

According to the small blurb beneath the exhibition label, this tiny piece of parchment, clearly kept over the past century with meticulous care, had - at some point - apparently been studied by scholars to prove it was genuine. A fact that had been in dispute because the style diverged so greatly from art styles of the period but Kagome knew what the artist had been trying to do.

A photograph. He’d tried to mimic a photograph. Not perfect by any means but as close as someone in that time period could get. Which was shocking given (a) she had no idea he could draw and (b) that he would’ve taken the time to draw her.

Jaw trembling, Kagome had to remind herself to breathe. A task made more difficult as her friends joined her and began commenting on how the girl in the drawing resembled her.

Of course it did. It was her.

Her blurry vision flicked to the date and what registered felt like something cold was crushing her heart. If this ‘unidentified artist’ was him, Inuyasha had survived their quest and lived hundreds of years clearly hoping to see her again. At some point, he must have realized he simply wasn’t going to make it and…

Exhaling shakily, Kagome swallowed and decided it would be easier to simply leave. She was getting worked up over nothing. It was entirely possible that all of this was a coincidence. That she was reading too much into it. After all, Inuyasha wasn’t an artist by any means and most certainly would not have spent hundreds of years thinking about her. They were friends. Just friends. Unless something changed, which seemed unlikely, he had no interest in being with her that way. Besides, surely there were other women who looked like her throughout history. Everyone had a doppelgänger, right? Hers just happened to be some random woman in 19th century Japan.

It was just a painting of her doppelgänger.

Hopefully. Hopefully that’s all that it was.

“I have to go,” Kagome mumbled hoarsely as she took a step back and tore her eyes away from the painting, “I need to go.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuka asked worriedly, “Do…”

Unable to hear anything over the ringing in her ears, Kagome’s eyes wavered as they flicked back to the blurb that, upon closer inspection, described the other sketches and accompanying notes that detailed the artist’s ‘love’ for the young woman depicted. Various photographs of said notes had been attached slightly below said blurb and one of them had her shaking her head in mild horror.

‘I will not know your name next time we meet…’

“I need to go,” Kagome repeated breathlessly before turning on her heel and damn near running for the entrance. After that, she wouldn’t’ve been able to tell you how long or far or even which direction she ran from the mental image of an elderly Inuyasha writing out those notes he had to believe she’d never read. It might not even be him. Couldn’t be him. He didn’t draw. Couldn’t say something poetic much less write it. It had to be a coincidence. Just a coincidence but the image continued playing in her mind until she was blinded by tears. He died alone. Even…even if she did end up with him, she would’ve been dead by the time he wrote that. Long before he even picked up that brush. It…it…

It was all becoming too painful to even imagine.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Kagome clutched at her chest and used the side of a cement building for support. Inuyasha died over a hundred years ago and while that made sense, the realization that all her friends had died sometime in the past five hundred years hit her with all the force of a Mack truck.

Whimpering softly, her legs gave out and she slid down to the cold sidewalk. It was a coincidence. Just a coincidence. The probability of it all…

Well it just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be him. It just…

“There you are,” came a hoarse, relieved whisper from far too close before two strong arms scooped her up and pulled her off the ground, “What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Inuyasha?” Kagome mumbled stupidly before she whined and pressed her face into the corner of his neck - a gesture which had him stopping and doing something strange. His face turned slightly and buried his nose into her hair.

“What happened? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened,” he chided anxiously as he gave her a light squeeze, “You hurt?”

Opening her eyes, Kagome glanced around the dimly lit streets and realized how late it was. No wonder he’d come after her.

“M’fine. Got lost is all,” she lied lamely and she felt him inhale deeply then sigh.

“Bullshit. What happened?” he asked again before adding in a clear attempt to get her to smile, “I don’t mind killing people ya know. If someone hurt you, I’ll make them pay, ya know, if you want.”

“Nothing happened. Just got lost on my way home,” she mumbled and with a somewhat exasperated grunt, Inuyasha continued walking again.

“You’re a terrible liar and an idiot,” Inuyasha opined firmly - adjusting his hold on her and shaking his head, “You could’ve gotten hurt out here by yourself, stupid. Anything could’ve happened.”

“I was…”

“Sometimes I swear you’re trying to get yourself killed,” he continued chiding as some of his anger began bubbling to the surface, “What would’ve happened if I didn’t come looking, huh?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she protested weakly - her nose subtly nuzzling the flesh at the base of his neck, “I…”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. You need to do better,” Inuyasha snapped angrily before pausing mid-stride and sighing, “I swore to protect you but you make it so…so hard sometimes. And you don’t even care. You just…just go around getting kidnapped or disappearing and…and getting hurt when I’m not looking.”

It was strange but hearing his voice berate her and feeling his irritated breaths actually improved her mood considerably.

“I waited. Like an idiot I waited for you to come back from that school thing of yours instead of coming to get you like normal but…but then the sun went down and…” Inuyasha continued to huffed and grunt while his arms held her slightly tighter, “I can’t be there all the time dammit. I can’t. I’d like to be but…but I just can’t so…so you just have to fucking do better.”

Lifting her head slightly at this strange command, Kagome studied his face for a moment before leaning forward and absently placing a kiss on his tense neck. Inuyasha went stock still and then rigid but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll do better,” she promised tiredly as she pressed another lazy kiss on his shoulder. At least in this moment, he was alive and loved. Right now, he wasn’t alone drawing paintings and writing notes to someone who was either dead or hadn’t been born yet. And while true that the ‘unidentified artist’ was probably anyone else, that mental image of it being him continued to haunt her.

Taking a deep breath, Kagome stubbornly told herself that the ‘unidentified artist’ couldn’t be him. It simply wasn’t possible. For so many reasons.

“You kissed me,” Inuyasha finally blurted and mercifully distracted from her inner turmoil, Kagome hummed in the affirmative. A second passed then two and he forced out a strangled, “W-why?”

“I wanted to,” Kagome offered tiredly as she focused on the feel of him and the knowledge that, as of this moment, he was very much alive. And yes, now that she was a little calmer, it was fairly obvious that the ‘unidentified artist’ wasn’t Inuyasha. He didn’t think of her in that way. Never had. Never would. They were friends. Best friends. But he loved someone else and had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in her that way.

As Kagome continued talking herself down, Inuyasha remained motionless for a long time before he finally began walking back towards the shrine. Slowly. Every so often he’d pause and take a few short breaths like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

“Why did you want to?” he finally asked hesitantly as he turned a corner, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Because you’re you,” she mumbled as her consciousness began ebbing. With a soft sigh, she relaxed more fully against his warm chest and offered up an additional explanation, “It made me happy.”

This response clearly bothered him judging by the increased tension in his muscles.

“Why did kissing me make you happy?” he pressed after another long moment of silence.

“Dunno. Why do you think it…” Kagome trailed off into a yawn and Inuyasha let out a small groan.

“I don’t know. That’s why I was asking,” Inuyasha interrupted with a huff of frustration, “You always make things hard. For no reason.”

Instead of getting angry, Kagome simply cooed and snuggled into him which seemed to both bother and calm him.

“You’re so stupid,” he continued to grumble as he adjusted his hold, “Ask a simple question and you just…act like you.”

“How else am I supposed to act?” Kagome hummed with mild amusement and Inuyasha grunted.

“Whatever. You need to sleep,” he changed the subject miserably as he finally made it to the shrine and began climbing the steps, “But don’t think I’m gunna take it easy on you. I’m serious. You can’t do shit like that again. You could’ve gotten…”

“Will you stay here tonight?” Kagome interrupted tiredly and Inuyasha once again stopped mid-step. His hands flexed against the flesh they were gripping as he licked his lips and averted his eyes.

“Only if you tell me why you really kissed me,” he repeated his earlier question - before continuing with an unease tinged with hope which surprised her, “I think I deserve some answers after the stupid stunt you just pulled and if you’re trying…if you did that to just…just distract me, it won’t work. Won’t change nothing. You still gotta be less stupid.”

“I did it because I wanted to,” Kagome repeated before gasping when he suddenly set her down and glared.

“Well what if I didn’t want you to?” Inuyasha huffed - something strangely hurt behind his expressive amber eyes, “You’ve never tried to mess with me before. Never. And…and do you have any idea how scared I was when you didn’t come home? I searched for you, Kagome. From the…the 6 to the 9. Do you know how hard it is to track scents here? To listen for you? It’s a literal miracle that I…”

“I said I’m sorry,” Kagome insisted and Inuyasha looked even more hurt. Breathing heavily, he visibly tried to control whatever reaction was brewing under the surface but unfortunately, his confusion and hurt bubbled over.

“I DON’T WANT AN APOLOGY!” Inuyasha bellowed - his hurt escalating into full blown anger with such speed it nearly gave her whiplash, “YOU COULD’VE DIED. YOU COULD’VE BEEN HURT! AND I’M NOT SO DESPERATE THAT A STUPID KISS IS GUNNA MAKE ME FORGET THAT! WHY DID YOU KISS ME?!”

“I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you!” Kagome snapped and Inuyasha looked a hair away from strangling her.

“THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER! YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO COVER YOUR ASS AND…” Inuyasha began to rail against her once more and it was at that point Kagome’s mind officially hit It’s breaking point. He wanted answers, huh? He wanted to know why she ran and why she kissed him and why she was so upset?!

“FINE! KNOW WHY I DID THAT?! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” Kagome screamed bitterly and Inuyasha froze like a deer in the headlights, “I KISSED YOU BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! THERE! HAPPY?!”

When Inuyasha continued gaping at her with a shell-shocked expression, the full ramifications of what she’d just admitted hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Forget it,” she breathed miserably as she turned and unsteadily began climbing the stairs with her arms curled tightly around her stomach, “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do…any of that again. Just forget what I said.”

“Wait. Wait,” Inuyasha’s strangely panicked voice called out - a single clawed hand gripping her shoulder to force her to stop, “I don’t think I heard that right. W-why did you…”

“Let me go Inuyasha,” Kagome hissed but the hand didn’t release her.

“C-can I tell you w-what I heard?” he asked with a mixture of fear and desperation, “A-and I could be wrong but I just…”

“You hear everything Inuyasha,” Kagome huffed acidly as she pushed away his hand with all her might, “You heard what I said…”

Even as she climbed the stairs, she could hear his harsh rapid breaths which honestly had her moving a little faster. Everything was ruined now. All because of some stupid little painting that she’d just…

“You…you said you…you loved me,” he repeated barely above a whisper, “Right?”

Closing her eyes, Kagome let out a long sigh before squaring her shoulders and deciding to face her mistake head on.

“I do love you but I don’t…” she began as she turned to face him before being cut off when a pair of lips captured her own. Two strong arms snaked around her waist for but a moment before his calloused hands suddenly cupped her face in an effort to force her to respond.

When she finally did and when he finally pulled back, his slightly euphoric expression faded into mild horror and panic.

“Y-you said you l-loved me back, r-right?” he asked worriedly as he released and took an involuntary step back, “That’s…that’s what you said. Two, no, three times. You said that…”

“That I loved you…back,” Kagome repeated slowly and Inuyasha gave a jerky nod in response.

“That’s what you said,” he insisted miserably - his amber eyes flicking in the direction of the well, “So…and I mean, you did start the…the kissing so I…and you were an idiot. Scared me half to…”

“Know what? That is what I said,” Kagome hummed in a resigned fashion as she reached out and gestured for him to take her hand, “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s late.”

Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha eyed the beckoning hand with weary apprehension before accepting the gesture and allowing her to lead him into the house. And up the stairs. And into her bedroom. And then onto her bed. A bed upon which he found himself awkwardly waiting while Kagome proceeded to change and get ready for the night.

“Where are you gunna sleep…” he began nervously when it finally dawned on him that she seemed to be intending for him to sleep on the bed. That’s where she led him and where she told him to stay after all. Which was strange but it had been a strange night. Maybe she was trying to make him feel better. Do him a favor?

“In the bed,” Kagome hummed as she ran a brush through her hair and gave him a warm smile. A smile that faded when he stood up and began nervously glancing around with a marked blush.

“Inuyasha, where are you going?”

“You’re gunna sleep on the bed,” he muttered as he prepared to sleep in his normal position on the floor, “And you…well I was gunna…”

“If you want, you can sleep in the bed with me…”

Amber eyes widened as a single impulsive ‘oh’ left his lips but instead of sitting back down on the bed, he remained standing and staring at her with that same shell-shocked expression.

“Is that…okay?” Kagome asked nervously.

Seeming to come back to himself, Inuyasha nodded fervently and quickly sat down atop the mattress.

“Y-yeah thats…that’s…yeah. Yeah. We can do that…”

That night was the first of many nights he spent cuddled up against the woman of his dreams. Letting the warmth of her body span the length of his own as he relished in the knowledge that somehow this woman loved him. How, when or even why didn’t matter. She loved him back and that first night, as he held her small frame against him, he very nearly cried in relief. Honestly, before that night, he had already decided he was going to let her go rather than say anything. There was no way she’d ever love him back, he’d reasoned. No one would ever want to be with a half-breed, right? He’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Weeks went by after that and the funny thing was, when Kagome absently mentioned the painting from the museum to her friends over lunch, none of them had the faintest clue what she was talking about. All they remembered was her leaving in a rush. While Kagome chalked this up to the art not being memorable to anyone else, the truth was that no one else would ever remember this art because it simply never existed.

The second she’d admitted her feelings - emotions he fully reciprocated but had suppressed - all those drawings and notes faded from the annuals of time because that painting- which had been loaned to the museum by a well meaning unrelated widow who thought the unique artwork would make for an interesting exhibit - turned out to be a butterfly which was inadvertently crushed. As the years rolled on, Inuyasha never needed to paint something to bring him comfort in the midst of crushing regret and loneliness.

Why would he?

Thanks to a merciful series of events, he woke up to his favorite smiling face every day for the rest of his life.

[birdship]

(DISCO ELYSIUM SPOILERS)

Wrote this... thing? to sort of explore potentially writing an actual bit of fanfic for Disco Elysium. It's just a short scene set during the time Harry's drifting in and out of consciousness and Kim is taking care of him.

Anyway, here. Self-indulgent gay longing bullshit, but maybe someone else out there will enjoy it?

Very short teaser, since the whole thing is only like 1600 words:

PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand. YOU: Her hand…? PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in. You keep slipping away, Harry-boy. Back into that beautiful, dark sea. Where you came from. Where you belong. Even now it presses around you, pale and cold. You’re struggling so hard to keep your head above the water for these precious few seconds of aching consciousness. It would be easier to just… relax.

YOU: Hold on, what was that about a cat?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: There is no cat, you stupid fuck. Pay attention when I’m waxing poetic about the sweet embrace of death.

It’s hard to pay attention. Then again, it’s hard to do anything. Your breathing is shallow and ragged and you’re so, so tired. God are you tired.

PERCEPTION: You become gradually aware that there is a light pressure on your hip. PAIN THRESHOLD: The first small jolt of pain ripples through you, branching like lightning. PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand.

YOU: Her hand…?

PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

YOU: His hand…

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s warm, electric, somehow both familiar and new all at once. You ache to lean into it and ask for more, more. How long has it been since anyone touched you like this? INLAND EMPIRE: Has anyone ever touched you like this, really? Right down to the core of you? Feeling the wreckage of you, the sharp edges of your heart? Running their fingers so lightly along the cracks of your horrible little brain? ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I meant literally. His hand is on your thigh. PAIN THRESHOLD: Because there’s a fucking gunshot wound there. LOGIC: Come on, don’t make it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’m not making it weird. VOLITION: You’re definitely making it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look, all I’m saying is it feels pretty nice, doesn’t it? Being close to him like this. His hands on your body.

YOU: Yeah. It does.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: In the haze of painkillers and recent trauma, your sight becomes clear. Ironic. You’re finally allowing yourself to see something that’s been quietly blossoming inside you over the years. It’s been so hard to ignore, but the alternative is so much worse. You couldn’t look right at it. Didn’t want to. Didn’t think you deserved to. But now, in this moment, lying on a lumpy mattress in the dark, trying not to lose consciousness yet again, with him pressing his hands to your rotting body, desperately staunching the bleeding that never seems to completely stop… Now the world has finally wrung everything out of you. Whatever it was that you had left. And you can do nothing but take the path of least resistance. HALF-LIGHT: You’re keenly aware that you will soon make an absolute goddamn fool of yourself, but are powerless to stop it. The forces are already in motion. PAIN THRESHOLD: Another lightning bolt of pain, worse this time. Agony. You cannot help but gurgle a quiet “fuck.”

The lieutenant glances up at your face with calm concern, thoroughly unsurprised by your outburst. “I know it hurts,” he breathes. “You’ll get through it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, only half-processing his words.

PERCEPTION: His hand lingers ever so slightly, then suddenly it’s gone. The warm, comforting pressure of his company, gone. SUGGESTION: No! You’re going to be alone again! He needs to stay. You need him to be here. Next to you. For as long as possible.

You concentrate every ounce of willpower you have left on sending your right hand out to fish desperately for his before it’s gone.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Your hand slaps awkwardly against the sleeve of his jacket. You can’t quite get a grip on it, but your pathetic flailing is hard to ignore, and he stops to give you a quizzical look. VISUAL CALCULUS: That’s the best we could do. I don’t know what you expected from us. Your eyes are still closed.

“Detective?” he says to you. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine, but you need to get some rest.”

“Wait,” you mumble, “please stay.”

DRAMA: This is quite the sad display you’re putting on here, sire. It’s a crowded field, but this new late entry is a strong contender for the gold in the hotly contested “most uncomfortable moment” event at the Sad Old Sack of Shit Olympics.

VOLITION: Come on, you’re stronger than this. HALF-LIGHT: Don’t drag him down with you, you irrepressible fuck-up. What are you even trying to do? INLAND EMPIRE: He’s drowning. Desperate. Reaching for something, anything, to stay afloat. COMPOSURE: It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. There’s nothing to hold onto. SUGGESTION: Wrong. You have exactly one thing to hold onto right now, and that thing is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi’s fucking hand.

