#((i hope you'll appreciate my sacrifice))

[galedekarios]

one thing that really tugs at my heartstrings while going through the epilogue files a bit more is how desperately gale wants to stay in touch with the protag (unromanced) and the friends he's made on their journey together.

not only has he talked to his students about the protag and their adventures at length, he invites the protag to be a guest lecturer:

Player: I found the love of my life. I'd say I'm pretty happy. Gale: And I couldn't be happier for you. A fitting reward for the sacrifices you made in getting here. Gale: I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know. Gale: I'd be delighted to introduce you to my current cohort - as a guest lecturer, perhaps? I'm sure they'd have plenty of questions for you.

he is also happy to invite the protag to his tower for the duration of their stay:

Player: It would be my pleasure. Gale: Excellent. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the allure of sharing your expertise. Gale: Of course you'll be most welcome to stay with me in my tower. Tara the Tressym: Ahem. Gale: My apologies, Tara. That would be our tower.

and even if they should refuse his invitation to be a guest lecturer, he hopes they'll at least consider coming to visit him in his tower in waterdeep:

Player: I'll respectfully decline. Sounds too much like hard work to me. Gale: I totally understand. Perhaps our exploits might be a little on the mature side for my students, come to think of it... Gale: Still, at the very least you must come visit me. I've a pantry full of Waterdhavian delicacies and a delightful bottle of Elverquisst with your name on them... devnote: Attempting to persuade the player to visit him, really wants them to come [if the player is illithid] Player: My diet is more... cerebral these days, Gale. You'll need to rethink your menu. Gale: Say no more. There's a wizard in Blackstaff's anatomical department who owes me a favour, no questions asked. All diets will be catered for. I can hardly wait. [if the player rejected to become an illithid] Player: Good food and good company? Now that I can manage. Gale: Excellent, excellent, excellent. I can hardly wait. devnote: Relieved you've accepted his offer

[end of convo for both] Gale: It will give us plenty of time to catch up on your adventures. Gale: I'm very curious to know what you've been up to these past months, but I suspect the telling of that tale would keep you tied to me all evening. Gale: So, in the spirit of selflessness I encourage you to mix and mingle for now. We've time enough to come. devnote: Looking forward to staying in touch with the player

he's crushed if the protag refuses:

Player: Sorry, Gale. I don't think that's going to happen. Gale: Oh. Well, no matter. Dinner alone can be every bit as enjoyable as with company. devnote: Deflated, trying not to show it Tara the Tressym: Alone? And what am I - a stuffed toy? Gale: Please - enjoy the rest of your evening. devnote: Deflated, trying not to show it

this all ties into another little moment after this first conversation.

if the protag has talked with gale already and has hugged him, there's a second, shorter conversation, in which gale gets choked up as he reminisces over how the party is together once more:

Gale: I can't believe this is real. I never thought we'd gather like this again. devnote: Taking in the moment, appreciating it Gale: It's quite... ahem, yes really quite lovely. devnote: Getting a bit choked up, trying to hide it/breeze past it

tl;dr: gale loves his friends so very, very much and hopes they'll allow him to be able to stay in contact with them.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟕]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. thank you all for waiting during my hiatus <3 turnfire is back, probably a bit sporadic for updates! still, i hope you'll join me in seeing the story through until the end! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗦

In the week that you’re apart, Kinich dreams of you five times.

It’s a welcome respite from the constant nightmares he’d been experiencing. They’d grown more frequent since your injury, lying in wait in the dead of night. He’d found himself trapped by them, thrown to a hellish dreamscape that saw you meeting your end over and over again. It always ended with the sight of your body, bloody and broken.

And he was always too weak to save you.

But since the contract, Kinich finds new power thrumming through his veins. He’d thought he was strong before, but this is different. He wonders if this is how it must feel to hold a Vision, to be one of the Archon’s chosen. Being afforded a power like that means protection and stability, however steep the price may be. And sure, his body is a high price.

But when he remembers your screams of pain and the tears running rivers down your cheeks, he really can’t bring himself to regret this deal at all.

Still, Ajaw’s power brings its own share of consequences, like actually dealing with Ajaw. Truthfully, he’s reluctant to let the Dragonlord anywhere near you—he tends to run his mouth, and he doesn’t want him saying anything unnecessary in your presence. 

He isn’t a great companion, not like you—he gets on Kinich’s nerves, both intentionally and unintentionally. But there is something to be gained from a power as great as his, a power that even Kinich is forced to recognize.

The first dream is nothing special. There’s no rhyme or reason to it; he dreams of running through the meadow with you, flower petals bursting and floating through the air. His next dream is similar, though this time it’s in the forest, river rushing alongside you. He dreams of the late nights you spend talking, of the dinners you’ve shared over candlelight, of your whispers under the stars. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s you. 

It’s always, always you.

So, if sacrifice must be had, let it be his. 

Ajaw seems to realize it too, the weight of the bond they have forged. Ecstatic as he is to take Kinich’s body as his own, he knows that most people wouldn’t make such a deal so easily. He tries to question it a few times, wondering who this “special mortal” could be, wondering why Kinich would need his “awesome powers” to protect them. Kinich doesn’t care to answer—no one needs to know how he feels about you except you.

And, by the time he makes it back to your shared home, he’ll make sure that you know too.

He has the man in the ruins to thank for that oath. After he’d escaped the darkness, he’d made a small grave for the others who had embarked on that journey with him. He hadn’t had much onhand, but he tried—a small pile of stones, stacked precariously until they were about his height. Though he hadn’t known the other men well, he feels a sort of duty to their memory. After all, he had fought by their side, and no one deserves to die alone.

And now, he has the means to protect you, and to make sure that you never have to cry again.

On the seventh day, Kinich raises his head to the sky, one hand shielding his eyes as he gauges the position of the sun. If he starts the journey now, he could be by your side again by nightfall. Something flutters in his chest at the thought of seeing you, and part of him feels like he really can’t wait any longer.

“Ajaw,” he calls. The dragon is resting nearby, picking berries off of plants and scarfing them down. “We’re going home.”

He walks, and doesn’t wait to see if the dragon is following him. He’ll be able to tell based on the complaints that Ajaw is constantly spewing—he’d learned quickly how to phase them out of his mind.

“Your house?” Ajaw moans, still smeared with the juice of a Quenapa Berry. “What is it, a pathetic cave on the side of the mountain? Or maybe a cardboard box on the side of the road?”

Kinich rolls his eyes. “It’s a real house, and you’ll be lucky if I even let you inside. Now pick up the pace.”

The wind is good today, he notes, ideal for grappling. Ajaw scoffs, reluctantly following alongside his partner. 

“What are you in such a rush for anyway? Mortals get excited over the smallest things.”

Your smiling face flashes in Kinich’s mind. He sighs.

“Just feeling a bit homesick.”

/

“I’m home.”

Kinich’s voice floats languidly through your quiet house, comforting familiarity seeping into his bones. Something delicious is cooking—the smell of rich meat and spices wafts through the air.

On the table, there’s a loaf of fresh bread, a single slice spread with your favorite jam. Fresh fruit overflows from the basket on the counter, shiny skin promising ripeness. One of his old shirts is draped over the arm of the couch, sewing needle and thread strewn across the fabric. You’d kept busy while he was gone, evidently.

Somehow, simple as it is, the sight of your home at peace is almost overwhelming. After days spent in the dark humidity of the ruins, he suddenly feels like he can finally relax, if only for a moment. He lets the bag drop from his shoulder, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

There’s no response, but Kinich can see your shoes by the door and the faint sound of splashing water—most likely, you’re in the bath. Still, Ajaw fixes him with a look of disbelief. 

“Did you seriously make up an entire girl just to convince me you don’t live alone in the mountains? That’s pathetic, even for you.”

Kinich fights the urge to stomp the small dragon into the ground, opting to start organizing his things instead. Kneeling down, he unzips his bag, starting to pull out various trinkets and pouches of Mora.

“She is real, she’s just in the bath. Try not to be so annoying when she comes out, or I’ll punch you out.”

Ajaw turns red in irritation. “Just try it, servant! And you’ll see just what it means to be a Dragonlord—”

“Kinich? Is that you?”

He perks up immediately at the chime of your voice, excitement palpable in your words. There’s a scuffle behind the door—you’re rushing to change and greet him, he thinks, face warm. Even Ajaw seems to notice his change in demeanor, based on his mocking chuckle.

“Oh, how sweet. Your little girlfriend has been waiting for you.”

Kinich doesn’t even have time to retort, because the bathroom door flies open and you come bursting forth, wide grin splitting across your face. You clear the room in only a few steps—Kinich’s eyes widen at the sheer speed—and then you’re collapsing into his arms with all the force of a raging bull. 

He catches you anyway, heart nearly pounding out of his chest at the proximity, at the still-damp heat of your skin, at the way your arms wrap around him so tightly.

Spring blooms around him as he holds you closer.

“I missed you,” you admit quietly. Your breath is warm against his neck, but the feeling is pleasant all the same.

“I missed you too.”

After a moment, he holds you at arms-length, gauging the state of you. Your bandages are a clean, pristine white, and there’s less of them than when he left—your wound must have healed considerably.

Noticing his gaze, you smile, stretching your arms wide.

“I’m a lot better now,” you assure him. “We can start going on jobs together again soon!”

It’s a true relief to see you healthy and happy again. Though the guilt will likely never leave him, he wants to burden you as little as possible. 

“That’s good,” he replies, thumbing over your cheek. His breath hitches when you lean happily into his touch. “I’ll look for some good commissions next time I go to the outpost.”

Silently, he notes that the two of you will have to take some simpler ones first, at least while you’re still healing completely. And maybe for the time being, while he gets used to Ajaw’s power—he can’t risk hurting you again.

Someone clears their throat obnoxiously, and Kinich finally remembers that he hadn’t returned home alone.

Brows furrowed, you peek over Kinich’s shoulder to see the small, pixelated dragon floating there. He has an impatient expression on his face, like he can’t stand the lack of attention. 

“Kin,” you whisper, “I think something followed you home.”

“I am not something,” Ajaw roars, “I am the Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw, the bearer of power that strikes fear into nations and gods, the pinnacle of strength and—”

“I found him in a cave,” Kinich interrupts dryly. “And now he won’t stop talking.”

Despite the bold introduction, you don’t seem intimidated by Ajaw at all—you’re peering over him curiously, poking at his tail and flicking at his feet. He growls in reply, already full of protest.

“It’s…floating,” you observe, in awe.

“It? You dare refer to the Almighty Dragonlord as an it? I oughta burn you to ash right here!”

Kinich shoves Ajaw aside, a sour expression on his face. Admittedly, he’s irritated at your reunion being interrupted.

“Try anything against her and see what happens.”

Ajaw grumbles some curses, but neither of you pay him any mind—you’re too overjoyed that Kinich is home, and Kinich is just happy to be in your presence.

“I made some stew for dinner,” you announce, practically skipping over to the stove. There’s a pot already boiling there—that must’ve been what he smelled earlier. “Your favorite. Ajaw—sorry, Almighty Dragonlord can eat too if he wants.”

When you bring it over to the table, beckoning him over, Ajaw huffs at his side. 

“If she’s inviting me to dine, maybe she isn’t so bad after all,” he comments haughtily, and Kinich resists the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Ajaw to change his opinion of you on a dime. Instead of arguing with the impossible dragon, he moves to clean up the rest of his things.

Ajaw pounces on the bread right away, tearing it to crumbs. It doesn’t seem to bother you, based on the way you calmly hum as you stir the stew. Really, it doesn’t seem like anything could ruin your mood at this point, and that thought makes Kinich smile in turn.

“If you’re planning on keeping him like a pet,” you say as you place three bowls of stew on the table, eyes flicking between him and Ajaw, “something tells me he won’t be able to learn many tricks.”

Luckily for you both, Ajaw is too busy scarfing down his food to hear. Kinich shakes his head, a half-smile on his lips.

“Not likely. We made a contract, actually.”

Your head tilts in curiosity as you take your seat. “Really? What kind?”

It’s not uncommon for Kinich to make deals—it’s what he’s good at, and he’s even better at following through. So it comes as no surprise to you that it would be the nature of his relationship with Ajaw. Still, you don’t expect him to continue:

“My body, for his power.”

A sharp gasp slips between your lips. 

When he turns to face you, your smile falters at the edges, a withering bloom.

“You…what?”

“It was a fair trade,” he explains calmly, checking his grappling hook. There’s a chip in the metal, he notes grimly, evidence of its overuse. “In exchange for my body after death, I get to—”

The clattering sound of your chair tipping to the floor has Kinich flinching, one hand outstretched instinctually toward you. When he looks up, your expression is like shattered glass—you’re clutching your stomach like someone’s just punched you.

“In exchange? For you?” Your words thin at the end, dying halfway up your throat. The sound makes Kinich’s heart twist. “Are you joking?”

It’s as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Though he’d expected your surprise, he hadn’t expected the despair, the anger that burns in your irises.

“I promise you, it was fair,” Kinich reiterates. “As annoying as he is, Ajaw does have a lot of useful power.”

“But he’s taking your body,” you say. Each word comes out almost robotically. “That’s supposed to be fair?”

Hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. You shrink away, directly onto your fallen chair—you stumble and fall, a pained expression painting your features. Even as quick as he is to rush to your side, Kinich can’t help but curse himself internally.

Somehow, no matter what he does, he hurts you every time.

You recover quickly, climbing to your feet, and Ajaw merely watches, uncharacteristically silent. Kinich doesn’t really care what he thinks anyway—he’s far more focused on the glassy tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s only once I die,” he assures you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the feeling, eyes wide. “For as long as I’m alive, I’ll be stronger.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need that thing’s power, Kin. Give it back, we’ll be fine.”

From his place at the table, Ajaw sneers. 

“How ungrateful! You have no idea how many humans would scramble and die for the chance to use a sliver of my—”

“Ajaw,” Kinich breathes, a warning, stare never leaving yours. “Get out.”

Ajaw huffs. “Do you even hear her? She’s being totally unreasonable—”

“Ajaw.” Kinich grits his teeth until it’s practically audible, tone laced with frost. “Get. Out.”