Kim looks at you with a sort of detached concern for a moment, then gives you a small smile and sits back down next to you without another word. There’s nothing to say, and that’s fine.

EMPATHY: He looks exhausted. His eyes are ringed by dark circles and his shoulders have begun to sag with the weight of the case. The weight of death. The weight of you. He’s carrying so much. ESPRIT DE CORPS: He doesn’t want recognition or pity for it. He knows you’re bearing the same load. Don’t you dare apologize for any of it - this weight is shared. You’re in it together. SUGGESTION: Then why do you feel so guilty, watching him stare silently out the window into the impenetrable night, looking at nothing? You have to say something. Acknowledge his efforts to keep your sorry flesh sack shambling forward another day. VOLITION: No, stop. This is a bad idea. You don’t have to be the sorry cop anymore. In fact, please actively try to stop being that.

“Kim,” you say weakly.

“Yes?” he says, his gaze snapping back to you immediately.

“Thanks.”

“No need for that,” he says quickly.

VOLITION: Grateful cop, huh. Well, I guess that’s a step up. Very slightly less pitiful.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “alright. Sorry.”

VOLITION: Goddammit.

Kim doesn’t say anything. Just watches you with tired, searching eyes.

PERCEPTION: He’s sitting on the very edge of the bed, far away from you, his limbs tucked close to his body except for one hand, which rests lightly on the blanket. VISUAL CALCULUS: It’s still close enough that you could reach out and touch it without too much effort. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get that sweet dopamine hit, baby! Human contact, the most dangerous drug!

Your fingers brush his hand. He jerks it away immediately, but it seems like an unconscious, automatic reaction.

“Ah,” he says, scooting over a bit. “I’ll give you some space.”

VOLITION: If your goal was to feel like a complete idiot in front of the one person in this shithole that you respect, well, pat yourself on the back. DRAMA: Congratulations, sire, you’ve done it! And what hill might thou plan to die on next? VOLITION: A much steeper one, hopefully. SUGGESTION: Ignore them, try again! PERCEPTION: Finally, your fingers manage to close around his wrist. You can’t see his reaction. Your eyes are closed. You can’t stand to look at the situation you’ve created. VOLITION: Coward. PERCEPTION: His hand is moving, changing position, but not withdrawing. It simply contorts in such a way that your grip relaxes and now it’s his hand that’s resting on top of yours. He is silent, but he’s there. Not moving away. You smell stale cigarette smoke and dry blood lingering in the space between his body and yours. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s too much. This hit, it’s stronger than you expected. It’s fucking devastating, a cold knife twisting its way through your broken body. It hurts. Why does it hurt? EMPATHY: Your eyes are still closed, but you sense that he too is looking elsewhere, similarly unable to look directly at the source of the overwhelming awkward - and quite frankly rather homo-sexual - energy you have brought down upon the room. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Every other human interaction happening inside the Whirling-in-Rags must be going very smoothly right now, because you’ve created a fucking singularity of awkwardness. There’s no more awkwardness left within a 2km radius, you’ve gathered it all right here.

Then, as quickly as the moment began, it’s over. He moves his hand and clears his throat. Probably cleans his glasses. It’s a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed this past week.

A few minutes pass in silence. Then: “Harry?” he whispers quietly.

You don’t answer. You have nothing to say.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this is the harder option. Maybe you’re not ready to look at it. Maybe you’re not ready to look at anything.

“Get some rest,” he says softly. “I need to get back to work.”

EMPATHY: He’s not going to mention this incident. Not now. Not later. Not ever. Not just out of concern for you, but himself. He has no idea how to begin to process it, so he won’t. He’ll tell himself it doesn’t matter, you were just lost in a cloud of drouamine and pain and grief. That you were so out of it that you thought you were reaching for someone else. That vulnerable moment of tenderness could not have been meant for him. But you know the truth. And maybe he does too, somewhere deep down. LOGIC: You are okay with this. You have to be. And so does he. CONCEPTUALIZATION: You’ve glimpsed it now, that radiant thing within you. That bright, unbearable light. It’s so beautiful, so heart-breaking that you can hardly stand it. Maybe a glimpse is enough.

[trashy-mctrash]

I know that Rook’s birthday has passed, but I saw a post today asking why Rook speaks French and I did look into this in an Rook Analaysis essay that I wrote for his birthday but didn’t post it here. So that post kinda made me want to post it to explain or hopefully look more into his character. 

Rook Hunt is a mysterious and attractive character. Despite his unusual habits, he’s a true gentleman but is often seen as having strange characteristics. Here I will attempt to look into Rook’s character design to celebrate his birthday!!

Rook so far in the game is the only character we see speaking a language from our world, French. Some have found this confusing or unnecessary but actually, Rook speaking French makes perfect sense. Rook comes from Afterglow Savannah, a land based on the movie, the Lion King just like it’s NRC dorm counterpart. The Lion King is said to take place in Africa, specifically Kenya. Inspiration on the landscapes in the movie was from the animators visiting Kenya (Bake, 2019). French is the official language of 11 countries in Africa and the secondary language in 10, making it the 5th most spoken language in the world (Chutel, 2018). Kenya is one of the countries with french as its main language. Since rook comes from Afterglow Savannah, it’s natural that he would have qualities matching the area just like Ruggie and Leona who also come from the same place. But unlike them, Rook resides in the Pomefiore dorm, therefore he holds qualities for both of these. Therefore, Rook does not come from France or represent France, he is based on Africa and most likely comes from the twst version of it which would be Afterglow Savannah.

Although Rook is not French, many white Africans in Africa, especially South Africa originated from France, Germany and the Netherlands in 1652 (jyu.fi). It's common for some twst characters to be a mix of cultures and themes. Rook is one example of this, he’s a blend of Afterglow Savannah and Pomefiore as he comes from Afterglow and is based on the hunter from Snow White. Snow White is said to be based in Germany, specifically Germany during the Holy Roman Empire (esri). Germany is one of the three main countries previously mentioned, that majority of white Africans came from, which suits Rook’s appearance. Rook’s hats also resemble fashion from this time as well as matching his Snow White counterpart. As seen below:

Rook’s hair also appeals to both the hunter from Snow White and the matching time period. These hat styles were worn by those of higher class and by Rook wearing it, reflecting his position as deputy dorm leader of Pomefiore. 

The 14th century was a time of vibrant poetry explosion fitting Rook’s personality. An example of a famous poet from this time is Dante, famously known for writing “The Divine Comedy” (Interesting Literature). He chose to write in Italian instead of Latin which was common during these times. French and Italian are both known as “romance” languages that both derived from Latin, which was the language of the Holy Roman Empire during this time (Language TSAR). When it comes to Rook giving out nicknames, these too fit the time period as it was common for people to be named after their place or qualities which is what Rook is seen as doing. An example is Riddle who he calls “Roi de Roses” which means “King of Roses” which fits the style of names of those of the high class (Benicoeur and Gwynek, 2003). 

Bows were very common and practical in armies from the 12th to 16th centuries despite barely being recorded in history (Towens, 2019). This reflects perfectly onto Rook due to how little we know about him and the little trace he leaves behind which pairs well with his stealthy personality as a hunter but also shows his side as a “soldier” or a “guard” to Vil, his beliefs of beauty and possible other things we aren’t aware about. The main role of professional archers were for defense but were also used as mercenaries during crusades. Rook fits both of these as he plays the role of Vil’s defense and the protector of beauty wanting to cherish it. He can also be seen as a double edged sword as even though he stands by Vil, many have speculated that he may at some point betray Vil or help Neige doing what he believes to be most advantageous. Archery symbolises “aligning with the target” (Girvin, 2013) which means to give support towards something. Rook is seen as taking more supportive roles throughout the game by helping other students like Epel as seen in Leona’s lab coat story, helping him make a potion for his class (Twisted Wonderland Wiki). It can also mean to become the heart of a community, be truthful, in their times of need to be the voice of their minds to help solve their problems. Rook being honest can also be reflected in his arrows as they symbolise the sharp and accurate truths they contain, this can be seen in Vil’s lab coast story as he blatantly calls Vil “fat” with the intention of helping to increase his beauty, which despite his protests, Vil is seen appreciating (Twisted Wonderland Wiki).The archer is linked with the Centaur and Sagittarius (ironically his birth sign) which represents having insight which can be linked to Rook having knowledge of other students and of other things that normal people would not. Rook is known to freely speak his mind with what we see as with intentions of helping them even if his words or actions may be seen as weird or out of place, but in the end they have the effects he was aiming for or benefit the person in some way. Also “that hearts align in embracing the perfection of that targeting” (Girvin, 2013) which is poetic in Rook being a hunter and calling himself the “Hunter of Love.” An archer remains cool and observes from afar, becoming the symbol of honour, precision and patience.