The tension is so razor-sharp that even the Almighty Dragonlord slinks out the door, though he grumbles as he goes. You don’t seem to care either way, instead scrubbing at the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

Silence falls, a blanket of ice over the warmth of your home.

He hates it. He hates the way it reminds him of his parents, of the countless fights that occurred here, and he hates the broken sheen in your eyes when you look at him. It’s a far cry from your previous brightness.

“Please, Kin,” you plead, a near-whisper, “please, please give his power back to him.”

You grasp at his arms, tracing the tattoos etched into the skin there, like you’re trying to remind yourself that he’s still here. Small cuts litter his skin, evidence of the journey he’d endured before returning to you, and your frown deepens.

“I can’t,” he replies. “The contract is done.”

His words sink deep into your mind, a stone in water, the weight of what he’s done slowly dawning on you. He can see it in your eyes—the fear that takes root. The fear that one day, he’ll no longer be by your side.

With a sigh, you rise to your feet, moving toward the couch. Kinich follows.

“You have to understand,” he starts, almost begging, even as you walk away, “I only wanted to be stronger for you. I don’t want you to get hurt again—”

When you whirl on him, your eyes are burning.

“So it’s because of me? Because I got hurt?”

And really, it was, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t because of you, or any sort of perceived weakness of yours. If anything, Kinich thinks, it was his own that brought him this far—his own selfish desires for you.

“It’s not like that,” he murmurs, reaching for you. His heart pangs when you flinch away from his touch—you’ve never done that before in his life. “I’m stronger now. I can protect you now—”

“I never wanted you to protect me, Kinich!”

The pure volume of your voice seems to shake the walls of the house, and Kinich feels like it’s all crumbling down around him. He’s never seen you like this—nearly quivering with anger and disappointment, tears running endlessly down your cheeks. 

You can’t seem to decide where to look, but your gaze lands on his all the same. He almost wishes it didn’t—he can’t take the sorrow in your eyes.

“I’ve been learning on my own. I want to fight with you. I don’t want you to protect me, or hide me away, or sacrifice anything more for me. I just wanted to be with you!”

“We can still be together, it’s just—”

You gesture wildly outside, to where Ajaw is presumably waiting.

“Just that your life is tied to this…this thing now, and now not even your own body belongs to you. Do you realize how insane that is, Kin?”

And he wants to tell you that it’s not about Ajaw at all, it’s about you. It’s the fact that he’s always belonged to you, he wants to belong to you, and being strong is the only way he knows how to do that. He thinks of his mother, of the price of her smile—he would pay any price to see yours.

He wants to tell you that he’d thought of you every day he was away, perhaps every moment. He wants to tell you what he promised himself back in the ruins.

But he can’t seem to move an inch. He should say something, he knows. Comfort you in some way. All he can do is watch as you collapse onto the couch, old and fraying, stare fixed blankly to the wall.

And when he remembers the sight of your blood seeping through your shirt, he still can’t bring himself to regret this.

You hold your face in your hands. “We…we were happy, Kinich. Wasn’t that enough?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You don’t answer.

And, as always, Kinich drowns in the realization that he’d hurt you again. His father’s voice echoes in his mind.

It’s your fucking fault. This is all your fault.

The deal had been fair, at least to him, and he was rarely wrong in these things. He’d gained a power to protect you. With this newfound strength, you’d have no reason to worry again. 

So why did it feel like everything was falling apart?

He’s never been good at these things—at feelings, at vocalizing them—but all he’s ever wanted was to be what you needed. But someone like him isn’t worthy of your light.

He really, really wants to be.

Kinich slinks to your side, careful as he kneels before you. Your head is still hung, tears dripping into your lap. He tries not to let the sorrow on your face deter him, at least for now—you deserve to hear what he’s been thinking all along.

Even if it’s too little, too late, he has to tell you.

His fingertips brush against your knee first, apologetic. For now, you don’t push him away. He finds comfort in that, somehow. Even when everything the two of you have built until now lies on the precipice, the mere sensation of your warmth is enough to calm him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first,” he whispers, letting his hand drift toward yours.

You don’t reply, which makes Kinich think that you’re simply waiting to hear what he has to say. A deep breath fills his lungs, slow, the buildup of everything he’s longed to communicate all these years. 

Outside, the sun is falling to rest, leaving shards of fading golden light in its wake. Kinich watches its luminescence slip over your face, slow and winding. 

“I thought you were going to die back then. And it would’ve been all my fault.”

Even suggesting the possibility has something in his chest writhing and twisting, a chill settling in his bones. He’s lost too much until now, and he’s always told himself he could move past it. And yet, he doesn’t think he could ever stomach losing you.

“I couldn’t let that happen again,” he finishes quietly.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head as you absorb his words. But your hand doesn’t leave his, and he holds steadfast to that feeling.

A sigh escapes your lips. 

“And I can’t let Ajaw have you, even after death. I told you I would always be by your side, Kin, and I wish you would trust me to do that on my own.”

His eyes widen, and he’s about to reply when—

A knock echoes at your front door.

You sniffle once, then twice, gathering yourself. Kinich moves to stop you—he’s sure it’s just Ajaw getting impatient during his timeout.

“It’s not Ajaw,” you assert, practically reading his mind. “It’s the couriers.”

The couriers? They don’t come here often—that fact hasn’t changed since his parents lived in his house. A seed of unease plants itself in his stomach. 

“They’ve been looking for you,” you sigh. Before you can take another step, his fingers wrap tight around your wrist, rooting you in place.

“Why? What do they want with me?”

The look in your eyes is far away, falling upon the lukewarm stew on the table. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, all of it. Instead, your lip quivers as you admit:

“The Wayob called for you. You’ve inherited an Ancient Name.”

And, despite all his efforts, Kinich feels the distance between you growing wider and wider.

[astraystayyh]

The prophecy- I.

ꕥ summary: when an angel becomes enthralled by the prospect of emotions, he falls into your world hoping you’d teach him how to be human. little does he know, there's no safety net awaiting him below.

ꕥ pairing: fallen angel!yongbok x fem human!reader.

ꕥ genre: slow burn. heavy themes relating to the complexity of emotions (insecurities, grief, nostalgia, love and sacrifice). angst. comfort. hope and healing. the members are included in the fic as well.

ꕥ warnings: plot installment. mention of alcohol and drinking, description of scars, self-loathing thoughts.

ꕥ word count: 17.8k.

Next. Series Masterlist.

authors note: this fic is my absolute baby. it is heavily inspired by Black Friday by Tom Odell, or rather my interpretation of its lyrics. angel felix is so so special to me, i got the opportunity to be very vulnerable while writing, so i hope you enjoy reading this first part as much as i enjoyed writing it. feedback is highly appreciated <3 this is for @forlix my angel who birthed this fic with me, and for @catboyanon for being my icon 💞 i love you guys 🫶🏻 thank you for reading!!!!!!

the series taglist is open! comment or send me an ask if you wish to be added— @linosssss @agi-ppangx @hwangism143 @httpdwaekki @booksndpoetry @courtnort455 @tonystenk @felixsbakingbud @oyinii @seungzsmin @kayleefriedchicken @freyjhasdesiredreality @babrieeee @nyasstars @lovefool-lix @velvetmoonlght @hash2013 @caticorn61 @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @minhosbitterriver @dorisnumber1fan @goldenmellow @juskz @chanshyunjin @aslou @hhwangsmoon @shinygubbins @msaddictions @abcdefgiwannasendmycodetou @realrintaro @theuntoldlullaby

Act 1. Everything comes with a price.

“So for once in my life, let me get what I want, Lord knows it would be the first time”- Please, please, please, let me get what I want, The Smiths.

Yongbok's existence has been a steady current of nothingness. 

He has known no low, yet simultaneously, no high. Has never stood at the edge of the world nor cradled it within his palm. He is a straight line, knowing no bumps on its road, crafted to stretch forward, and then some more, indefinitely. 

That is until you were assigned to him— his human to keep safe, to protect.

That is when Yongbok then realized that, all along, he had felt nothing— that there was a void overtaking his being, an absence of something, rather than what he had always known to be the norm. 

Yongbok knew the rules, he knew what his existence entailed— that it was one entwined with yours, that once you’d both turn eighteen he’d sense it when you were in danger, each time you were in physical pain. So, he’d protect you, hover above you like a halo, keep you out of harm's way.

He also knew that it would happen unexpectedly. His one friend Seungmin described it as a minor nuisance, a thorn that needs to be plucked out, a bad weed that has overgrown. “You'll help your human and it’ll be back to normal.” 

Yet, for Yongbok it wasn't merely a lone thorn, nor a solitary weed, but rather, a myriad of nuisances falling upon him at once— akin to a deluge of rain pouring as soon as the sky’s gates part. A throbbing so intense it made him falter in his strides, made his golden wings envelop him, as if to cage this unfamiliar feeling, to stop it from seeping from his body and soiling the azure skies. 

It was the first time you had called out to him, it was the first time he would see you in. He imagined you’d be in agonizing pain, skirting the edges of death on a final dance with the devils. But, you were on your bed, curled around yourself the way his wings enfolded his body. Sobs rippled from you, an undulating cascade of waves that almost drowned you in sorrow. 

You weren’t in danger. You weren’t in physical pain. So why was he here? 

Why had he felt it when you simply cried? 

Yongbok hovered near your door, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t in the rules he had learned— guardian angels do not deal with emotions, they do not feel the woes of the heart. “Humans are always hurt. Their heart bruises more than their body would ever endure. It is something we cannot control, nor can we help them with it”— those were the words of Christopher, the sovereign of all guardian angels, ones tattooed in the back of Yongbok’s mind.

“They do not affect us,” he had asserted, his voice maintaining its customary tranquility.

So why was Yongbok feeling the bruising of your heart?

He pondered for a fleeting moment before making a soft breeze ripple through your hair. You looked up from your bed, eyes cast outside the window, as a sunbeam delicately landed on your face. To his surprise, that seemed to halt your tears.  

In that instant, the weight on Yongbok’s heart suddenly dissipated, like a morning fog chased away by the sun. 

“So, this isn’t normal?” he asked Seungmin upon his return, who blinked at him once, then twice. 

“No. It must be part of your anomaly.” 

His anomaly, what explains Seungmin being his only friend. But his loneliness did not bother him, the perk of never feeling.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Yongbok sighed, circling the rim of his glass with his pointer finger. “Should I tell… you know.”

“Keep it to yourself.” Seungmin’s voice was stern, biting, leaving no room for Yongbok to object. 

So he did not. 

He kept it to himself, for the past five years, a diligent secret he’s gotten better at hiding. You were surprisingly a good human to guard, you never burned yourself, crossed the road while looking at both sides, and did not frequent shady places at 4 a.m. 

But your heart weighed so much on your soul.

You cried an average of one hundred and sixty-five times per year, sixty of which being heart-wrenching sobs that almost paralyzed him, made the feathers of his wings wither down and scatter on the ground like sakura petals. 

“Is it normal for her to cry this much?” he had asked Seungmin who had simply shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I don’t befriend humans.” he sighed before adding. “Why does she cry?”

“Other people hurt her.” 

“Then she’s stupid for repeating the same process.”

“Isn’t it fascinating, though? She knows the outcome might be the same, and yet–”

“Do you wish to befriend her?” Seungmin had cut him off, eyes narrowing down slightly. There was a hint of warning in his tone, a danger ringing somewhere near. You know where this path will lead you. 

“No,” he replied quickly. He never brought you up again after that. 

But his fascination with you did not die. Though, it wasn’t you, per se, that intrigued him. More so what you were feeling, every emotion that ran freely through your being. It was as if he perched on the precipice of your soul, drinking the droplets of emotions that escaped your being. Feeling through you, an extension of your very existence.

It wasn’t only the throbbing when you hurt, it was also a satisfaction when he made you smile again. Through a sunbeam falling perfectly atop you, a rainbow appearing above your head, a star shining more brightly as your eyes found it. Each time your heart bled dry and you begged for a sign, he was there, conjuring up one of you, smiling as you smiled, inching closer to you as the months went by. 

What if the sign was him? What if he showed you he was there all along? 

Would you smile at him too? 

These were dangerous questions swirling in his head, translating into even more harmful actions. Like getting closer to trespassing the line between your world and his, drawn by that fascination, that thirst to know more, to feel more. 

To talk to you. 

But it was all but wishful thinking, it is all thoughts he buried within himself, his body becoming the graveyard of his life— through which he breathes and through which he dies. 

Until tonight.

Yongbok felt that same familiar throbbing overtaking his being, only this one was much more intense, so much so he couldn’t hide the discomfort on his face, twisted in agony at the pain overriding you. He expected to find the telltales of your sadness draped on your being— teary eyes and shaky hands, pouting lips and the scrunch of your eyebrows that he’s come to memorize. 

But to his surprise, he finds you perched upon an abandoned rooftop overlooking Han River, the moon casting its shimmering reflection above its surface. You weren’t frowning, nor blinking rapidly to dispel your tears. Instead, you sat there, gazing at the river below, legs dangling over the edge, your face as placid as the water before you. However, the burden on your heart was unmistakable, a weight he recognized because he, too, bore it. 

He stops for a second, making a gentle rain graze your skin, light enough to feel like an embrace rather than a nuisance. He knew you loved these light showers as you always chased them, tilting your head to the sky as if thanking it for allowing the rain to visit, even for a fleeting moment. 

But this time, you remain unmoving, eyes still fixated on the water, as if you wished it would rise from its place and carry you with it underneath.

You look like an angel, for you feel nothing, numbness seizing your being and trapping it into its hold, just as it does for him. 

“Sometimes the human’s enemy is itself. They inflict harm upon their souls the most, sometimes even death.” He remembers the somber sayings of Christopher and then the question Jeongin asked, echoing the concerns that gripped everyone’s thoughts.

“Can we still save them from themselves?” 

“Not always. We can be too late.” 

You inch closer to the edge of the building, and Yongbok wonders if you had felt too much there was no other emotion your heart could pump out for you anymore, no life for it to breathe in you. 

Can humanity disintegrate once it pains you too much? Can you turn it off in a desperate bid for survival? Would it still be a life if you do not feel in it? 