In the Spanish caves of Cova dels Cavalls, they found etched carvings of archers estimated to be from about 7000 years ago (Stanley, 2020). They were believed to be a form or hunting magic ritual to manifest good hunting, this fits well with Rook being a magic user in the game and makes him wielding a bow make sense as well as again representing his Snow White counterpart. Archery and magic connections as referenced when Rook is in battle as he summons his magic attacks with an arrow releasing maneuver, as seen below:

This can also reference his love for art, arrows bound in one of the first forms of art for centuries and also shows their use and endless help throughout time. A metaphorical and physical weapon just like with Rook, attacking metaphorically with his words and physically with his arrows/magic. Arrows are meant to be simple yet two dimensional (with its pointy and flat ends), Rook too is portrayed as being simple yet ironically he is also not. Two dimensional as in maybe despite all our theorising, he may just be a simple man who loves beauty yet there are still many unanswered questions about him and his past. However this can be said for other characters in the game as well, so perhaps Rook Hunt is just a simple man with weird qualities? That is still to be discovered. “The durability of the arrow metaphor, as with archery in general, looks unlikely to go anywhere soon,” (Stanley, 2020) this is a simple symbol linked with archery which can further be associated with the idea of Rook being simple and not as complicated as we believe. Rook being able to use light and dark magic can reflect this as humans are neither dark or light, they are simple beings with desires and goals that can be either good or bad. Rook too has his desires that some might perceive as odd, his goals are simple to (as seen in the wish upon the stars event) see all the beauty in the world.

In Japan, Zen archery (or Kyudo) where the goal was to “achieve a balance among mind, body, and bow, which gives rise to a unity that links the spirit to the target,” (Encyclopedia.com, 2020). Which again reflects Rook’s ability of using both types of magic, showing his inner peace and balance and ability to use both types of magic. He is a character that we don't see explode or express vivid emotions which could be linked with his hunting too. Bow and arrows have been known as symbols of good luck against evil in Japan since immemorial. We will probably see this in action during Vil’s overblot as that will be the evil to defeat in Chapter 5 alongside the other characters. 

The word “rook” has multiple meanings, like crows. Many have associated this and Rook’s poem about Crowley as them being signs of a possible connection between the two. Although this theory is very interesting and I would love for a twist like this, Disney is honestly too stupid to make a story as wonderful as that, but I could be wrong (please prove me wrong Disney). On the other hand it could symbolise Rook’s knowledge of everyone and how he could be aware of some of Crowley’s secrets or the secrets/mysterious of the school. They tend to be watchful creatures with great insight, which can be said the same for Rook as he observes other students and has knowledge of things that others normally do not have. Crows are also associated with transformation and change (Clifford, 2020)  which could represent Rook helping Vil and Epel, along with others to bring forth their beauty. There is also a well known nursery rhyme about crows, as seen below:

Although the history behind the rhyme is not that clear, the seventh line does hold some connection to  Rook’s wide range of secrets that he knows and holds himself. Rook is also used for loud and sociable people or animals who love to talk, Rook is known for his loud and expressive persona that fits this description. Rook can also mean cheat, which could link to him sabotaging Vil to save Neige. The name is given to those with dark hair which is clearly not Rook (with his blond locks) but could refer to his hunter counterpart instead.

Rook is famous for his golden bob that is quite the debate. However bobs have a deep history. In the 20th century, bobs used to symbolise independent, progessive people encouraging a more daring personality during those times. Movies have been the main reason for the spread and back in style of the bob. Rook embodies a free personality with his odd attire in the dorm that symbolises beauty (hunting boots and hats) showing his more bold side that can also be seen by his freely open speech. Joan of Arc is the main inspiration of the bob that was brought back by Antoine, a celebrity hairdresser, which he showed in his salon in 1909 (V is for Vintage, 2012). Although she wore it for more practical meanings, she still stands for representing the people and doing what she believed in. It’s likely though that the bob was more inspired by the hunter’s hair style for Rook yet it still represents daring and progressive people which Rook is commonly known for with his views and actions. 

In conclusion, Rook Hunt is an odd yet interesting character. He is neither complex or simple. We still have much to learn about him which we hopefully will in the coming chapters and his birthday event. Although his character design may seem strange, in the end they make perfect sense when looking at the connections they all have towards the game and it’s details. I hope that this managed to clear up Rook’s character and explain more about him. However, there are a few attributes that are still questionable which if Disney has any concept of storytelling, they will explain...I hope for Rook’s sake. His stalking and obsession could be linked to how he sees himself as nothing much and viewing others as better or more beautiful, in that case he’s got some emotional package. Still does not excuse his actions. These tendencies might also be them expanding on a hunter stalking and keeping track of their prey, in this case for Rook it would be people he finds interesting. In the end he’s one of the many wonderful boys we have to learn more about and love.

References:

Baker, Craig. 2019. 25 Surprising Facts about the Lion King. Mental Floss.

https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/57386/30-facts-about-lion-king

Benicoeur, Arval and Gwynek, Talan. 2003. Fourteenth Century Venetian Personal Names. S-gabriel.org.

https://www.s-gabriel.org/names/arval/venice14/

Chutel, Lynsey. 2018. French is now the fifth most spoken world language and growing—thanks to Africans. QuartzAfrica.

https://qz.com/africa/1428637/french-is-worlds-fifth-spoken-language-thanks-to-africans/#:~:text=French%20remains%20the%20sole%20official,second%20official%20language%20in%2010.

Clifford, C Garth. 2020. Crow Symbolism & Meaning (+Totem, Spirit & Omens). World Birds.

https://www.worldbirds.org/crow-symbolism/

Encyclopedia.com. 2020. Sport and Religion. Encyclopedia.com.

https://www.encyclopedia.com/environment/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/sports-and-religion#:~:text=Throughout%20human%20history%2C%20sports%20and,their%20primary%20means%20of%20communication.

Girvin, Tim. 2013. The Symbolism Of Archery. Girvin.

https://www.girvin.com/the-symbolism-of-archery/

Interesting Literature. The Best Fourteenth-Century Poems Everyone Should Read. Interesting  Literature.

https://interestingliterature.com/2019/11/the-best-fourteenth-century-poems-everyone-should-read/#:~:text=The%20fourteenth%20century%20was%2C%20in,vibrant%20language%20for%20vernacular%20poetry.

Jyu.fi. Ethinic Groups. Jyu.fi.

https://www.jyu.fi/viesti/verkkotuotanto/kp/sa/peop_ethnicgrps.shtml

Stanley, John. 2020. Archery HIstory: Arrows of the Imagination, Art and Culture Symbolism. World Archery.

https://worldarchery.org/news/178453/archery-history-arrows-imagination-art-and-cultural-symbolism

Twisted Wonderland Wiki. Leona Kingscholar/Personal Story/SR Lab Coat. Twisted Wonderland Fandom.

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Leona_Kingscholar/Personal_Story/SR_Lab_Coat

Twisted Wonderland Wiki. Vil Schoenheit/Personal Story/SR Lab Coat. Twisted Wonderland Fandom. 

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Vil_Schoenheit/Personal_Story/SR_Lab_Coat

Towens. 2019. Arrows in the Middle Ages. Bow International.

https://www.bow-international.com/features/arrows-in-the-middle-ages/

V is for Vintage. 2012. The Bob: History of a Hairstyle. V is for Vintage. 

https://visforvintage.net/2012/04/03/history-of-bob-hairstyle/

[hiccanna-tidbits]

So I woke up at 4 am last night and my brain went “What if Jackunzel...but sapphic???”

aND HERE WE ARE

Also look, yes, I know Jackie/Jacquelyn Frost is the go-to when it comes to fem!Jack Frost names, but I just...didn’t think it suited her??? I wanted something a bit more unique, and I liked the sound of Jaina! And then I got very inspired and wrote a ficlet, so ENJOY SOME LESBIAN JACKUNZEL

DON’T TELL ME THEY WOULDN’T BE THE PUREST FUCKING SAPPHICS YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN ALL YOUR LIFE

The first time Rapunzel met Jaina Frost, she asked her if she was a fairy.

She certainly looked like one of the winged creatures from Rapunzel’s storybooks. She floated just off the ground and could flit around the room quicker than a hummingbird. Her hair whipped around her in long white tendrils, thick waves like hills of freshly-fallen snow. It shone like it, too--nearly blindingly when the sun hit it, Rapunzel noticed.

She could ice up the entire floor with one sweep of her staff and would whoop and cheer and laugh so hard she snorted when she slid around on it on her bare feet. All behavior Mother would find very undignified, Rapunzel was sure.

Not that Jaina had ever cared in the least about dignity.

She’d nearly fallen out of the tower window when she first saw Rapunzel poised to hit her with a frying pan. Her next reactions had been even stranger--hooting and doing flips and jumping around because apparently, people didn’t normally see her.

It was nice to have a friend. Mother hadn’t warned Rapunzel off of other girls, although Rapunzel was certain that in practice she wouldn’t approve of them. Not that it mattered. They quickly found that Jaina was as invisible to Gothel as she apparently was to everyone else.

Perhaps it was selfish, but Rapunzel liked that. She had Jaina Frost all to herself.

Jaina gasped in horror when she heard Rapunzel had never touched snow. Her hammy overreaction only got more and more ridiculous as Rapunzel explained she had only ever seen winter from the confines of her tower--and Mother usually shut the window to keep the cold out, anyhow. Jaina clutched her heart at this, pretending to faint in her despair.

“Well, if you won’t just leave and go outside, like I keep telling you you should...” Jaina crossed spindly arms and glared at Rapunzel. “I guess I’ll have to bring the winter to you.”

And bring it she does. When Mother won’t be back until evening, Jaina swirls together soft, cotton clouds and makes it snow in Rapunzel’s room. They make snow angels on the floorboards and toss snowballs at one another from behind dressers and wardrobes and chairs, giggling all the while. Rapunzel’s decided she’s going to blame any water stains left behind on some kind of flooding.

Mother won’t be mad over that sort of thing. She’ll just fuss over her and breathe a sigh of relief when Rapunzel can still sing as beautifully as ever.

When Rapunzel’s birthday rolls around, she confides to Jaina about the floating lights. She’s pushing 18, and she still hasn’t left the tower. Jaina fixes her with a catlike smirk, and turns away.

When she sweeps her hands back, she’s holding some kind of ice-blue cylinder, made of swirling crystals and snow with a crescent moon etched on the side.

“They’re lanterns,” Jaina explains. “The kingdom does a festival with them every summer. I’ve flown over it plenty of times. I could...”

Jaina looks away, and Rapunzel could swear she sees her friend’s cheeks go a little pink.

“I could take you. You know. If you wanted.”

Rapunzel shakes her head. “I can’t. You know Mother would...”

Jaina groans and rolls her eyes. “You’re really way too beholden to that woman, Rae. But if you insist on staying...I might be able to do something almost as good.”

And so they sit on Rapunzel’s windowsill, legs dangling over the side (Jaina can catch Rapunzel if she falls), and Jaina Frost puts on a show. She makes dozens of frozen lanterns and whisks them into the sky, and they float and bobble and catch first the dying rays of the sunset and then the soft silver of moonlight.

Rapunzel’s never seen something so beautiful in all her life.

She glances over at Jaina once, and she’s looking at the blonde girl like she sprinkled all the stars across the night sky the same way she dappled them onto her tower walls. Jaina looks away almost immediately, face reddening.

After a while, Jaina takes to spending the night. It was by accident the first time--the girls were up late having stupid pillowfights and telling each other stories in Rapunzel’s bed, and at some point they both started to yawn.

Before she knew it, Rapunzel was waking up with a faceful of white waves smelling vaguely of wintergreen, cedarwood, and cashmere sweaters. Her arms were curled around a thin, sleek waist, and she felt her heart speed up tenfold.

She had no idea why being so very close to her best friend was making her incredibly nervous, but here she was.

It’s the first of many nights they’ll wake up wrapped up in each other. Always, they claim, by accident--but neither ever seem to mind.

It becomes a routine of sorts. Rapunzel wakes up early and untangles herself before she has to give too much thought to the nervous sweat that nearly breaks out at every point of contact. She tries to get Jaina up too to help with morning chores, and Jaina rolls onto her stomach with her face in the pillow and whines and bitches and moans until Rapunzel relents and lets her sleep for 10 more minutes.

As she sweeps the floor, Rapunzel tries not to think too hard about the placid expression on Jaina’s face as she sleeps. As she mops, she tries not to think too hard about the way Jaina’s face scrunches up when she’s having a nightmare, and the way it makes Rapunzel want to wrap herself around the other girl like a protective shell. As she polishes the staircase banister, she tries not to think too hard about the way Jaina’s eyes shine like sunlight on icicles when her entire face erupts into a grin.

It’s probably peculiar, thinking about your best friend in such excessive detail.

Two years pass, and Rapunzel is pushing 20. When she looks in the mirror, she notices nothing seems to be changing. She doesn’t look any older than when she first met Jaina. Maybe the changes are just too imperceptible for her to notice, but 17-year-old Rapunzel seems to be stuck in a kind of limbo.

She wonders if it has anything to do with her magic glowing hair--the hair that makes her mother’s wrinkles disappear whenever she sings a special song.

She knows it should alarm her, not aging. Instead, she feels a strange kind of relief. There are worse things than being stuck as the same age as Jaina Frost.

There are worse things than not having to grow old and leave Jaina behind.

They’re lying in Rapunzel’s bed one afternoon, the blonde girl sprawled on top of Jaina to carefully brush on eyeshadow. It’s an elaborate picture--a beautiful deep twilight blue sprinkled with intricate snowflakes and rimmed with glittery white snow.

Rapunzel is the only one who will ever see it, but they’re both all right with that.

The eyeshadow is long done by now, Rapunzel getting carried away painting snowflakes and icicles and tiny pine trees on snowbanks dancing across Jaina’s cheeks and forehead. She smiles proudly and holds up a hand mirror. Jaina just snorts.

“You’re going to make me look like a clown, Rae.”

“Hmmmm.” Rapunzel puts the mirror down and continues adding a gleam to a white icicle on Jaina’s temple. “A very pretty clown.”

“You...think I’m pretty?”

Jaina’s gaze turns oddly serious. The timid way she asks it is unlike her.

Rapunzel stops, frowning. “I mean...yes. I always have.”

“Why?” Jaina wrinkles her nose. “I’m a mess. My hair’s always all over the place, and I can’t keep a room clean to save my life. All I can do is make ice, blow cold wind around, and leave a fucking wreck wherever I go. Why would you think I was...?” 

“Jaina! Language!” Jaina just rolls her eyes.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Rapunzel smiles again. “These have been the most fun years of my life, thanks to you. You stuck around here with me, even when you have the whole world to explore, and I can’t even imagine how boring it must seem in this tower. That’s worth more than you know. And for the record, I think you’re gorgeous.”

Jaina’s cheeks turn redder than chrysanthemums, standing out starkly against her pale skin. “Oh, stop it,” she mumbles. “I look like a gremlin next to you. World’s nicest hair, flawless skin, the face of some kind of Greek goddess or something. You’re a knockout. I couldn’t even hope to measure up.”

“You...think I’m a knockout?” Rapunzel feels a blush of her own coming on.

“Well, yeah.” Jaina smirks. “I thought it went without saying.”

“Nothing really ‘goes without saying’ when you’ve only ever met two people,” Rapunzel points out.

“I guess.” Jaina shrugs. “I forget you don’t have a huge frame of reference. But trust me, ask anyone from that kingdom on the other side of the forest and they’d say you’re really attractive. I doubt any passing knight on a steed would be able to resist you, if they saw your hair hanging out the window like some...cascading sunshine waterfall.”

Rapunzel bit her lip, feeling unsettled by the thought of men on horseback finding her tower. She’d never met a member of the male gender before, and she hadn’t exactly heard good things.

“I don’t know if I want that,” she admits.

“I don’t blame you,” Jaina says. “Half of them are stuffy, arrogant pricks, anyways. Or they’re so sappy and poetic it kind of makes you want to throw up.”

Rapunzel bites her lip, feeling nothing but mild discomfort at the thought of a strange man trying to serenade her. Maybe it wasn’t fair to rule out what she didn’t know, but...

“No, I mean. I don’t know if I want men. Like...at all.”

“Oh. Oh.” A hopeful gleam swims into Jaina’s ice-colored eyes. Tiny, almost imperceptible, but there.

“Wise choice, honestly,” she says nonchalantly. “Even being invisible, I haven’t met many I actually cared to know. I think I’d much rather be here with you.”

Rapunzel wonders if Jaina would feel the same if any men could see her. She wonders if Jaina would still choose her company if some free-spirited, energetic boy was able to see the frost sprite, and wrote her beautiful sonnets about her moon-white hair. Some boy not stuck in a tower with an overbearing mother, some boy who couldn’t hold her back.

The thought fills Rapunzel with an unexpectedly bitter wave of jealousy.

She shakes it off, reaching into the makeup kit beside her and feeling around until her fingers curl around a tube of lipstick. She smiles, pulling it out.

Jaina groans in mock annoyance. “Are we still doing this? Aren’t I going to look ridiculous?”

“Not at all.” Rapunzel uncaps the lipstick and gently slides it across Jaina’s mouth.

The blonde girl leans back and admires her handiwork. She holds the mirror up to Jaina again.

Her lips are a bright, icy blue, like the glaciers Rapunzel can only ever hope to know through the pictures in her books. Slowly, Jaina smiles.

“You look like you could deliver the kiss of death,” Rapunzel teases. “Freeze your true love on the spot instead of awakening them from eternal slumber.”

“Want to test that out?”

Jaina smirks, voice surprisingly bold. Rapunzel can’t help but notice the pink rushing to her friend’s cheeks, though, despite her best attempts to sound casual.

“Huh?” Rapunzel frowns down at her, confused.

Jaina’s smirk shrinks a little, the first traces of fear darting into her eyes.

“Only one way to figure out whether I actually carry the kiss of death.” Jaina shrugs, still trying to seen nonchalant but voice not nearly as confident as before.

“Ah.” Rapunzel smiles playfully. “But if it works, you’ll have to find a new best friend, won’t you? Sounds like a lot of trouble for you.”