“I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your cold voice startles him, and he looks around quizzically, wondering who you are talking to. But it is only the both of you atop the roof, and his wings are gone, the golden light that usually contours his being subdued. 

The realization dawns upon him – you can see him, and you are speaking to him. Yongbok feels the stirrings of his heart, a singular beat that resounds in his chest for the very first time.

“I’m not worried,” he replies, after painstakingly long seconds. His voice sounds different, deeper as it floods his ears. I can’t worry, he decides against adding. “Besides,” he clears his throat, walking over to you, his hands resting on the railing. “You can’t die from here. You’ll just break your bones. Get paralyzed, at most.” 

“What are you? A death connoisseur?” you snort, a small life seeping through your voice again as you finally look at him. 

“Something of the sort.”

“This makes you sound like a serial killer,” you sigh, a heavy breath pulled from the depths of his heart. “But you don’t look like one.”

“I don’t?” he questions. 

“No. You look kind.” 

Kind. Yongbok has been draped in a myriad of adjectives since his creation, ones that hang above him like a somber cloud, imprinted on his skin with ink visible to everyone but himself. ‘Abomination’ was the one that came back the most. But you described him as kind. 

What do you see in me? He wants to ask. Tell me so I can look for it when I see myself.

He’s acutely aware that he’s breaking the rules, his wings itching to fledge out and carry him away. But he forcefully keeps them at bay. Not now. Just a little more.

“Are you looking for hope too?” you ask, your voice much quieter than when you last spoke. Yongbok now sees it— the numbness wearing off and leaving place to an agonizing sadness, its essence is poured in your eyes alone, dull under the marvelous city lights. 

“Hope?” he echoes, the word tasting foreign in his mouth. 

“Mm,” you hum, drawing one knee to your chest while letting the other dangle, straddling an invisible line between your two worlds. “I come here and imagine as if the moon shines only for me.”

“That's not true.”

“I know,” you giggle quietly, your laugh swiftly morphing into a pout. “Most of the time it feels as if it’s shining for everyone but me.”

“I don’t think the moon cares enough to single you out.”

“That's somewhat comforting to hear.”

Running a hand through your hair, you speak again. “I don’t usually talk to strangers,” you confess, lifting the nearly empty soju bottle in your left hand. “I’m just a bit drunk, and really sad,” you whisper, as if entrusting him with a secret, an admission that the universe can be cruel in the fates it deals out. He knows that more than most.

“I don't mind,” he inches closer to you, his curious eyes casting over your gloomy figure. “So, you come here looking for hope?”

“It's a bit silly, right?” you smile sheepishly, and he shakes his head. 

“Silly, no. It’s just unrealistic to look for something that is not tangible.”

“Everything that is good in life cannot be grasped with our hands.”

He knows nothing of all these good things you speak of, so he remains silent.

“You know what’s funny? Each time I ask for a sign I find it.”

Each time you call out for him he is there. 

“Is that so?” 

You take a big gulp from your drink, setting it down as your tone grows melancholic with each word. “Yeah. I think I've seen more butterflies in the past five years than the average person does in a lifetime.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” he asks tentatively, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. What if, all along, in his attempts to pull you up he has only been drowning you further? 

“It is. It makes me believe that things will turn out better, in the end,” you share, pausing briefly as if attempting to contain your words. It’s only a moment later that you continue, “I guess I'm just tired of believing things will get better instead of feeling better.”

He was a temporary patch-up, a band-aid made of silk threads destined to wear off with time. Guardian angels cannot help with the woes of the heart. For all their immortality, they fall short before the power of emotions, kneel in surrender at the altar of humanity. 

But on your darkest night— your black Friday where the sky resembles an abyss in which every star has fizzled out, he does not want to leave you without hope. 

“Maybe you just need better signs,” he whispers, as a hoard of butterflies swivels before your eyes, a kaleidoscope of colorful wings fluttering in the hopes of breathing life into you once again. 

“Butterflies don’t show up at night…” you marvel in hushed tones, your eyes darting everywhere to take in the magical scenery. 

“Did you do this?” you’re breathless as you turn to ask but no one’s near anymore. 

The heaviness in your heart has dissolved, not entirely, but enough for Yongbok to dismiss it as a fleeting nuisance, a stubborn weed, a lone thorn that he deftly plucked away.

…

Yongbok has not stopped thinking of your conversation, the steadiness in your voice as you spoke of hope, of good things that elude your gaze but infuse your existence with sweetness. He knew that he broke the rules by speaking to you, that there are but severe cases in which an angel is allowed to address their human. Sadness, no matter how profound, was not one of them. And yet, for all the years he spent abiding by the rules, he had not regretted talking to you, not once. 

He had memorized the cadence of your voice, the sheer glaze in your eyes as they held his, the way you drowned yourself in alcohol, nose scrunching at its bitter taste. Everything about you, he learned, committing it to his memory that was once a blank canvas, for he had never lived something worth remembering, for he had never strayed from the straight path, drawn out eons ago for him. 

Until you. 

It is the following Friday and Yongbok hovers near a bar, his eyes absorbing the sight of the drunk humans mingling in there. Some of them are laughing, clinking half-empty glasses as they cheer loudly, Others, too busy pressing their lips against one another to dare dream of forgetting this moment. And then some sitting alone, their gaze fixated on the liquid within their glass, as if it holds the key to all their unanswered prayers. Foolish behavior, but he is drawn to the mundanity of it, for some odd reason. 

He draws in a deep breath, before concealing his celestial wings and venturing into the dimly lit bar. He sits by a stool, curiously eyeing the array of alcohol on display. “What can I get you?” the bartender asks and he responds with a nonchalant shrug. “Strongest thing you have.” After all, inebriation is an experience beyond his grasp.

The abrupt sound of glass meeting the counter startles him, and he turns to his left. There, he discovers a young man, roughly his age, signaling the bartender for another pour. Ebony hair pulled into a small ponytail, a furrowed brow shaping his lips into a frown, the man’s gaze remains fixed on the scattered droplets of Whiskey across the counter. In the faint light, Yongbok spots a mole by his jaw, then another one underneath his eye. 

“Bad night?” Yongbok inquires, clearing his throat, a thrill coursing through him at the prospect of talking with another human.

“Kinda,” the stranger sighs, turning around to face him. “I’m Hyunjin,” he says, extending his hand with a lopsided smile.

He firmly shakes it, before introducing himself back, “Yongbok.” 

“Yongbok, mm… Feelbok,” Hyunjin slurs, “no, no, Hanbok,”— happiness— Hyunjin giggles at his own words punctuating them with a thumbs-up. “Nice name.”

“Thank you,” Yongbok mirrors his smile, although the gesture happens more naturally than he expected. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, as he watches Hyunjin down yet another glass.

“I should be,” he mumbles, before placing his chin atop his palm, gaze lost somewhere far in the depths of his mind.

Yongbok remains silent as Hyunjin blinks slowly, a sad smile imprinted into his mouth. “I opened my art gallery today. It was acclaimed by all the art critics who visited. They said it was moving, woven with emotions that are translated into every choice I made, from the colors to the blending to the lighting.”

Yongbok frowns, a sudden confusion settling over him as he detects the sorrow dripping from Hyunjin’s tone. He realizes that his expression mirrors the same loneliness he witnessed in you countless times before. Humans, it seems, resemble each other at their most vulnerable.

“But…” he continues, prompted by Yongbok’s silence or the strong alcohol, he doesn’t really know. “All these people came but not the one I painted for.”

Ah, Yongbok now understands what drives Hyunjin’s sadness— love. The irony of humans strikes him; for the one feeling they crave ends up hurting them the most.

“Every painting was about her and she wasn’t there to see it,” Hyunjin confesses as anguished tears suddenly well in his eyes. He cannot conjure hope for Hyunjin, for he is not his human to guard, so Yongbok mimics what he witnessed you do countless times to your friends. He places a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“It will pass,” Yongbok reassures, not with a misplaced sense of optimism, but because it is an undeniable truth. Humans forget as much as they remember, grieve as much as they love, heal as much as they hurt. In their short life, everything they go through passes. It is how they survive the hurts of the heart.

“I don’t want it to. If the pain passes then I won’t have anything to remember her by,” Hyunjin smiles sadly, patting Yongbok’s hand above his own. 

“Don’t you regret loving her?” he asks, perplexed by the breathing contradiction before him. 

“I regret losing her, not loving her. Never loving her.” 

As he stood on the same rooftop you were on nights ago, Yongbok is left with Hyunjin’s sleek business card held between his fingers, and a dull longing in his heart, many, many hours later.

Can a straight line stray from its path? Can his void be replaced with love? 

At what cost can an angel taste humanity? 

“Our kind yongbok.” A calm voice speaks and the wings on Yongbok’s back twitch more intensely than they’ve ever done. The danger Seungmin spoke of was here.

At what cost could he not? 

“Christopher,” Yongbok bows in respect, eyes refusing to meet those of his senior. 

“You had no problem looking at all these humans, no?” Christopher muses and Yongbok takes one step back. Chris knows, he has always known and yet he allowed it. 

Why?

“Fascinating creatures, right? I still fail to understand them. But what I do know for certain is that they are weak,” he pauses, Yongbok’s breath hitches in his throat. “Just like you.” 

Yongbok’s nails dig forcefully into his palms, it does not soothe his nerves the way it does to you. 

“But see, the difference between you and them is that they were crafted to be weak. Then again… everything about you is abnormal, you agree?” Chris speaks assuredly, his tongue telling facts alone. Yongbok remains silent, anticipating his punishment for trespassing into the human realm, for breaking the sacred rule of interacting with them.

Tales of chained angels, of those stripped of their wings, their bloodied feathers plucked out one by one haunt his thoughts. This is the closest Yongbok has gotten to fear. 

In a blink, Chris materializes before him, his hand resting on Yongbok’s shoulder, reminiscent of the comforting gesture he extended to Hyunjin. However, this hold is not reassuring; it bears a weight that spells danger with every squeeze. 

“Do you want to feel what humans do? Go, Yongbok, I won’t punish you. Roam with them, talk to them, and feel.”

Yongbok’s wings scatter with the wind, feathers falling like a curtain of white upon their heads. He falls to his knees, hand brought up to his chest as he suddenly senses everything surrounding him— the bitter wind brushing against his skin and the rush of hot blood coursing within his veins, the loud ringing of cars that morph into hands choking him, and worse of all, the loss of his wings that his spine seems to be weeping for. 

“But remember, everything comes with a price,” Christopher’s polished shoes come into his view— Yongbok does not recognize the distorted reflection staring back. “Even weakness.” 

Act two. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it.

“If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigy” - Neptune, Sleeping At Last.

Delicate snowflakes descend upon the earth, intricate crystals forming a pristine blanket that veils the ground, concealing its flaws to the naked eye. The snow doesn’t discriminate, it falls atop every building in Seoul, from towering skyscrapers adorned with luminous billboards to the humblest abodes, nestled in concealed alleys, all bathed in a bluish glow at the heights of the night. 

And in its fall, the snow does not leave Yongbok’s body behind, draping it in a cloak of icy tendrils, ones that seep through bones he did not know were capable of aching before. It mingles with his golden feathers, scattered all over the rooftop, tinged with his spilled blood. The crimson liquid oozes from his back to the ground, and in his first seconds as a human, Yongbok has already tainted the purity of the soil, he is already a nuisance, in this world too.

He is faintly aware of warm hands cradling his cheeks, attempting to infuse life into his pallid face. A kaleidoscope of blurry hues obscures his vision, and he is no longer sure how much time has passed since Christopher abandoned him on the unforgiven ground. It could have been mere minutes or lengthy hours— he is yet to be acquainted with how time passes on humans. 

He also cannot recall you coming into the rooftop, does not remember when you pulled his head onto your lap, nor began combing your fingers soothingly through his golden locks. You are worried, he can still feel the pulsing of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, or maybe it is his own, he still cannot distinguish what is yours and what is his. 

He’s in a haze, standing on the edge of a window, assaulted by biting winds that cut through him. He didn’t expect humanity to crash onto him this hard, for it to force oxygen onto his lungs only to set them ablaze. 

“You’re awake, you’re okay.” Your reassuring words break through the disorienting daze, your hand firmly clasping his, guiding him away from the window’s edge, ushering him back into safety. In the familiarity of your voice, the winds relent, morphing into gentle zephyrs that cool the burning storm within him. He can feel the softness of your hand, your thumb swirling around his palm as if drawing out a soothing spell with your touch. 

“H… hurts,” he stammers, the words escaping between breaths that struggle to find passage. He brings your palm atop his heart, where a myriad of stones seem to have found refuge, crushing his lungs and rendering them a cloud of useless dust, scattered away by the wind. 

“It’s okay. You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay,” your voice is calm, though it speaks of frightening things. Would what he felt pass now that you put a name to it? Was it supposed to reassure him to hear that panic, like an uninvited intruder, has seized his being and is attacking it relentlessly? A secret ambush, a Trojan horse infiltrating his body under the guise of humanity. 

“Help me,” his plea echoes weakly, an awkward sound that clashes with the very air particles, imprinting itself onto the oxygen you inhale. Is this what Christopher meant? Were his weaknesses only going to surge forth more now? 

Is the cost of humanity facing the ugliness within you? 

The questions swirl in his head like a relentless tornado, drowning out your voice until it becomes a distant murmur in the backburner of his mind. His body rebels against him, ears amplifying the cacophony of his breaths, shaky hands refusing to be still, lungs constricting to the point of near collapse. He’s back before the window, dangling over its edge with one silky thread, worn out from the countless humans who had clung to it in desperation before.

His hand slips. You seize it before he falls.

“Breathe with me, focus on my voice,” you come to him like a calming tide, pulling him into safe shores. You’re so close your nose almost brushes with his own, your hands enveloping his icy fingers to anchor him back to you. He tries to mimic your slow inhales, tuning out all his tumultuous thoughts to focus solely on you.

Under the starry sky and the unyielding snow, and through the panic that captures his being, his gaze seems to fixate on the most mundane of things— the soft moonlight filtering through the strands of your hair, casting a faint halo around your figure. As you draw in deep breaths, encouraging him to follow suit, the thought crosses his mind – perhaps, you are his guardian angel now.