“That’s okay, Pascal will just be my new best friend if I kiss you to an early grave!” The chameleon squeaks disapprovingly from the dresser nearby.

“Come on, Rae,” Jaina says. “I really have to know. The curiosity’s killing me here.”

Rapunzel can feel Jaina’s breaths against her own chest, quick and shallow. Scared, almost.

Jaina is a lot more nervous than she’s letting on.

Still, looking down at the curve of Jaina’s lips and the unfailingly cheeky gleam in her eyes, everything suddenly feels just right.

Rapunzel slides her arms onto either side of Jaina’s head. She leans down, and captures Jaina’s lips with her own.

She tastes cold and sweet--like frosty vanilla and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Her lips aren’t perfect--chapped in places, pricked with tiny ice crystals, moving with a sort of nervous frenzy that comes with disuse.

Nonetheless, they feel like home.

Rapunzel slides her fingers into white hair, and it’s silky like clouds. So soft. So perfect.

The only real thought Rapunzel can process is that she never wants to let go. Perhaps part of her is terrified if she does, Jaina will dissolve into the ghost she is to everyone else.

She feels Jaina wrap her hands around the collar of Rapunzel’s dress, pulling her closer. It’s more comforting than Jaina knows.

Jaina pulls away first, hands loosening and head tilting back. She meets Rapunzel’s eyes for a few moments, processing what just happened before breaking out in an enormous grin and a series of delighted giggles.

“You just--you look so dumb,” Jaina chortles. “Like you tried to eat the sky or something.”

Rapunzel glances into the hand mirror, now long since pushed aside. Her mouth is smeared with bright blue, trailing onto her skin in pale smudges.

She smiles. “I can live with that.”

Rapunzel leans down and kisses Jaina again.

Yes I used that one picture of the girl straddling the other girl while putting her makeup on for inspiration for this, what of it???

Also for whatever reason, I love the idea of Fem!Jack calling Rapunzel Rae? I feel like Fem!Jack’s teasing and pet names would be a tiny bit different than boy Jack’s, idk.

I JUST AKSJCUBWSYD

I KINDA WANNA DO MORE FEM!JACK X RAPUNZEL CONTENT

Pic credits available upon request!

[sl-walker]

If I may ask; what is your opinion of Rebel's Era (canon) Maul?

Whilst I didn't feel like he was written out of character per se and I understand that Rebels aired prior to TCW Season 7, I felt like it was somewhat disappointing after what happened during Order 66.

I understand that he has lost hope and is, very reasonably, afraid of Sheev, but there's a few things that confuse me like the fact that whilst running the biggest criminal empire he never looked for Kenobi prior to Rebels (he knew Ashoka survived, so why shouldn't Kenobi?) or how exactly he ended up on Malachor and nobody came to look for him their criminal boss. Now the Dathomir-part was actually interesting, but I do feel, yet again, like it could have used more exposition and explaination considering he was there like 3x times in his entire life and everyone's dead, so who even sustained the Ichor after Talzin's death? Maul wasn't on Dathomir for at least some time.

It just felt like they knew Maul would draw in viewers, not like they had a plan for his character and that was kind of a pity?!

Obviously Maul couldn't interfere with pre-existing canon but at some point I really wondered why he was still in the story considering that Ezra's literal use of the darkside, due to Mauls prior influence & the holocron, for what we can assume to be months never mattered again after a single episode for some reason.

I love seeing Maul but I wished they did more with his character? I mean, it hurts to read e.g. Son of Dathomir, but it's still good and builds his character.

The only major thing I found consistent was him missing Savage, which obviously just broke my heart.

Dying by Kenobi's hand was poetic, but of course really sad and I wished there had been more to this scene - either conveyed through animation/dialouge or by having them part ways differently.

Also I can't believe Maul - a criminal mastermind - didn't manage to figure out that Kenobi was on Tatooine after seeing Twin Suns for almost the majority of a season. You know. The guy who used to track and hunt down whomever Sidious required him too for years. The same zabrak that basically ran a prison into the ground in lockdown whilst not/barely even touching upon his force powers and finding the dealer who managed to stay undercover for probably decades. Also the planet they literally first met.

I know the creators and Sam Witwer have repeatedly liked Maul to Sisyphus, but I don't think this applies to Rebel's Maul. Rebel's Maul, besides his motivation/need to find a new brother apprentice, just seems so hopeless and borderline suicidal? He doesn't know if it's worth trying anymore, which makes the idea of running a criminal empire so odd, seeing as he knows his insignificance to Sidious, whose downfall is all he is really yearning/hoping for. I know that his desperation always rivals his intense need to survive, but I really didn't got the latter from Rebels.

Idk, maybe it's just me, but I'm very keen on your thoughts.

(2/2) I'm asking you in particular about Rebels Maul because I feel like maybe I might be missing something or am lacking a certain insight into his character which you might have.

I think Solo made about as much sense as tits on a boar. I even said that when it came out. Maul's whole purpose to building a criminal empire was to have enough power to get to Kenobi. He had no interest in being rich or anything else, and frankly, even in TCW, he left Almec to run things on Mandalore while he nursed his grudge. So this whole Crimson Dawn crap is just-- weak. It makes no sense. It was fanservice.

I'm sure I've written my opinions on Rebels before, but in brief:

1.) Maul's characterization wasn't terrible, but the writing was super fucking lazy. No kidding. Especially his ending. That was Filoni basically splooging all over himself about how dEeeEEeP he was being without realizing... man, nothing here even makes sense. He took a character he didn't create and didn't want to bring back in the first place and giggled to himself behind his stupid hat because he got to kill him off. Since Disney's shit, they're like, "Oh, sure."

2.) Maul already hurt Kenobi and took his revenge when he skewered Satine. Like you, I think the only reason he would have sought Kenobi out would have been because he wanted closure. Be it death or simply some ending. I explored what would have happened had Kenobi been a proper adult and apologized for his part in Maul's suffering when I wrote In defiance, because I absolutely believe they could have done some considerably more interesting with all of that.

3.) Honestly, like-- every time they've killed Maul off in canon, it's been a dumbass mistake. Because he's popular and once you close-end a character, it becomes a lot harder to do anything meaningful with them in canon. Because they offed him, he will never have a genuinely meaty storyline again and will forever be relegated to cheap cameos that capitalize on his popularity.

Dunno if that's what you're looking for Anon-buddy. Mostly, I just think the ending of Maul in Rebels came down to super lazy writing.

[tidesreach]

So, somebody commented on a post of mine to say that Xue Yang's actions throughout the show/novel were definitely not about classism, and in constructing a reply I… wrote far too many words to fit into a reply box. So here is a rambling post instead. No slight at all on the person who commented, I just wanted to delve into the topic a little more and offer an actual explanation to my thoughts. Because I have more Thoughts on this than I anticipated. Also I’m procrastinating on doing Uni Work.

That post was not exactly meant to be Serious Meta, but I do think there is definitely an argument for classism as a motivating factor for Xue Yang. I can’t not, really. I mean, yes, Xue Yang is very into murder. Murder is fun! I am here to be feral and kill people! Yes. But I don’t think that’s his sole motivation. Xue Yang grew up in poverty. He lived on the streets, suffered a great deal of abuse, and was beaten by and lost his finger to a Sect Leader for the crime of being too trusting and just... wanting some sweets. These are all facts. The sect leader in question received zero punishment or repercussions because... well, Classism. Because the lives of the poor have little value in Cultivator Society. Xue Yang's treatment/trauma as a poor person who was viewed as subhuman was the catalyst. It shaped his entire view of the world. He outwardly shows disdain for cultivators and the way they look down on him. Was it his sole motivation for all of his actions? No, but I think it was a part of it. Just like having Xiao Xingchen murder all of those farmers was part of it. Not his sole motivation, it was super fun too! But it was also about bringing Xiao Xingchen down to his level for various reasons. (I think Xue Yang always had it in his head that he was going to tell Xiao Xingchen about the people he had him kill one day, a grand moment of revelation. He did it to prove a point to Xiao Xingchen. But then... he experienced Feelings and started to enjoy his boring little life, because boredom is okay actually, when you’re loved, who knew??? So he decided hmmmm, but what if I just..... don’t tell him ever? The actual moment of revelation only came because by that point there was nothing left to salvage.) So, there's methodology there. Very twisted methodology, sure, but it’s there.

Xue Yang desperately tries to explain this to Xiao Xingchen during their final confrontation when he opens up about his finger. Desperately tries to explain the position he was put in as a child on the streets with no money, no parents, no status. He was a destitute child born into a society that caters to the Cultivator Elite. He realised very quickly that no one was going to defend him or offer him any justice for the abuses he suffered because he simply was not deemed important enough to defend due to his lack of status. He realised very quickly that the only person who was ever going to defend him was himself. So he took matters into his own hands because no one else would. His revenge on the Chang Clan was part of that.

Xue Yang starts to lash out at Xiao Xingchen during that final confrontation because Xiao Xingchen just fundamentally cannot understand where he's coming from. Xiao Xingchen sees Xue Yang's massacre of the Chang Clan as a wholly disproportionate revenge. He asks him why he couldn't have just taken a finger (or two, or ten, or an entire arm!) in revenge rather than murdering the entire clan. Which, yeah, is a fair fucking question. But also, this is a society where disproportionate revenge and needless suffering is rife. (Consider the surviving members of the Wen Clan who were slaughtered. But that was acceptable because the Elite deemed it justice. Which is, well, my whole point.) This is a fundamentally broken society. Xue Yang knows this. “My finger was my own. Those lives were other people’s.” That one sentence there is, damn. It’s fascinating to me. Because he highlights so succinctly the fact that no one ever put any value on him, not on any part of him. Not his finger, not his life. Even Xiao Xingchen is saying, essentially, it was just a finger! But Xue Yang is adamant that no, that’s not the point. The point is that it was his finger. It belonged to him. It was part of him, and it was taken away from him as if it had no value. But it had value to him. So why should he value their lives? No amount of lives he took in revenge can equal what was taken away from him. “How could it have possibly been equal to one of my fingers?” It’s essentially Xue Yang arguing why should their lives have more value? It’s all fascinatingly complex, oof.

I think there is a part of Xue Yang here that is desperately hoping for a kind of epiphany from Xiao Xingchen, for him to realise that hey, maybe Xue Yang has some points here! The fact that Xue Yang even tells the story about his finger at all speaks to that. He wants someone to understand the ideas of value placed on the Elite and lack of value placed on kids like him. That’s what’s really disproportionate! He goes on to chastise Xiao Xingchen for standing up for the Chang Clan. For daring to think he could decide who was right or wrong. Tells him he should have stayed at the mountain if he can’t comprehend the happenings of the world. But of course the epiphany Xue Yang is hoping for never comes. Even if Xiao Xingchen could understand the motive, he was never going to understand the method. It’s not until Xue Yang realises that there’s no salvaging anything that he starts really lashing out. 

Xue Yang tells Xiao Xingchen quite clearly that the people he hates the most are people like him who think they are righteous and virtuous. Who think that they've made the world a better place just because they “did something good”. This is also where a lot of Xue Yang's anger and revenge-motivation towards Xiao Xingchen comes from in general. Because Xiao Xingchen has a strong sense of justice. He has all of these wonderful ideals about morality and making a better society. He wants to save the world. To Xue Yang this is unbearably arrogant and naive because you cannot save a world you refuse to understand. Which is what Xiao Xingchen is doing by refusing to understand the point he’s making in telling his story about his finger. It's a bitter and personal attack from Xue Yang. It's you claim to be righteous and virtuous and good but what good have people like you ever done for those truly suffering? The point Xue Yang is trying to make is that Xiao Xingchen could not have possibly hoped to save the world with a few good acts when he overlooks some of the Actual Problems with the world, when he understands nothing about how the world works for most people. Nothing about the rules of justice. Nothing about the real injustices.

Even the fact that Xiao Xingchen thought he could bring Xue Yang to justice when he first captured him all those years ago is another tick in the “you have no idea how the world works!” box. The way Xue Yang was just so blase about being captured. Because, like, doesn't Xiao Xingchen know that's not how the world works? Xue Yang knows because he's proof of it. There's something actually darkly poetic about the fact that Xue Yang was secured freedom by the Jin Clan after Xiao Xingchen delivered him there. Because Xiao Xingchen’s unwavering belief in bringing him to justice, that justice is always right and fair, actually allowed Xue Yang to go free. Because Xue Yang was finally viewed as someone important enough, someone powerful enough to be above justice and punishment. Xue Yang proved his own damn point. There is no justice in the world they live in. Only power, and that power can only be granted by the Cultivator Elite. Xue Yang realised that he couldn't beat the system but that he could use it to his own advantage, he could use the rich and powerful to achieve his own, however questionable, goals. Xiao Xingchen, conversely, believed he could change the system, and to Xue Yang that was stupid and naive because he couldn’t see all the ways in which the system was wrong in the first place. This is what he tries to explain to Xiao Xingchen during that final confrontation.

So yeah, that’s my two cents (many cents, this got long) on it anyway. I do think it is at least a motivating factor.

[thepixelelf]

the recovery files - ksm

intro.txt / hanjisung.mp3 / now playing: kimseungmin.mp3 / hwanghyunjin.mp3 / leefelix.mp3 / yangjeongin.mp3 / leeminho.mp3 / seochangbin.mp3 / bangchan.mp3 

I just start? Okay… 

What do I… what do I talk about?

Alright.

Um… hey. It’s Seungmin. You probably knew that already, though…

I haven’t said hi to you in a while. I kind of miss the feeling.

…

Do you? Miss the feeling, I mean.

I guess you wouldn’t… I don’t blame you.

… 

How are you nowadays? I know you probably don’t want to hear that from me, especially after— 

Well, you know.

Either way, I think I’d feel better knowing you’re okay. I still wonder sometimes — how you’re doing, if you’ve recovered. That kind of thing. Is that selfish of me?

That was always my problem, I guess.

Being too selfish.

…

Um… 

I’m doing fine. As fine as a person can be, really.

I remember how that was our code word. I’d come over, say I was fine, and you’d do that thing with your hand on my back. Your hands were always really warm. I never figured out how.

So yeah. I’m fine.

Just fine.

I broke up with Hyojung— 

Sorry, what was that?

Oh.

I guess… even though I just broke up with Hyojung…

This is the person I need to send a message to, you know?

I can start over, if you want. I don’t have much to say to Hyojung, though.

No? Okay, I’ll just— um. I’ll keep going.

Anyhow… I broke up with Hyojung.

It’s — heh — it’s actually kind of funny. You wouldn’t believe it, but…

She cheated on me.

Ironic, isn’t it? Must have been karma. Knowing you, you’d probably call it poetic justice.

…

Who would’ve thought? The girl I cheated on you with…

…

Back then, and I don’t know if you knew this, but I really thought you were overreacting. It was just one kiss, I thought. One kiss at a stupid party that shouldn’t have mattered to you as much as it did, because you should’ve trusted me or whatever.

But… seeing Hyojung with that guy…

It really fucking hurt.

…

Did you feel that way? When I… 

Nevermind. I know.

…

I remember, um, back when we first got together all those years ago, we made this… list. Hyunjun called us crazy and overly organized for making a never-do list. He said no one started dating with set rules like that, especially not rules we taped to our locker doors.

You wrote “cheating” nice and big at the top of yours.

You told me you wouldn’t tolerate anything like that. You pounded that idea into my head from the beginning.

I don’t know why I…

…

One time, the list fell off my locker. I guess the tape loosened somehow, and I accidentally stepped on it. There was this huge rip, but I spent the next five minutes taping it back together.

It’s not like I forgot about the never-dos… I guess I just… stopped caring.

Sorry.

I know that’s not the only thing I should be saying sorry for, but I really want to say sorry for that. For not caring and yet… stringing you on like I did.

Hyojung was this… this shiny new thing, and you were… well you weren’t getting old or anything, but…

Agh, I can’t think of the words.

…

Sorry for not saying sorry. Back then.

I realize now that all I did was defend myself that night. I didn’t even apologize.

Sorry.

…

I hope— I hope you’re doing better than fine. 

Hyunjun tells me you are, but, I don’t know, I feel like he’s lying to me, sometimes. I don’t think he’d tell me if you were having a hard time.

He probably knows I’d be an idiot and try to find you… try to make you feel better when… 

When you hate me now. 

…

That one time, when we saw each other on 111th street… you avoided my eyes so quickly. 

Does it still hurt that much? Seeing me?

…

Is it selfish to want you to look at me again?

…

… 

Yesterday, Hyunjun — um, he said you and he have been...

Is he… does… does he treat you right?

Is it stupid for me to ask that?

Sorry— 

Could you pass me that water bottle?

Thanks.

I know it’s stupid of me to get jealous after I did something like that.

I keep thinking ‘I could treat you better,’ but… I didn’t.

Isn’t that crazy?

…

I hope you’re happy.

And I don’t mean that in a bad way… you deserve to be happy after everything I put you through.

Hyunjun is a great guy.

…

…

I’m fine.

Just fine.

[oblivi-ace97]

Marissa’s 31 Nights of Halloween

Today’s movie: Crimson Peak

I seen this movie once before and I absolutely loved it! So I knew right away that I would be adding it to this year’s roster!

Who sleeps with their door open?!

This is the exact reason I sleep with my door closed cause that’s how the ghosts get in.

Listen if a ghost came to me and said to avoid some place I sure as hell would listen.

Ugh I love the costumes!

“A parasite with a title” dang Edith tell us how you really feel.

If someone compared me to Jane Austen I would be flattered. That bitch wrote some great books.

Fuck that stupid man who told Edith she needed to write a love story.

Tom Hiddleston should always dress like that it really suits him too hat and everything.

Ok if Tom Hiddleston showed up at my dad’s office and started complimenting my writing I would swoon on site and fall in love immediately

“In America we bank on effort, not privilege. That’s how we built this country” that’s a load of bullshit

OH MY GOD DONT GO TOWARDS THE DOOR THAT OPENED ON ITS OWN!!!!!