Time passes in this shared rhythm until, finally, you release his face, falling beside him on the snow. His breaths find a more regular cadence, mirroring yours, yet an ache persists in his chest, as if unseen hands continue to press down on his heart, squeezing it dry of its blood.

You run a hand through your face tiredly, eyes looking up at the expanse before you. “Fuck, I thought you were dying.” 

An apology lingers at the tip of his tongue, vocal cords itching to free the three syllables into the chilly air. But Yongbok has never apologized before, he doesn’t know how the words might crystallize in the cold. He isn’t sure he could bear witnessing their form now. 

“What happened?” he ventures, his voice small and fragile, his face turning slightly toward you. You appear like a crescent moon, soft and gentle even with only half of your face visible to him. 

“I came to the rooftop and I found you on the ground, surrounded by bloodied feathers and shaking from the cold,” you begin to explain only to freeze as if a crucial detail has just resurfaced in your memory. He knows what you’ll ask about before you speak. 

“What are these feathers?” your inquiry hangs in the air, your gaze still directed ahead. He remains silent, unsure of how to explain the inexplicable.  

“Who are you?” you press, and his reply comes in a single word, uttered vulnerably, “Yongbok.”

Please leave it at that. 

Your voice is softer, more resigned when you speak again.  “What are you?” 

He does not need to voice the truth. He could chuckle and say that he’s human, what else do you expect him to be, and his voice might shake from the unrehearsed lie but you would believe him, and then he’ll make sure your paths would never cross again. 

But a small part of him feels as if he does owe the truth to you. Because you cared for his well-being when you did not need to, gave up some of your warmth to infuse his being with it, sacrificed minutes of your time to make sure he’ll have sand left in his hourglass. 

So, he sucks in a deep breath, gathering the courage to unravel the truth. 

“I’m an angel. Your guardian angel. Or maybe was. I still don’t really know, yet.”

An incredulous laugh escapes your lips, gusts of powdery air materializing before him. “An angel?”

“Yes.”

“This is insane,”  you shake your head, your face buried in the same palms that had cradled his cheeks tenderly moments ago— his sail amidst the winds. 

“Is that how you managed to make all those butterflies appear that night?” you question, and he nods, shutting his eyes and releasing a strained exhale.

“So you’ve been guarding me all this time?” 

“Since you turned eighteen.”

He freezes as he wonders what you’ll say next— maybe you’ll ask him to disappear from your life, not one to wish to mingle with angels and their kindred, maybe you’ll leave him be in the snow, lonely as he has always been.

What he doesn’t expect is for your eyes to find his, compassion swimming in your gleaming irises, your voice dripping with concern as you ask him. “What happened to you, Yongbok?” 

There was no way for you to feel what he did, and yet you spoke as if you could— as if you peered into his heart and discovered it butchered and bruised, found thorns entangled around his veins instead of vines. 

“I don’t know,” he chokes out a sob, as sudden tears stream down his cheeks, salty as they infiltrate his mouth, drowning him from within. The tears refuse to cease even after he wipes them, one after the other, a futile gesture akin to pouring water into sand, an attempt to nurture something not meant to grow.

“It’s okay,” you smile, your eyes shimmering like a million fireflies in the night. He shakes his head, as more tears escape him in the guise of words. In all of the times he has seen you cry, he never fathomed he would have sobs racking his body, too. That tears would cascade like an unyielding waterfall, an earthquake shaking the planes of his body, rattling his bones with an intensity beyond what he believed humans could endure.

“It’s okay,” you repeat, cradling his face against the warmth of your neck, his tears seeping through your clothing. He is weeping, though he does not know what for. For nothing yet everything. For the loss of his wings and the birth of his heart. For the harshness of the ground and the softness of your hold. For the Yongbok who perished and the one who came to life. 

…

A fallen angel comes in various forms, some are entirely disgraced while others retain fragments of their celestial countenance. Yongbok, though deprived of his wings, did not lose his powers. He realized this when he instinctively healed the wounds on his back, the torn skin scarring in fleeting seconds. A small mercy bestowed upon him by Christopher, or so it seemed.

He will understand the reasons behind this act much later.

But for now, in his first breaths of humanity, when the echoes of his sobs have at last withdrawn from his being, leaving behind a lingering weariness, he is dealing with less stellar facets of his existence— the more mundane technicalities of it. 

“So, not to rub salt on the wound but I assume you also don’t have a place to stay in,” you ponder, waiting until he regains enough composure to grasp your words, ensuring they wouldn't float beyond his reach.

“No, I didn’t exactly prepare for this,” he winces, his gaze briefly meeting the scattered feathers on the ground. But not for too long, looking at them invited a grand sense of loss into his being, a sentiment too weighty for his fragile state to harbor. 

“You can stay at mine, and tomorrow we can start looking for a house for you?” you suggest, stretching out your tired limbs.

“You don’t… You don’t need to help me.”

Yongbok does need your help, you are the only human he knows and he is unfamiliar with how your kind acquire housing. And yet he finds himself at the crossroads between what his heart wants and what his tongue speaks of— ready to vehemently refuse your proposal to not inconvenience you, as if he’s a towering mountain poised to shoulder burdens when in reality, his being has never been this frail.

“You guarded me for five years,” you smile softly, effortlessly dispelling away his concerns like meaningless specks of dust. “It’s the least I could do.”

Stepping into your home was as familiar as walking into his own. He, unwittingly, memorized each nook and cranny of your place, a consequence of all the times he had lingered near— hovering, more accurately, above. So much so that he instinctively slips off his shoes and places them in your rack, mirroring the countless times he observed you perform the same task.

“So you really are my guardian angel,” you shudder quietly and he hums in questioning, turning to look at you, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you respond, perking up and adorning your lips with a swift smile. “Would you like something to eat?”

“I’m okay,” he whispers, attempting to shrink as much as possible in the confines of your place. He has never felt this much discomfort in his own body, as though the skin draped on his bones belonged to a stranger. 

“Well, I’m hungry so you’ll eat with me,” you say with a warm smile, putting your hair up in a quick bun before walking into the kitchen. You move seamlessly as if you are hosting a long-time friend rather than an angel you saved from possible hypothermia. 

“Buldak ramen?” you ask, hands resting on the counter.

“Sure,” he nods, settling atop the stool. 

He watches in silence as you bring the water to a boil, before pouring two servings of the instant noodles into it. You pause, thinking it over before adding two more. 

“How are you so nonchalant about this?” he blurts out, finally freeing the question that had been swirling and growing in his mind- an insatiable weed that needed to be plucked before it infested his brain completely.

“About having an angel in my house who was apparently cast away from the skies and has guarded me for the past five years without me knowing, and who somehow knows where my shoe closet is without me needing to share?” you ramble in one breath, the tightness in your chest palpable. “Yeah, I’m totally cool about that.”

“You’re totally not cool about that.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit sheepishly, settling on the stool before him. “I mean I am. A friend of mine met his guardian angel two years ago when he saved him from a horrible car accident. So, your existence does not freak me out, it’s common knowledge for us humans.” 

You bite your lip, averting your gaze from him to the painting adorning the wall above your couch—a bouquet of red roses where the petals seem dripping scarlet, resounding with passion and love, signed by H.

“It’s just… did you do something bad? For you to be left there alone?”

“Not bad,” he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. It suddenly seemed silly to explain to a human that he envied their humanity, the one thing most of them seem to despise. “I broke the rules by talking to you that night, then to another human, and I was punished for it. I think,” he adds hesitantly.

“Oh,” you gasp softly, redirecting your attention to the pot to turn off the heat. It makes breathing easier for him. “You think?” you echo.

“It’s what I wanted,” he whispers, a bit breathless, now frightened by this newfound reality. He kept his powers and yet he lost his wings— he cannot fly back to his home and yet he can conjure anything his mind wishes for. He is with the one human that sparked his fascination and yet he cannot stop thinking of the price Christopher mentioned. Thinking too much about any of these things brings tears back to his throat— his body yearning to produce a liquid it has never known before.

“So, I assume you’ve never watched Howl’s Moving Castle up there,” you abruptly shift the subject, a radiant smile gracing your face as you pour the ramen into two bowls, generously topping them off with cheese.

“No?” His response carries a hint of uncertainty, and a sudden wave of frustration washes over him for feeling so displaced in his own existence. Yet, you appear oblivious to the awkwardness emanating from him as you gasp enthusiastically, seizing the two bowls and making your way to the couch. 

“Oh, I think you’ll like it,” you beam, patting the spot next to you before taking the remote and queuing up the movie.

The meal tastes better than anything Yongbok has ever eaten in his life, each bite igniting his taste buds in a symphony of flavors, akin to the spark of a popping candy in his mouth. He finds himself engrossed in the movie, in the stunning visuals, the gentle hues, and the paradoxical characters, uncovering reflections of his own existence within them.

He has never understood the need humans felt for art, dedicating hours upon hours to creating something not for their personal gain, but for others to watch, to reach, to touch. A craft not to appease one’s soul but to soothe the spirits of others. Yet, as the movie’s credits come to an end, a subtle shift occurs within him. Perhaps, he thinks with his widely beating heart, he now understands a little more.

“I feel terrible like there is a weight on my chest,” you repeat one of Howl’s concluding lines, stealing a glance at him, a tender smile gracing your face. The one dialogue that felt like a mirror was brought up to Yongbok's face.

“A heart’s a heavy burden,” he completes Sophie’s response to Howl. 

“That’s true. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it,” you speak softly, as one would do to a child taking tentative steps into the world, learning that their first breath starts with grieving the only place you've known for nine months, followed by happiness, then sadness again, akin to the moon’s gradual phases. And maybe, in a way, he is a child lost in the overwhelming flood of these emotions, ones yet to be untangled in his mind but that already lay upon him like stones.

“Not everyone knows they have a heart, Yongbok. Some end up dying before ever feeling, without ever truly living.”  

“I just didn’t imagine it would be this… soul-crushing to bear it,” he admits softly, the words escaping him like a delicate secret. There's a hint of fear that accompanies his confession, an apprehension that Christopher might materialize before him, speaking in that calm, knowing tone—berating him with a simple “I told you so.”

“It’s a little organ facing a big life. It’s normal for it to be overwhelmed, don’t you think?” 

“Mm,” he hums in agreement, placing a trembling palm above his heart. Still as heavy. 

“You had a long night, get some rest, okay? We can start looking for a house tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he nods, as you rise from your place, only to reach for your wrist before fully thinking it through.  “Thank you,” he says sincerely. 

In the cracks of his heart, one seed of gratitude has been planted, a singular ray of light amid a stretch of darkness.

Finding a house turns out to be a strenuous task, and Yongbok feels remarkably disinterested in the discussions with every real estate agent you encounter. You play the role of his assistant, weaving a tale about an important businessman client who abruptly secured a job transfer to Seoul. However, he couldn't care less for the large windows ushering sunlight or the expansive patio offering picturesque views of Seoul. Instead, he focuses on your reactions to each room—the gasps of delight at spacious storage areas and the vacant rooms you dream of adorning in the future, once you're no longer a broke college student, as you explain.

You envision a room dedicated to your books, with a chair nestled in the middle for the long nights you spend reading, and another room designed as a painting studio. The expansive kitchens you visit are perfect for your baking endeavors, and Yongbok, perplexed by your fascination with fridges sporting two doors, finds amusement in your lively antics. Yet, a void persists within him, unfilled by the prospects of a shiny new home.

“Still not the one?” you ask on your third day of apartment hunting, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, we’ll find the perfect one soon,” you reassure, and in that moment, he thinks back to your very first conversation on the rooftop, wonders how you can find hope for everyone surrounding you but yourself. 

“I still can’t believe I befriended a nepo angel,” you giggle, before inching closer to him on the couch, peering at him from beneath your eyelashes. “My air fryer is broken by the way, can you replace it?”

He contemplates for a minute before shaking his head, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “No.”

“Aren’t you my guardian angel?”

“Right, a guardian angel. Not a bank.” 

“But if my air fryer isn’t replaced soon then I’ll keep using it even though all its electric wires are now exposed and a fire will break out and I’ll end up dying—”

“Fine,” he heaves a resigned sigh, “I’ll replace it.” 

“Can you also get me the Le Creuset kitchen set?” you grin, standing in your kitchen a few minutes later, cradling your brand-new air fryer between your arms.

“I'm not your sugar daddy.”

Your gasp is so comical that it coaxes a little giggle from his lips. “So you know about sugar daddies and not Studio Ghibli movies.”

“Gossip travels in our world too,” he shrugs, and you put the air fryer down, leaning closer to his face. From this proximity, he can discern the delicate curve of your eyelashes and the way they frame your glowing eyes—how can your eyes shine so brightly even under the shittiest kitchen lighting he’s ever seen?

"Hello? Did you hear me?" you wave a hand before his face, and he snaps back to reality, your voice flooding his senses again.

“Hm?”

“Never mind,” you shrug your hand dismissively in the air, “should we celebrate your third day of knowing me?”

“That's cause for celebration?” he frowns, and you playfully hit his arm. “I feed you, I clothe you, I put a roof above your head—” Your words are muffled as he clasps a hand over your mouth.

“Can you hear that?” he wonders.

You shake your head no.

“It's quiet, finally.”

His hand, a feeble barrier, does not manage to muffle your offended gasp, and in that moment, Yongbok laughs for the first time in his existence, a sound that ripples from the roots of his being, washing over his sadness and erasing it for a split second.

His eyes are closed as he tips his head back in laughter, and he misses the way your eyes soften, your retort withering at the tip of your tongue. 

He’s beautiful when he smiles, you think. You hope for all his powers he cannot hear your thoughts. 

…

Yongbok does not know what’s there to celebrate on his third day in this world, for all he had felt so far was excruciating sadness. But he complies with your wishes, rising at dawn to join you on the shore of the nearby ocean. Seated on the sand dampened by morning dewdrops, the remnants of melting snow resemble ink on a page not yet dry. 

He watches as the last threads of the night unfold before his eyes, leaving way to a mesmerizing palette of soft pinks and oranges, the sky blushing from a night spent with the moon.