Can Tom Hiddleston show up at my house and take me to a party? Just once? Please?!

I feel like Edith’s dress needs gloves. Like it just feels like the outfit is missing something.

Can Tom Hiddleston ask me to dance? Just once? Please?!

Lucille why the hell are you rubbing a dying butterfly on your cheek?????

How the hell did I not know there was something incestuous going on between these two when I watched it the first time????? Like it’s so fucking obvious.

Jesus Thomas I know Edith’s dad told you to break her heart but you really went for the jugular there

Never be in a public bathroom by yourself that’s rule number 1

Ok dude why wouldn’t you just tell her that they checked out?

Can Tom Hiddleston confess his love to me? Just once? Please?!

In my brain this is just how Tom Hiddleston speaks. Like they just give him a general idea of what to say and then he just speaks so poetically.

Can Tom Hiddleston kiss me? Just once? please?!

Can you imagine getting a declaration of love from the guy you fancy one minute and then the next you have to go identify your dad’s dead body like what a complete 180

Can Tom Hiddleston carry me bridal style? Just once? Please?

Now that house just screams haunted

Why did I see woman in bath and dog and my brain think the cat’s meow from Barbie princess and the pauper?

Nope nope nope nope nope

EDITH GET FUCK OUT OF THAT HOUSE

Lucille stop creeping on your sister in law

Can we bring dressing robes/gowns back? Like you look so much more dramatic walking around the house

You would never see me going up to that attic no way

Candelabras let’s bring those back too

Nope nope nope

This is why you don’t explore a giant house like this at night. You’re just asking for ghosts to find you.

As soon as I found out that it’s called Crimson Peak I would have booked it the fuck out! The ghost warned you Edith! Don’t ignore the warning!

Wasn’t the thing Edith’s dad found out about Thomas was that he was already married?

DONT FUCKING TALK TO THE GHOSTS THATS HOW BAD THINGS HAPPEN!!!!!!!

EDITH THEY ARE TELLING YOU TO LEAVE LISTEN TO THEM

Can I ride in a carriage with Tom Hiddleston? Just once? Please?

Edith’s just like I’m gonna take this opportunity to be alone with my husband and bone him.

At this point you might be expecting me to say “can I sleep with Tom Hiddleston” but I am ace and I am not attracted to him that way so that’s gonna be a polite pass from me

Lucille your jealousy is showing

Ok I have never been able to get a key off of a key ring that quickly

You waited too long to leave Edith now there’s too much snow

Listen if I found out that they were poisoning me with the tea I wouldn’t drink or eat anything they gave me

Edith just leave, your husband is banging his sister that is the red flag to end all red flags

Alan coming in to save the day…we’ll he tried at least…oh wait Tomas doesn’t actually kill him I forgot that

Wait does Lucille keep a lock of hair from each woman they killed? I don’t think I noticed that last time. Why??????

The pen truly is mightier than the sword 😂

OH MY GOD EDITH LEAVE!!!!!!!!! THOMAS SHOULD BE DEAD TO YOU JUST LEAVE!!!

God does Guillermo del Toro know how to make a movie or what

[sacred-algae]

Hi, I did a thing...

Bit of a background and then we’ll get to it

Hi. My name is Jaskier.

I’m obsessed with DGHDA. Maybe a little too much. 

I found the show in September of 2020, yes only that long ago, the people who introduced me to it immediately regretted it. When I say it changed my life, I mean it. Not to get too dark here but I was extremely depressed before finding it, much like Todd. My life an unvarying slog of the humdrum and inane, then suddenly, the holistic detective came into my life and everything was sunshine and rainbows. Sort of, not really, the point is I’m stable now and actually really happy to be pouring my heart and soul into a fandom and community where I feel so at home in. Because I started writing. And I wrote like I was running out of time because in a month and a half, without a beta or a clue as to what I was doing -much like Dirk- I finished my first book. (It’s really more of a novella at 55k words...) 

Now, I’ve always written, it’s always been something I’ve been passionate about. But it was all original, and never finished. I came up with the ideas for 2 novels and a TV show, I only wrote 2 episodes of said show, I got halfway through act one of one of the novels before realizing I had no plot and it was just a really cool world I had created, and the other book I’ve been working on on-and-off for 6 years. Leaving it for about 3. I came back to that one book that started it all after 3 years of not looking at it and I wrote and wrote and wrote. 

And then I found Dirk Gently. It was like a spark ignited in me, creativity flowing through my veins, I just needed to get it out. Because I wanted to do that, I wanted to take an idea and break it up until it was un-recognizable to everyone who came across it until I shoved it in their face and say, “Everything is connected.” And they get that rush of understanding. But its even better writing it.

I wanted to write my own season 3.

I ask myself a question. What do we want to do this time? What classic mystery trope am I going to turn on it’s head today? Then I ask myself how do they grow? I take that basic idea and I twist it apart. I take clues that seem stupid and ridiculous and random and I find a way to make them connect. And it’s thrilling. I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much about something I’ve made in my life.

So Dirktectives, if you want a continuing series of books and case-fics that all connect with a side of autistic Dirk, Brotzly, Farina, whump, fluff, poetic justice, with the occasional song written into it for fun-sies, all written with Douglas Adams like humor and narration, (just the second one actually, the first one is really DARK with some funny moments), That answers every question left unanswered by the end of season two (I’m serious, I have this entire universe figured out, ask me any question about the show and I can answer it... except Friedkin... I have no clue what happened to him...) Then I’ve got a book series for you! So far I’ve finished one and I’m more than halfway through the other and I’m planning a third. 

So... *professor Hidgens voice* Mind if I give you the pitch?

Book 1: Dirk Gently And The Ghosts Of Time-AO3

Eight months after Wendimoor with no new cases since, Dirk and Todd have just started dating after being set up by Amanda. She immediately regrets the decision because Todd completely ignores her on her weekend visit with him while he instead spends most of his time with Dirk.

On their way back from their first date they hear a scream on Todd’s floor. They locate it to Mrs. Davidson’s apartment. She opens the door to them and they see all of her furniture floating 2 feet off the ground. The ominous message “help” has been burnt into the back wall.

They take the case assuming it’s ghosts. 

They come back with Farah and Tina the next day and discover it is, in fact, ghosts. Sort of. Not really. You’ll see. 

Shocked that he solved the case practically immediately, Dirk wonders what is in store, he knows it’s not over yet. Right after saying so, Todd has an attack, which is immediately followed by his first vision. Flashes of an old mansion, gears turning, an odd door, a strange, giant, pink, worm-like monster, with a deadly flower-like mouth of teeth, it's body covered in spikes. A voice whispered, "Blackwing". Then he saw a pale woman with black wavy hair and black lipstick. And... Zackariah Webb.

In 1941 in the small beach town of Ocean Hill, Louisiana, the government preps for an experiment involving 20 children. 10 boys, 10 girls. 2 would be added unexpectedly. 1 of the 2 would die, the other never set foot in the mansion where the experiment took place.

The mansion has since been abandoned. Todd’s vision sends them to it. 

In Blackwing, Bart contemplates her and Ken’s relationship. Ken readies for something big.

In the van, Amanda is mad at Todd. The Rowdies are mad at Todd for making her mad. Beast is just... there...

In Wendimoor, Wakti awaits the group’s return. She knows they’re coming. 

And despite all this craziness... everything is connected.

Book 2: Dirk Gently And The Waking Sea Of Reality-AO3

Four months after the events of Book 1, Dirk wakes up with a hunch. He needs to watch the news. On the news they hear of two new deaths added to the Nova epidemic.

Nova is a drug that popped up two months before the events of this case with mind boggling effects of bliss and euphoria. Side-effects include slight, ok, major discomfort, you’ll want to die. The only way to stop this 24 hour “hangover” is by taking more, but it sticks to itself and grows and grows until you OD. This is why we have an epidemic.

One of the deaths is of 20 year old Margaret Scott. We’ll get back to her later.

Dirk walks into the agency and announces there will be a new case today and right after, 24 year old Robyn Parks bursts through the door with a dingy blue paper folder in their hand. Their best friend Cydney Scott, older sister of Margaret Scott, has been missing for a week. 

6 blocks from a club in downtown Seattle, there sits an abandoned warehouse with 100 goats locked in it’s parking lot.

In the Seattle Art Museum sits a crystal made of Azurite, Malachite, and gold, that is an oddly familiar shape, with an even more sinisterly familiar name.

2,400 years ago something happened in Ancient Greece.

13,000 years ago something happened off the coast of Alaska after a cataclysmic event. This cataclysmic event led to the creation of a prophecy that was lost to man until November of 2018. This prophecy was the 2nd out of 5 prophecies created with the name “Dirk Gently” in the center, and the first prophecy out of 3 of him saving the world. 

Say it with me... everything is connected.

Almost done, just a wrap up

So yeah, thank you for listening to me ramble about my writing and life... if you made it all the way to the end, thanks I guess... all of my stuff is on AO3, the link is on my profile or up above.