You brought him to witness the sun rising above the ocean, said that it would help calm down the frenzy of his heart. You are quite right, since the rhythmic dance of the waves acts like a spell, unraveling the knot in his tongue and coaxing him to recount everything that has led him up to this moment, to you. You were the main reason for his journey, he did not see it fitting to conceal the truth from you. He did not know yet how to deceive or lie. 

“So you wanted to feel?” you conclude softly and Yongbok nods, eyes not peeling away from the sky before him. It looks grander from below, a vast ceiling you never fear might collapse on you.

“That’s why it overwhelmed you a lot, every emotion is heightened because it was the first time, I suppose” you muse. 

“Yeah, but does it ever lessen with time? Isn't that why you cry often?” he asks, now free of the bounds that once restricted his curiosity.

“Can you please not bring this up again?” you hide your face, and he tilts his head, a perplexed expression etched on his features.

“Why is that?”

“It's embarrassing that you saw me cry this much,” you mumble, your words nearly drowned out by the crashing waves.

“It's not embarrassing. It's... fascinating,” he asserts. You stare at him incredulously, prompting him to elaborate. “You go down the same path, fully aware of where it leads, and yet, you do it again on the off chance that you'll receive the same kindness you show.”

“I sound stupid,” you giggle, and he mirrors your smile, not to mimic you, but because the corners of his mouth yearn to curve upwards, refusing to leave you alone in your grin.

“No, you sound brave.”

Your eyes soften at his words, the light of the rising sun filtering easily through your irises, causing your pupils to widen with each passing second.

“Thank you.” 

A tranquil quiet settles between you, the soothing sound of the waves filling the silence. The sun hovers directly above the water now, perched on the horizon, the sky much bolder in the colors it showcases.

“I come here when my heart feels too heavy to bear. I suppose that looking at the sea calms me,” you murmur, your cheek pressed against your knee.

“Why is that?”

“For these waves to reach the shore, they go through a lot, you know? Storms and tumultuous roads, and rage fills them, anger, sadness too at being away from home for too long. But then, they always reach the shores at last. And they calm down, and they’re at peace.” 

You turn to look at him, the hues of the sunrise reflecting off your face, dancing with the shadows that mold your features.

You look beautiful, so much so that he almost misses what you say next.

“So it is comforting to know that no matter how grand my worries are, there will come a time when they too will grow tired and rest.”

“It will pass,” he whispers and you nod cheerfully. “See, you’re already getting the gist of it.” 

“No,” he contradicts, “everything I know about humanity is from you.”

The colors of the sky seem to seep through your face at his words, and an unfamiliar warmth spreads through his being at the thought of making you blush.

He licks his lips tentatively, bringing your hand to rest atop his heart, hoping that the pressure will help ease its tension.

It does, ever so slightly.

“It feels like my heart is squeezed between two narrow walls,” he explains and you nod in understanding.

“Like it’s been sucked through a straw that drains you out of life.”

“Yes,” He exhales with contentment at the thought of someone understanding what he means, of what he feels no longer being an anomaly, but the norm for most.

“Will you move in with me?” he suddenly asks, and you startle, your fingers growing limp in his hold. 

“What?” 

“Your apartment is shitty, you hate your landlord and I’m pretty sure there is mold growing on your walls.”

“Okay, no need to attack me,” you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“I’ll buy the apartment you wanted, it technically doesn’t cost me anything and it’s closer to your university too, you no longer have to commute. You can get the library you wanted and the painting space too.” 

“But—”

“I’m a fallen angel tasting humanity for the first time, I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m supposed to do. I haven’t looked in a mirror yet because I don’t know who I’ll find there. And I’m so scared, Y/n, so scared,” he confesses, breathless, his hand still pressing your palm against his erratic heart. 

A few seconds of heavy silence pass, Yongbok senses a resolve in you unfold. 

“And in return?” you ask tentatively. 

“I want to be happy,“ he breathes out, eyes flickering over yours like a swaying candlelight, “Could you show me how it’s done?”

Act 3. What’s an angel to a human?

“I want a better body, I want better skin, I wanna be perfect like all your other friends"- Black Friday, Tom Odell.

“So, happiness.” You stand near a blank whiteboard in the middle of your cramped living room, the one you just asked Yongbok to conjure out of thin air. 

You’ve been slightly abusing his ability to make your every wish materialize in a fleeting second, but only for useless things, like a bar of soap that smells specifically of these notes combinations you always thought would pair heavenly together (they did not), or a tube of salted caramel ice cream at 2 a.m. because you were too lazy to walk to the fridge (it was mere two meters away). Or just like now, a huge whiteboard so you’d explain to him, visually, how to achieve happiness. 

You told him that you’d only allow him to buy you a new house if he truly felt happy, for the very first time in his life. When he asked you how he’d know, you said he’d simply do, when the time comes. You shook hands on that promise two days ago. 

“Was this really necessary?” he questions, cocking an eyebrow at you. In response, you place your palms against your hips, eyes squinting at his dubious figure. 

“Do you want to be happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then, shut up.”

“I don’t think violence is the way to go about joy,” he quips and you quickly shut him up with a glare. Yongbok came to find that annoying you brought him a strange sense of satisfaction— he enjoyed seeing you pivot away, trying your best to conceal your amused smirk at his teasing. You always fail, or perhaps his perception of your being is heightened by the bond you share.

“I was saying, happiness is a byproduct of biological reactions.” You draw in a smiley face with utter concentration, and he stifles a giggle at the simplistic representation of the feeling. “There are four main hormones that allow us to feel happiness.” You pause, pointing your pen at him. “Yongbok, do you know which these are?”

“If I did know, why would I be here?” 

“True,” you nod vigorously, looking back at the whiteboard before locking eyes with him once more. “Can you please play along? I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” you smile excitedly, speaking in hushed tones as if it was meant to be a shared secret between you both, far from the reach of the angels and peers that must be looking down at you both right now— you in indifference, him in disdain.

He shudders at the thought. 

“Fine. No, I do not Miss,” his smile is small, it grows when your eyes soften at him playing along. “Care to explain?” 

“So, in theory, we have dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin.” You flip the board, revealing some intricate drawings of what looks like the human brain, different arrows going out of it, filled with many inscriptions that he assumes are definitions of the hormones you just revealed. 

“But all of this is…” you play the drums on the board, leaning forth in suspense. “Useless!” you shout, throwing your marker and eraser in the air. Yongbok claps diligently at your dramatics.

“You know for humans with limited amounts of time on this earth, you sure do love wasting your precious minutes,” he taunts and a fire seems to light in your eyes, flames surging higher each time you poke fun at one another.

“You know for an angel who desperately needs my help, you sure do talk a lot.” 

“Touché,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Please grace me with your special knowledge.” 

“Fine.” You plop down next to him on the couch, your knee bumping against his. A pang of ache flares in his being before disappearing as quickly as it came. It leaves him no time to decipher its cause.

“Happiness is the hardest thing to get in this life. Sometimes you follow all the instructions on how to be happy and yet fail to achieve it.” You speak with a lingering bitterness in your tone as if you’ve spent the best part of your life following defective manuals. 

“Happiness won’t come to you, Yongbok. It doesn’t come knocking on our doors. You’ll have to search for it. Especially on days when everything seems grim and dark, you’ll have to squint your eyes and find it in the small things all around you. And when you do, hold on to them with all your might. Even if your hand bleeds, you hold on just as tightly.”

“What small things?” he asks, turning his entire body towards you. He is almost breathless, waiting for you to spell out the secret to tasting life’s sweetest fruit.

“Things that remain gentle no matter what time does to you. Like looking at flowers, sitting underneath the sun, watching the sea, being kind and helping people, enjoying your favorite hobby… “ you enumerate, your eyes never leaving his. “Do you have a hobby?”

“No?” he replies, though it comes off more as a question. You pick up on his uncertainty, waving a hand quickly through the air.

“It’s okay. I’ll help you find one. I promise.” 

His response comes as easily as an autumn breeze. 

“Okay. I believe you.”

You beam at him, sunlight seemingly pouring into your pores, brightening your face from within. He finds it strange that he suddenly sees the sun in you, a star he has never taken an interest in. But he quickly brushes the thought aside, mirroring your grin.

“I was also thinking,” you add, “you should work with me at my café.” 

“Me?” he points at himself and you giggle, nodding. “Yes, you! Do you want to just sit here all day waiting for me to come home from uni?” 

“What? Who said I don’t want to be your trophy wife?”

You snort, bewildered. “A what?”

“I did a deep dive into Urban Dictionary yesterday.”

You blink once. Then twice. “Crazy words to hear from an angel. And it’s a no, to being my trophy wife.”

“Please?” he pushes, tugging at the outskirts of your sleeve. 

“No,” you sing-song, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “We needed a new barista anyway. And I’ll teach you how to make coffee. Also, I think you’ll enjoy people-watching.”

“That sounds creepy!” he shouts from the couch.  

“Says the guy who told me I cry an average of 160 times per year!”

“It’s 165, actually,” he corrects. 

You peek your head out of the kitchen, pointing a threatening finger at him. “Die.” 

“What happened to live laugh love?” 

“Just how much did you stay on Urban Dictionary?”

“A lot,” he shudders, shaking his head. You burst into uncontainable giggles, and the same satisfaction floods Yongbok’s being. Although this time it is much stronger.

It is a weird thought that suddenly brushes his mind— he thinks that if the sun ever spoke it would be your laugh spilling out of its mouth. 

… 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you grin, spreading your arms wide as you open the door to Haven Café. Yongbok follows closely behind, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black jeans.

“It’s nice,” he says absentmindedly, his eyes sweeping across every surface of the interior.

“Nice? This is my baby. Please be more expressive,” you retort, pointing a finger at him threateningly. He shakes his head, amused.

“This is the most beautiful place my fallen angel eyes have ever seen,” he says with mock reverence.

He isn’t lying, though. Resplendent flower vases adorn every corner, and a warm, inviting atmosphere permeates the space, evident in the comfortable auburn chairs and the books scattered on the sage shelves.

“I was actually wondering… What makes something beautiful?” he suddenly asks. You pause in your tracks, then resume opening the blinds.

“How it makes you feel,” you say simply. “Help me?” you add. Yongbok nods, sidling up to your side to open the remaining windows.

“This place is beautiful to me because it makes me feel at ease. I know that whatever happens, I can always escape here. Between the flower vases, the aroma of coffee, and the large windows, I feel good. At home,” you explain.

“But isn’t home your house?” he asks earnestly, tilting his head to the side. Your smile, warm and comforting, brushes over him like a fleeting sunbeam.

“Home is where you feel most like yourself.”

He does when you’re nearby. 

Does that make you my home? He wants to ask, but something inside stops him. He thinks it is too big of a confession to be uttered at the rise of dawn. 

“When did you start working here?” he asks, watching you refill the ice.

“Seven years ago.”

“Oh,” he gasps softly, suddenly remembering that he hasn’t known you your entire life. He wasn’t there to guard you through your childhood, to watch you stumble off the steps, or swing high to the sky. He realizes how little he knows about you. He suddenly aches to learn more, to know everything.

“The owner was our old neighbor, so when I was sixteen, he got me my first job here. I’m very attached to this place and its memories so I still come here.” 

“Memories,” he repeats to himself slowly, as if tentatively tasting the way the word feels on his tongue.

“What was that?” you ask, as you sweep the counter with a purple rug.

“It’s nice to have memories,” he smiles and you scrunch your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I have no memories. None worth getting attached to anyway because all my life was spent feeling the same way. So, in a way…” he pauses, licking his lips tentatively. “I have never lived anything that shaped me. Except for meeting you.” A few silent beats pass, and you feel as if he has more to say, so you remain quiet. 

Yongbok opens his mouth, only to close it again, deciding against speaking. Yet again, too early.

“It’s your first life, in a way,” you finally say, “there are all these unknown feelings that you are experiencing for the first time. It’s unfair to you if you expect yourself to figure it out from the get-go.” 

Your palm rests upon his back, swiping gently left and right before you move around the corner to filter the coffee. But Yongbok feels as if the clock orchestrating the universe has halted, the seconds freezing the moment your hand touched his back.

It is a heavy, gruesome knowledge that he bears— knowing that beneath your warm, comforting touch lies a map of butchered skin and scars running down his spine. His powers had fallen short of erasing the remnants of his lost wings, leaving behind clots of skin that starkly highlight all his imperfections in one place.

Yongbok had looked at his back only once, a fleeting glance before he vowed never to set eyes on his abomination again, this grotesque reminder clinging to him like skeletons overflowing from his closet.

He felt ugly, and worthless for carrying such a vivid reminder of who he once was. Who he failed to be. No one should ever see his back.

Especially not you.

“There are twenty minutes left until opening. Shall we discover what your favorite drink is?” you ask, snapping Yongbok out of his haze.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat with an inhuman effort. “That sounds nice.”

Yongbok doesn't like coffee—you could tell from the scrunch of his nose and the squint in his eye after one sip of his iced Americano. “Are you bad at making coffee, or does it always taste like this?” he asks, and you throw a dozen napkins at his head in response.

“People ask for me specifically to make their coffee. Know your place,” you squint threateningly. He raises his hands in surrender, biting his tongue cheekily. Your eyes linger a bit too long on his lips, shaped like a cupid’s bow, their arrow striking straight through your heart.

It sometimes astonishes you how pretty your guardian angel is, and how seemingly unaware he is of the beauty he carries within each one of his features, each worthy of paintings and sculptures to immortalize them for eternity to come.

“This is good,” he grins, sipping his caramel Frappuccino happily.

“Because it’s ninety percent sugar,” you smile just as brightly. He puts down the drink slowly, eyeing you curiously.

“Why do I feel as if this is a secret insult?”

“It’s not a secret insult. I’m doing it to your face,” you smile, and he rolls his eyes so much they almost reach the back of his head. You can’t help but giggle quietly as he grabs the vanilla matcha drink. “Wow I can’t believe the sassy men apocalypse affects angels as well,” you sigh.

“I literally have no idea what half of these words are.”

“What happened to Urban Dictionary?”

“Die.”

“Aww, look at you picking up my slang already,” you coo at him. 

It's his turn to fling balled-up napkins at your face. You dodge them perfectly as if in a dance you’ve rehearsed thousands of times before.

“Anyways,” you clap excitedly, “you have five minutes to make me a latte.”

“Me? But I don't know how to.”

You place a recipe book before him, tapping the counter diligently. “I expect the world’s tastiest latte.”

A small smirk draws upon his lips as he shakes his head slightly. The sight of him makes you flustered all of a sudden.

“Anything else, your majesty?”

“No,” you grin. “Have fun!”

You wander through the café, dusting the books on the shelves– your most prized possessions, ones that you bought and others that customers themselves have donated. You return to Yongbok’s side when his voice booms through the place, calling your name.

“Here,” he slings the drink toward you, and your face contorts in shock.

“What the fuck? Since when do you know how to do this?”

“Do what?”

“This intricate latte art?” you point to the foam forming a perfectly drawn white swan.

“Ah, this. One time you were in the kitchen, very frustrated because you couldn’t get this shape right. So, I did it for you.”

“Are all angels as sweet as you?” you grin, taking a sip of the drink and holding his gaze over the rim of the glass. His heart catches in his throat for two reasons—anticipation as he awaits your reaction, and hunger as he aches for you to describe him even more, to dress him in all the adjectives linked to his being so he wouldn’t feel like a stranger, a blank canvas in his own body.

“How is it?” he asks. You remain silent, taking another sip.

“Mm.”

“Mm?” he echoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s opening time!” you sing-song, walking away, and he follows behind you. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it that bad?”

“I don’t want to!” you speed up walking, and so does he. You end up running, skirting around the chairs, your laughter coating the room like golden honey. “Leave me alone!” 

“You have to tell me!” he shouts, chasing after you in an impromptu game of catch. He suddenly manages to grab your arm, spinning you around until your back is against the table, his arms on either side of your body. His eyes are suddenly drawn to the languid rise and fall of your chest, and then to the way your tongue slowly swipes across your lips, wetting them. 

A sudden warmth pools in his lower stomach, and he lets out a shuddered breath, his heart caught in a web of unknown feelings.

“Am I interrupting?” an unknown voice breaks in, and Yongbok quickly takes three hurried steps away from you, his cheeks ablaze as if flames are latching onto them—he doesn’t know if it’s from his embarrassment or from the golden specks he could decipher in your eyes.

“Mr. Kang!” you shout excitedly, skipping over to stand by the man’s side. He’s shorter than you, his back slightly hunched from time’s morphing hands, and his smile is warm as it lands on you. He reaches out to ruffle your hair in greeting before his gaze lands on Yongbok.

“Is this your friend?” he asks, the same smile still etched into his lips. You nod, and Yongbok bows deeply before straightening up.

“Can he make nice coffee?” Mr. Kang asks, and Yongbok stares at you expectantly.

“The best,” you finally grin, and a worried breath dissipates from his chest.

“I think we’ll get more clients too. He’s very handsome!”

“I know, you should see his freckles,” you giggle, pointing to a lightbulb that needs fixing on the other side of the café. Yongbok stays rooted in place, trying his best to steady his breathing. He is sure his face has turned the shade of the sky after a crimson sunset.

…

“This is Chris,” you say, standing by Yongbok’s side two hours later as he diligently wipes the counter. Yongbok follows your gaze to a young man nodding his head to the rhythm of his headphones. He looks serious, eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. His hair is hidden beneath a black cap, but a few strands escape, swooping like a duck’s tail.

“We take a music theory class together. He’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, a true social butterfly. I think the term was coined for him,” you explain. As if summoned by your words, Chris looks up, his eyes finding the two of you. He tilts his head in greeting, clicks a few keys on his laptop, then rises to join you.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he grins, and you roll your eyes. “When are you going to drop the cheesy nicknames?”

“Never,” he smiles, dimples deepening. They remain as his gaze shifts to Yongbok.

Yongbok isn’t used to smiles that don’t falter when they land on him.

“Hey, mate,” Chris says, extending his hand. Yongbok nods, shaking it.

“I’m Chris.”

“Yongbok.”

“Are you new here?”

“No, we just found him outside and forced him to make coffee,” you tease. Chris bumps your shoulder playfully. “Shut up. Good luck having to stand her for so long.”

“As if you aren’t obsessed with me,” you scoff, turning to Yongbok. “He refuses to drink coffee anywhere else.”

“Because you give me free sweets.”

“In this economy?” Mr. Kang appears suddenly, and the two of you burst into laughter at his timing. “Did your daughter teach you that?” you giggle, and he nods, almost desolate as if forced to acquire this knowledge.

“Anyway, we should hang out at one of my parties, Yongbok. Let’s catch up,” Chris grins before winking at you— “My usual, please, baby.”

You send him a playful middle finger. He blows you a kiss as he returns to his seat.

“We’ve known each other for three years now. He’s very annoying,” you smile, shaking your head. “But he’s a good friend.”

Yongbok feels something chip away in his heart, as his eyes land on Chan’s figure yet again. A slow ache swirls in his stomach like thorny vines. Time seems different for humans. He has known his fellow angels for much longer yet he doesn't think anyone would ever speak of him with this fond of a tone. 

---

“You did well,” you smile, patting Yongbok’s shoulder at the end of the day, the café as empty as it was at 6 a.m.

“Thank you, it was nice,” he replies with a tired, yet genuine smile. You nod, a slight yawn taking over you.

“Will you help me get some flour from the back? Then we can go home.”

Home. A concept that seems less foreign when you are near.

“Sure.”

“It’s there,” you point to a high shelf in the storage room. “We usually use a staircase, but we broke ours last month. I almost fell on my head— “

“But ended up magically walking away unscathed?” he interrupts. “I know.”

You slam a hand over your mouth, staggering back. “How?”

“Y/n... please don’t be surprised when I tell you this,” Yongbok frowns, placing a hand on his heart.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

“When I told you I was your guardian angel, it meant that I actually guarded you from harm’s way.”

“No,” you shake your head.

“I know,” he nods solemnly. “I’ve saved you from many, many clumsy falls.”

“My savior,” you giggle. “Lift me?” you say, and he nods, squatting down until you climb atop his shoulders before rising again.

“Okay, get a bit closer,” you instruct as you grab a packet of flour. “Shit, okay, this is heavy,” you giggle nervously.

“Why are you shaking? I’m the one carrying you,” Yongbok chuckles.

“When have you ever seen me around the vicinity of a gym?”

“Just hang in there, I’ll squat slowly,” he reassures.

Your feet are almost on the ground when the bag slips from your hands, falling with a resounding bang. Clouds of white envelop you both, shrouding your clothes in powder. You freeze, only to erupt into laughter as Yongbok grabs your waist, pulling you down to him.

“My god,” you manage to utter between chuckles, staring at the flour scattered all over the ground. Your laughter intensifies as Yongbok stares at you blankly, his face completely covered in white.

“What should I do?” you giggle, clutching your stomach. Yongbok can’t hold in his laughter much longer at the sight of the tears rolling down your cheeks. His giggles stream through your veins like a cup of hot tea, making your entire being warm up from within.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, your palms settling atop his cheeks, slightly wiping away the powder.

“It’s okay,” he chuckles still, swiping his knuckles across your cheek to remove the flour, as well. Your hands cease their movements as you take in the fully concentrated look on his face.

“Can I ask you something?” you inquire quietly, and he nods.

“You seemed quiet today,” you note. He stiffens slightly before turning your cheek to the left, wiping the other side of your face. “Or was I wrong?”

“I don’t really know how to talk to other people.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m scared they’ll be able to tell there is something abnormal about me.”

“Yongbok...” you speak his name softly as if it was molded after your voice alone. “That’s nonsense. There is nothing abnormal about you.”

He avoids your gaze, so you place your hand atop his, tilting your face to catch his eyes. “Hm?”

“Just because my wings aren’t here doesn’t mean my past is erased.”

“Who said it should be? No one’s asking you to be perfect. No human is, Yongbok.” He remains silent, so you sigh softly, inching closer to him.

“If a straight line goes on with its path...” your fingertip drags a straight line across his chest, the white shirt he’s wearing suddenly igniting from the warmth of your touch. “It will remain undisturbed for the rest of its life. But what good is that? If a line doesn’t go down,” you trace a curve down his shirt, then one up again, “how will it ever know how sweet a high is, right?” you smile, before bopping your fingertip across the tip of his nose.

“You have pretty freckles, by the way,” you smile, and he clears his throat, nodding furiously. “Thank you.”

“You know, the guy who ordered the matcha latte, he spent his entire time here observing you,” you grin knowingly, and he frowns. “Really? I didn’t notice.”

“Yes, and when you gave him the change, he did the... what was it called again?” you muse for a few seconds before clapping. “Ah, yes, the triangle method.”

“What’s that?”

“He looked into your left eye, then your right one,” you demonstrate with your gaze gliding across his like a skilled ice skater grazing the surface of ice. “Then... his gaze flickered to your lips,” your eyes follow your words, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat, an unknown feeling swelling in the pits of his stomach. Tender and aching all at once. 

“Did it work? Did I fluster you?” you giggle, leaning to place your ear atop his heart. Yongbok pushes your head away, grateful for the dim lighting that conceals his blushing face. He doesn’t know what emotion will burst into him if your head rests across his chest.

He doesn’t think his heart could handle it.

“No, you didn’t, um—” he’s flustered. He prays with all his might you can’t tell. “Let’s clean this up, I’m hungry.”

“What should we have for dinner?”

“Sushi?”

“No, let’s have kimbap.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

You shrug happily. “I’m giving you the illusion of choice.”

Your words send a chill running down his spine, his hands freezing in place. Is this what Chris has offered him? An illusion of choice. Of a different ending. Of a fate different from what he has always thought would be his.

No, Christopher can’t be that cruel, right? Yongbok shakes his head, cleaning the entire room with an absentminded swipe of his hand.

A fool made to believe he can change a prophecy.

But Yongbok can’t help the small voice growing in his head, feeding off his worries and anxiety, echoing mindlessly within his mind.

But he can.

He can.

He is.

…

Time passes differently on humans than on angels. It now marks Yongbok in different ways, too. 

The hours he spends feeling sad are excruciating, stretching long and long till he starts to question whether the sun does rise at the end of the night. Or if it is a cruel lie recounted by humans to make the sadness less harsh, easier to bear. 

But those same hours he spends happily pass within the blink of an eye, their fragments stitching into Yongbok’s memory, a tapestry woven with threads of your silky voice and glimmering eyes. It is those happy moments he lived for the past month that he wishes to remember. 

Only those. 

He's gotten better at latte art, taking pleasure in drawing different shapes, animals, and even faces into the drinks. It’s less the satisfaction of being good at a task, and more so the smile that blooms on the faces of whichever customer gets their drink. Delighted by something he did, for once.

He’s good at making brownies. And apparently, his brownies are the best you’ve ever had. He’s only ever discovered the joys of baking because you were craving some but were feeling too lazy to make them. It was arguably hard to bake in the dark, as if ashamed of what your reaction would be if you found him struggling with pots and browned butter. 

But all of his embarrassment dissipated when you tasted them first thing in the morning, your eyes lingering longer on his figure when you found the plate. 

Mr. Kang agrees, too, so much that he’s asked him to put up these brownies for sale. Yongbok spends a lot of time with the kitchen staff, where Mrs. Kang, the head chef, teaches him the intricacies of carrot cake and cinnamon rolls. She calls him “son”,  Yongbok doesn’t know why an urge to weep overtakes him each time he hears the nickname.

You took him on picnics across the Han River, bowls of steaming hot ramyeon in your hands as you watched the sunset, sometimes the sunrise too. He reads books lying on the grass field, your shoulder brushing against his own. He doesn’t know why he remembers the swipe of your skin against his, or the specific scent of your perfume as it intermingles with that of the salty river. 

Sometimes it is bike rides across the river. You chasing the sun and him chasing something else— was it your smile, your happiness, a glimpse of your face each time you turned back to look at him? He doesn’t know the exact answer, but he knows that when your gaze met his across your shoulder, the wind swaying your hair as if spelling out lullabies for his soul, something excruciatingly tender bloomed within his soul. 

Sometimes it is day trips to neighboring cities, where you can see the beach once again. Where he swims and floats atop the water. Where he closes his eyes and feels at peace, where the water chases off images of his pain and leaves only images of you. 

He also volunteered at your local food kitchen. The people who eat there have called him kind, too. He feels as if you sat the course of how he would be perceived when you described him as such, the very first night you spoke in. He likes being there. He likes talking to people, he’s gotten better at it, too. 

He met Chan, and his two friends, Han and Changbin. He doesn’t remember how he ended up singing ad-libs for their newest mixtape. But they complimented his voice, said it’s perfect for harmonizing. You had simply grinned as if you already knew that from the moment you had first heard him speak. You spent the rest of the night eating grilled meat and playing video games over at their dorm. Yongbok doesn't think he laughed as much as that day. 

And each time he thinks the heights of his happiness are attained, that this is as joyful as he can get. That sorrow will undoubtedly follow closely, as it lingers just around the corner, waiting for the cup of his happiness to be filled to the brim. You prove him wrong. You make him laugh harder. You broaden his heart for him to receive even more happiness. 

As you are doing now, missing every target to win this pink cat plushie in Lotte World. 

“This is embarrassing, how can you miss all of them?” he sighs amusedly and you turn around, pointing a finger at his face. 

“Because you are staring at me with your…” you stammer, waving your finger in front of his face, “eyes.”

“How am I supposed to look at you then?”

“Just don't. I don’t do well with scrutinizing.”

“Okay, I’m not looking.” he turns around, closing his eyes for a second, waving his hand discreetly through the air. He knows that your delighted scream will follow. 

“Did you get it?” he feigns being surprised as you shake his shoulder, turning him around. “I did!” 

Your smile is as wide as an ocean, as beautiful as the sunsets you take him to witness. He’s lost in thought as he takes in your grin. 

“You look so pretty, Yn,” he says honestly, earnestly, because it is the only way he has ever known to speak to you. “Pretty like the sun.” 

“Oh,” your excitement fizzles out, the plushie growing lump in your hold. “Doesn’t the sun burn the more you look at it?” you giggle nervously, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. They are rebellious, refusing to stay still, so Yongbok steps forward, gently doing it for you.

“Because the sun shines a bit too brightly to make sure everything else in the universe does.” he pauses, running his tongue across the expanse of his lips. “Just like you, with me and everyone else in your life,” he says. My light is a reflection of yours, is what you hear. 

“You are very honest,” you smile softly, bringing a hand to your ablaze cheeks, hoping to cool them down. 

“Is it a bad thing?” he asks. Nervous. You quickly shake your head, despising the thought of a negative emotion trapping his heart.

“No, no. It’s a good one. Truly.” 

“Okay.” 

“Should we go to the ferry wheel?” you suddenly ask, hugging the plushie closely to your body. 

“Yeah, sure, let’s go,” he grins. 

Yongbok’s limbs are slightly achy from all the rides you went on today, but nothing seems to deter the smile on his face, even as the line stretches for meters ahead. Nothing, except for the discomfort slowly growing on your face, your thumb tearing at the skin near your nails. 

“What’s wrong?” he questions, trying his best to catch your fleeting gaze. 

“There are too— too many people around, I feel a bit suffocated.” 

Yongbok doesn’t think, he simply grabs your hand and you are suddenly on the top of the ferry wheel, humans morphing into tiny ants to you from high above.

“Better?” he asks worriedly, tucking a strand of your hair behind the cuff of your ear. 

You’re still slightly dazed, but the wind that slams into your body feels like a gulp of cold water. 

“Your hands are shaking,” he notices, entwining your fingers with his, naturally, as if it is second nature for you both. “And they are cold. Are you dying?” he asks and you finally burst into giggles, shaking your head.

“No, I… I sometimes get anxious around people; it usually turns into a panic attack but I think you stopped it.”

“I helped you?” he asks, eyes softening and you nod. “Why are you surprised? you always do.”

Yongbok doesn’t know how to face the gentleness of your tone. It is a much harder opponent than the harshness he was subjected to. 

“Do they happen often?”

“It depends. They come and go like the seasons. I actually… I learned how to help you from my mom. Do you remember? back on the rooftop?”

“Really?” he asks, bringing your interlocked hands to his mouth and blowing warm air onto them. His lips almost graze your knuckles in the process. 

“Yeah. She got them frequently and she taught me how to ground her. And then I used those techniques on myself. Then on you.” you sigh, closing your eyes and tipping your head back. 

“Hers happened because of a past accident. She once got stuck in a mob of people and ended up fainting. it was my dad who pulled her up from the ground, it’s how they met, actually,” you grin slightly, before breathing in slowly.

“You know, I read that you can inherit trauma from your parents, but also from generations past. That  it changes the genetic structure of your mind. I wonder if that’s what triggers me.” 

“That's fascinating to think about. How emotions and experiences can be inherited.” 

“I know,” you smile, “I think it passed.” you gesture to your interlocked hands and he lets go promptly, staring ahead at the twinkling city lights, light pink dusting his cheeks. He’s embarrassed because he enjoyed the feel of your palm against his so much, maybe too much, enough to wish for your line palms to meld into one another. Becoming two indiscernible scriptures to the naked eye. 

“Wait. Does this mean we didn't need to wait all day for the rides?” you suddenly ask and he nods. 

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I don't… I don't like using my powers a lot around you.”

“Why is that?” 

“I'm scared that the more I use them the more you'll realize that I'm a fallen angel and that you have no business talking to someone like me.”

“You are very silly, you know that right?” you sigh, placing your cheek atop his shoulder. Yongbok’s world stops spinning right there and then. “I don't feel as lonely anymore now that you’re here. Angel,, human, or something else entirely… None of that matters to me.

To me, you’re just Yongbok.”

the question trickles suddenly into his being, tiptoes inside him gently like a droplet finding its way back to a waterfall— what is the grandest thing the universe has to offer?

To him you’re it. 

“I think I'm happy right now.”

“You think?” 

“I don't know how to describe it… But it feels like I have a little sun in my chest. It glows and it’s warm.” 

You tilt your head back to look at him, a wide smile on your face. He finds his answer in the sunset that filtrates through the strands of your hair, the last sun rays of the day coating your face in a warm glow, as if it was made to make your features shine the most, to make the shadows in your face look like a sculpture. 

“Yeah,” he says after a few silent beats, “I really am happy.”

“Does this mean we are moving?” you giggle, spreading your arms wide as if taking in the entire universe into your chest.

“Yeah, wherever you want us to.” His words are soft, resolute, draped with a gentle discovery— he followed you down to earth, he’d follow you everywhere in it.

…

“I don't know how I'll explain to people how I suddenly afforded this apartment,” you smile, hands on your hips, as you take in your new surroundings. 

Yongbok moves to stand directly behind you, his chest almost brushing against yours. you feel your heart palpitate at his proximity— so close yet so out of reach, simultaneously.

“Just say you moved in with me”

“Mm, I’ll say we are childhood friends and you just moved to the city.”

“Friends? Is that what we are now?” he grins, the light from the tinted windows bathing his features in a kaleidoscope of colors. He’s so beautiful, You you suddenly wish for a change to what you are. you don’t know by what exactly. But something, anything that will allow you to appreciate, venerate his beauty fully.

“Well, we aren’t strangers anymore.”

“I think you are my first real friend,” he says, a bit shyly, pink filling up the spaces between his tan freckles. 

Yongbok always speaks what’s in his mind, with this air of innocence tainting his words as if he doesn’t know that thoughts can be kept to himself. 

You never mind it. Though it churns your insides, makes you experience this particular attachment to him. You want to orbit around him, hear what he thinks of everything, of the colors it seems he experiences for the first time, the food he tastes, and the humans he speaks to.

And most importantly, you. 

You yearn to know everything he thinks of you. You don’t allow yourself to decipher where this need is coming from. You don’t think you’d be able to handle its consequences. 

“You’re lucky I'm like… The best human to ever walk on this earth,” you grin, throwing your hair over your shoulder and onto his face. He squints his eye to chase away strands of your hair.

“The humblest too,” he says, his eyes drifting across the living room. You chose an apartment on the smaller side, as opposed to his unlimited budget. But he likes what you did to the place. He doesn’t quite understand the intricacies of home decor, but he likes the plants everywhere, the flickering candles, and the fragrant flowers bathed in dim lightning. 

And he loves your painting room the most, with a neat library on the side. It feels like taking a walk straight into your heart. 

“Who painted that, by the way?” he suddenly asks, pointing to the painting in the middle of the room, right above the beige couch. 

“Hwang Hyunjin. It took me four paychecks to be able to afford it, three years ago. His pieces are now much more expensive.”

“Hyunjin…” he repeats, tasting the name on his tongue, it is familiar, and the memory suddenly hits him once again. “Oh, I talked to him before.”

“Did you?!” you ask excitedly, grabbing his arm and shaking it slightly. “Where, when, how?”

“At a bar, before I became... half human?” he says, unsure a bit of what he is now. “He actually invited me to his upcoming exposition. When was it again?”

“Today!” you nearly yell and he flinches.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I've been following his news. He's really my favorite artist.”

“Should we go?” 

“Actually?”

“Yeah. you seem to really like him.”

“Oh my god, I’m meeting Hwang Hyunjin. oh my god, I need a dress,” you grab his hand, pulling him away. “We need a dress!”

“We?”

“Let’s go shopping, we need to buy…”

Your words fizzle out in his brain, his whole focus on your entwined fingers as you push him through the room. Your palm feels like a soft petal brushing against his bruised skin. 

If he freezes time, just for a bit more, to enjoy the feel of your hand in his, would anyone blame him? 

The earth would understand surely— the desperate need to appreciate softness when all he has known is thorns pricking his skin.

...

“Yongbok!” Hyunjin's boisterous voice echoes through the art gallery, drawing every eye to you and Yongbok as you stride inside. Yongbok barely has a moment to take in the lavish surroundings before Hyunjin walks toward you, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the white marble.

“I knew you’d come!” he grins, grabbing Yongbok’s hand between his two large palms, shaking it warmly. 

“I didn’t think you’d remember me.” 

“Of course I'd remember you,” Hyunjin says, his face darkening for a fleeting second, before his eyes rest on you. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Hyunjin,” he smiles, grabbing your hand and shaking it a bit more softly. 

“Yn. I’m a big admirer of your work, truly.”

Yongbok’s eyes soften at your excitement— they don’t leave your figure when he tells Hyunjin that you have a piece of his hanging in the living room.

“Really?” Hyunjin’s face brightens up at the news, “which one?”

“The red roses in the vase. It’s one of my favorites.”

“That was in my beginnings,” Hyunjin muses, a hint of nostalgia tinting his words. “I put a lot of love in it.” 

“I can tell, the colors especially scream of passion.”

“Are you one for passionate love?”

“Is love truly love if it is devoid of passion?” you ask, tilting your head. Hyunjin’s eyes linger on Yongbok for a moment before turning back to you.

“Excellent! Please choose whichever artwork you prefer; it will be my gift.”

“Really?” you beam, brighter than Yongbok has ever seen you before. The sun suddenly perishes within him.

“Of course. The prettiest artwork for the prettiest girl,” Hyunjin winks smoothly, before patting Yongbok’s shoulder. “Shall I give you a tour?”

Yongbok’s voice is withered as it floods his ears— “Please.”

…

Yongbok’s eyes are fixated on the red liquid swirling around his glass. He fears that if his gaze deserts the wine he’s drinking then it would inevitably drift to you and Hyunjin, giggling together, like long-time friends. Or is it lovers? The lines blur so easily for humans.

He had feigned an ache in his legs, telling you that he’d sit down while you go on with the tour. You had placed a hand on his arm, a worried crease in your eyebrows. “Okay?” you asked. Comforting, warm. It is the adjectives that always come to his mind when he thinks of you with him. 

But you aren’t his to describe. His to be kind with. His. 

So, he hummed, a tight smile drawn on his face. 

It’s not that he despised Hyunjin’s artwork. On the contrary, Hyunjin is a skilled artist, he can see why he’s reaping the fruits he sowed years ago. And yet, what disturbs him is something silly, stupid, too feeble for an angel, a human even, to care for.

He doesn’t like how your laugh travels around the gallery, how you fell so easily into conversation with Hyunjin, talking about your shared interest in art. He won’t ever have a passion of years to talk to you about. How could he when his existence merely spans over three months?

Yongbok is shrinking more and more, till he becomes a single dot of paint on the painting in the very far end of the gallery. Forgotten, dim before all the others. How can he dream to compare if he doesn’t know who he is? If his memories of life don’t even contain the four seasons, pausing in winter, barely brushing against spring.

When his torn skin doesn’t bear blemishes from falls years ago, while riding the bicycle, while playing with other kids, proof of a childhood well spent. No, his scars are that of one stripped from his roots, cast into an unknown world, punished, ridiculed. 

He’s unworthy of being an angel, unworthy of being human, unworthy of being in your company. Why are you wasting time with someone like him, who’d only pull you down, someone who needs instructions to understand how to carry his heart? 

The thoughts play out in his head, again and again, on your ride back home. You are happy, radiating even at the thought of a painting delivered by Hyunjin himself, your favorite artist, sitting in your home. His skin ricochets off your happiness, morphs it into anger and bitterness, all directed at himself.

He hates Hyunjin. He doesn't. He hates Hyunjin with you. He wants you to be happy with him alone. Isn’t he horrible for wishing to strip you away from happiness? 

Horrible.

Horrible.

Abomination. 

“Can you help me take off my necklace?” you knock on his bedroom a few minutes after you arrive, walking in to find him sitting on his bed, deep in thought. 

He startles at your presence, backing away even more into the wall. You frown at the tumult you perceive in his eyes. 

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I said,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “Please, get out.” 

He can’t bear looking at you. He can’t bear you looking at him. What will you see? Someone poisoned by jealousy, whose insides are collapsing on themselves, whose body rejects his bruised soul, over and over again. 

Where else is he supposed to flee? If he sheds this skin, which one would finally accept him whole? 

“What’s wrong? you’ve been quiet all night, avoiding my gaze. Did something happen that upset you?”

He’s panicking, on the verge of combusting into tears. How would he explain this hatred coursing through his veins at the thought of being perceived? By your kind, beautiful beautiful eyes, nonetheless. 

“I really–“ a pause, “ I really don’t want to see you right now.”

You falter, your hand curling tighter against the doorknob.

“Because each time I do, I– I see you with Hyunjin, and I feel as if flames are burning inside my lungs, choking me.” 

“What?” 

“And I hate- hate how I… look how I exist right now. So please, leave, I don't want you to see me.” 

You hesitate for a few seconds, rooted in place. 

And then you close the door. 

You are inside. 

“Talk to me, what is it you’re feeling?” you speak softly, your voice cautious, none of the things he’s used to. It angers him all of the sudden. 

“This is exactly what I hate. You are wasting your time helping me decipher my feelings, you are pitying me. Can't you see how burdensome I am?”

You shake your head, taking a step forward. 

“I don’t, I like it, I… I love helping you, I love seeing the world through your eyes again. It feels like I'm learning new things every day thanks to you and I—“

“I’m an ABOMINATION,” he yells, the walls seem to shake from the voracity of his voice. “From the moment I was created, I have been nothing but anomalous, I… I don't belong anywhere, who was I kidding by coming here?” he tears at his hair slightly, now pacing back and forth in front of you. “Did I really think that feeling would suddenly fix the void within me? that talking to humans would make me normal–“ 

“Yongbok!” you cut him off, no longer capable of bearing the sound of his shaky voice. “Please you are not listening to me!”

“No, you are not listening to me! Look! Look at how ugly I am, look!” he turns around, taking off his white shirt, exposing his butchered back to you. “Look at everything that haunts me, please look at it, hate me and leave.” 

He pleads, naked and vulnerable before your eyes. He waits for you to deliver the killing blow, to cement the horrible thoughts he bears for his body. 

If it is your voice speaking of how worthless he is then he’d believe it more. 

A pin-drop silence coats the room. Yongbok believes you somewhat vanished from existence. 

And then. Your lips on his back, brushing across the plane of his shoulder in the softest, faintest manner. He almost thinks he’s imagining it, imagining you kissing his scarred skin as if it is a delicate petal, worthy of care. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of love. 

“Is this what you hate about yourself?” you whisper, your knuckles grazing his scars. “Why are you so mean to your body, Yongbok?” your voice shakes. Hot tears pool in his eyes at the sound of it. “ Didn’t it scab its best to keep you alive?”

“You are such an idiot,” you breathe out quietly, your warm palms settling atop his waist. “I won't hate you for this. How could I hate you for this?” 

Yongbok is dizzy, drunk off your voice and the way your touch makes goosebumps ripple across his skin. “How could I hate you when all I see is resilience?” Your lips brush against his back, the faintest kisses peppered down his spine. “When all I see is what kept you alive?” 

Yongbok’s blood has spilled into the first snow of Seoul, what feels like a lifetime ago. But somewhat, it is underneath the caress of your hands that he has felt most exposed.

“So, I am thankful for your scars,” another tender kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. “Otherwise, you would have bled on the snow and I wouldn't have known you. And it’s a horrible horrible thing for me to imagine.” 

Your chin nestles across the plane of his shoulder, your hands wrap delicately around his chest. Can you feel his heart beating wildly? Can you hear it spelling out your name? 

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Yongbok. Haven't you been through enough, already?”

It isn’t the thoughts in Yongbok’s head that finally make him breakdown. It is rather the feeling of your chest pressed to his back, your cheek resting across his shoulder, you hugging him for the very first time in existence, you enclosing him in a cocoon of safety the way his wings used to.  

“I’m here. you can cry all you want,” you reassure, soft and comforting. His grief for his wings suddenly seem too far out of reach, the safety of his feathers paling before the safety of you. 

Yongbok doesn’t think as he spins around, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You respond swiftly, bringing his body even closer to yours, running your hand comfortingly along his spine. 

He doesn’t mind your fingers grazing his scars, he doesn’t chase off your touch. On the contrary, he craves it, his cells calling out your name, thanking you for all the love you’re giving him. He wishes he could glue himself to you, crawl inside your veins, build himself a nest between the web of your nerves. He doesnt think he could ever survive mourning you. 

“Please— please don’t leave me,” he begs, lost in waves of uncertainty, he thinks that if he holds you tightly you won’t ever disappear from his hands, trickling between his fingers like grains of sand. 

“Don't be silly,” tears fall down your eyes too, landing on his back like dripping wax. You attempt to steady your voice but it still shakes like rattling branches. “Where would I go?”

“What if they take you away from me?”

A flash of white clouds Yongbok’s vision, the cold returns to his body tenfold. He blinks repeatedly, and then he finds himself atop an abandoned rooftop. The blood runs cold in his veins, his heart pausing in his chest as he hears heavy footsteps approaching. Did he place a curse atop himself? Did his worst fear come true as soon as he spoke of it? 

Are you gone?

Oh God, are you gone?

“Yongbok,” a familiar voice speaks, and life resumes its course inside his feeble body.

“Seungmin,” he speaks the name in relief, a breathtaking smile blooming on his face. He sees the scrunch in Seungmin’s eyebrows relax ever so slightly, before a placid look drapes across his face again.

“Why did you do it?” Seungmin asks and Yongbok’s grin falters. 

“Did they send you?” he asks, a hint of apprehension filling his words.

“No, I came to bring you back.”

“What?”

“I will fly you back and you will kneel before them and apologize. And you will vow to never speak to humans again, and it will be forgotten.”

“I don't want to.”

“Why are you— “Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “they are humans,” he says the words in disdain, as if looking down at them from atop an unreachable altar. 

“I know they are.” 

“They are weak. Driven by things they cannot touch or see.”

“And I love them for it.”

Seungmin frowns. “You’re defending them.” 

“Seungmin,” he sighs tiredly, “why are you doing this?”

“Because I'm trying to help you. This, emotions, feelings, love. It isn't worth the pain they will end up causing you.”

Yongbok scoffs loudly, angrily. “What do you know about love?”

“You think you are special? You think you’re the first angel to go through this? I loved someone too Yongbok!'' Seungmin yells, taking him completely by surprise. “And they had him get in a car accident to punish me for it. I still hear the screeching tires; I still see his skull fracturing against the ground. I had to beg— beg for them to rewind the seconds and bring him back to life. And all for what?” he scoffs, grabbing Yongbok’s shoulders and shaking them. “You are on cloud nine because this is something new for you, you think that those humans would ever accept you? But you are wrong! Tell me, what’s an angel to a human?”

The shout that leaves Yongbok’s throat is a foreign one to his being. “That doesn't matter to me!” he yells, pushing away his hands. “Look me in the eyes, ask me, what’s a human to an angel? I’ll tell you it’s everything. Everything if it’s her.” 

“This will ruin you. They will kill you, Yongbok. She will be your demise.”

“I’d rather die by her hands than live by yours.”

“What if she ends up dying by your hands?” Seungmin speaks calmly, coldly. Yongbok feels the ground give up beneath his feet. “What if in the process of hurting you they end up hurting her, what will you do then?”

“I… they won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don't love her.”

“Who said anything about love?” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head. He looks almost desolate, somewhat that terrifies Yongbok even more. “You have your answer, I fear they have theirs too.”

Seungmin walks away, pauses, before turning back once more. He hesitates to speak, and in the seconds of silence that ensue, Yongbok discovers how terribly heavy fear is to bear. 

“I’m sorry, Yongbok.”

His tongue is heavy as it moves to ask— “what for?” 

“For the things yet to come.” 

[queenshelby]

ONE SHOT: THE CASTING COUCH

PART ONE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES

NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction

PAIRING: CILLIAN MURPHY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: DUB-CON, BLACKMAIL, LOSS OF VIRGINITY

"Thank you for coming over Cillian, and for helping me out with my rehearsals," you said after opening the door for him. You hesitated, your eyes glancing at the untidy mess strewn around, hoping he wouldn't notice how disorganized you were. You were still young and inexperienced when it came to acting and life in general and had recently finished filming your first movie under Cillian's guidance.

"No problem, Y/N," Cillian replied smoothly, stepping inside your apartment with a confident swagger. "I was looking forward to it," he told you and you nodded silently, forcing out a smile.

"Great! Well, let me just clear up a bit of space here," you murmured, quickly moving clutter off your couch and onto the floor.

You noticed that Cillian took note of this odd behavior, raising an eyebrow curiously. His gaze lingered on your body, taking in every curve and line.

"You know you've got a lot of competition to get this role," he stated matter-of-factly. It sounded like advice rather than a threat, but there was something strange about his tone.

"I know," you mumbled back, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes, Cillian," you told him and he smiled, the corners of his lips quirking upwards slightly. 

"Whatever it takes, huh?" Cillian mused thoughtfully, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and you could feel your skin tingle beneath his fingers.

"Yeah, I really want this part," you admitted quietly, meeting his gaze directly with your big eyes. There was something magnetic and yet uneasy about his presence, drawing you in despite your better judgment.

"Well, I can help you with that," Cillian offered with a knowing grin. "But I need something in return," he added, his voice dropping low to a husky whisper.

You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of trepidation wash over you. "What do you mean by that?" you asked innocently, squirming under his steady gaze. 

"Come on Y/N, you are a smart girl, aren't you?" Cillian asked with a playful smirk. "I am sure you know what I want," he continued, running his fingers through your soft hair.

Your heart raced in your chest as you struggled to find the right words. "Look, Cillian, I appreciate you giving me this opportunity, but I don't think I can go there," you finally managed to say.

His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing your resolve. "You know that roles like these don't come along often, especially when you're starting out in this business," he explained coolly. "It's all about connections. And trust me," Cillian said, his voice dropping even lower—a soft purr against your ear, "I have plenty of those." 

"I will touch you, down there, if you like, but I won't sleep with you. I never had sex before, so..." You hesitated, unsure how to express yourself. Your voice trembled as you tried to maintain composure. "I mean, I am not ready and..." you suggested cautiously.

Cillian's gaze intensified, locking onto yours as he interrupted you mid-sentence. 

"Y/N, I want to fuck you properly," Cillian explained calmly, watching your reaction carefully. "You either take it or leave it," he whispered softly, leaning closer. "But if you want to have this role, then you'll have to make some sacrifices."

The air between you felt thick and heavy, charged with an electric tension neither of you dared to confront. Cillian was older, far more experienced in both acting and life, but there was something that made you feel uneasy about his request, despite your attraction towards him.

"But I have never done anything like this before," you insisted feebly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not ready," you pleaded, clinging onto hope that he would relent.

"I didn't ask if you were ready," Cillian retorted sharply, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I asked if you wanted the role," he reminded you coldly, crossing his arms defensively.

"Yes, I do," you agreed hurriedly, eager to appease him.

"Good, then we understand each other," Cillian said confidently, stepping closer. "Now I will try to make this as comfortable for you as I possible can," he promised, his voice low and soothing. "Take off your clothes," he then commanded abruptly, staring intently at you.

You hesitated, biting your lip nervously. The silence hung heavily between you two, making your palms sweat. But the prospect of achieving your dream outweighed any doubts or fears you may have had. So without further hesitation, you began undressing, shedding layer after layer until only your panties remained.

Cillian watched your transformation with rapt attention, his gaze lingering on your exposed flesh. His eyes gleamed with lustful desire, sending shivers down your spine.

You stood naked before him, completely vulnerable, as he appraised your curves and lines.

"Such a beautiful young woman," he muttered, admiring your form. "You're perfect for this role and many others, if you play your cards right."

He stepped closer, reaching out to trace a finger along your collarbone. You flinched slightly, bracing yourself for what was to come.

"Relax, darling," he cooed, his voice deepening. "I will be gentle with you."

He placed a strong hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently backwards until you reached the edge of your study desk, the wood now pressing into your lower back. 

You felt nervous, his proximity threatening to overwhelm you.

"Just relax, Y/N," he reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to your anxious nerves. "We're going to take things slow, okay?" He reached down and scooped you up in his arms, placing you delicately upon the desk. Your knees wobbled with uncertainty, but you forced yourself to stay upright.

Cillian stepped away, leaving you in nothing but your panties. His eyes trailed over your entire body, scrutinizing your vulnerability.

"Sit up straight," he instructed firmly, reaching out to adjust your posture. You complied obediently, clutching the tabletop tightly.

"Don't worry," he consoled you, his voice calm and collected. "This will hurt a little, but everything will be fine." You looked doubtful, swallowing a lump in your throat. But you knew you couldn't turn back now.

As he moved closer, you saw his eyes sparkle mischievously. "Lets take a look at this little virgin hole of yours, shall we?" Cillian murmured, trailing a finger along your inner thigh. You instinctively jerked away, causing him to chuckle.

"No need to be shy, love," he teased, reaching out again to stroke your knee. You didn't respond, instead opting to close your eyes, focusing on breathing deeply.

"Alright, alright," Cillian sighed, removing his hand. "Why don't you lay back for me, baby?" Cillian says, his voice thick with seduction. 

You gulp, your palms sweating profusely now. The anticipation builds within you, and fear mixed with excitement dances across your veins. Despite the situation, you can't deny the urge to surrender to Cillian's will. To submit completely to his desires. After all, you remind yourself, this is your ticket to stardom.

"Are you sure about this?" Cillian asks, concern etching his features. "You know I would never force you, Y/N."

"I know," you reply weakly, mustering a thin smile. "It's just that I-- I've never, uh, I am nervous," you murmured. 

"I know," Cillian murmurs, reaching out to cup your cheek before running his fingers over your stomach, stopping again at the hem of your cotton panties. 

Hooking his fingers into the hem, Cillian pulled them downwards, exposing your most intimate area to his hungry gaze.

A groan escaped him as he stared hungrily at your swollen pussy, nestled between smooth thighs. "So fucking gorgeous," he breathed reverently, reaching out to trace your slit delicately.

"And so small," he chuckled, his fingertip circling your entrance. "But don't worry, I will manage to work my cock into you, baby," he assured you, his tone laced with confidence. Your breath hitched, the anticipation mounting within you. "You see, I've been waiting for this moment ever since I laid eyes on you," he confessed, stroking your cheek lovingly. Your heart pounded in your chest, the thrill of being desired by such an experienced man overwhelming you. "In fact, I've fantasized about you countless times," he whispered, leaning in closer.

"My cock is already throbbing with anticipation, imagining your tight pussy wrapped around it." He ran a finger down your belly, tracing the path it would soon follow. 

Cillian then reached for the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a condom, which he placed onto the desk beside you before unbuckling his belt.

He then slid his pants down, revealing an impressive erection, rock-hard and ready for action. 

Leaking pre-cum, it stood tall and proud, a testament to his arousal. You couldn't help but stare at it, mesmerized and concerned all at the same time. 

"I don't know..." you started to stammer, but Cillian put a finger against your lips.

"Shh," he hushed. "It will only hurt for a moment. I promise," he told you as he picked up the condom and opened the wrapper.

As he rolled it onto his throbbing member, you couldn't help but glance at that massive erection standing erect, a symbol of raw masculinity. It seemed almost intimidating and you closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of this situation. You knew what was expected of you, but somehow the reality of submitting to Cillian scared you.

"Open your legs for me, sweetheart," Cillian said softly, interrupting your thoughts. He reached out to pull you open, spreading your bare thighs apart to reveal your moistened folds. You whimpered, arching your back involuntarily as he touched you. 

"You've got a tight little hole, haven't you?" he commented casually, brushing aside your tears with callous indifference. "It's good though—it means you're going to feel every inch of me," he added.

"Just relax, Y/N," he urged you once more, positioning himself between your legs. You shut your eyes some more, concentrating on slowing your racing heartbeat when you felt the head of his cock press against your wetness.

"I'm going to enter you now, baby," he murmured before slowly pushing the tip of his cock inside you. You gasped loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as the burning sensation spread throughout your body.

"Ssh, it's alright. Just let me in," Cillian murmured. You let out a yelp as he pushed harder, your eyes widening in shock as he stretched you. 

"You're doing great," Cillian encouraged you, easing the head of his cock deeper into you while looking down in between your bodies, enjoying the sight of his cock slowly opening you up.

"The head is in," he whispered triumphantly, watching the initial resistance crumble before the persistent pressure of his manhood. "Now, I'm about to stretch you out some more," he warned, the anticipation building with every word.

You writhed helplessly on the desk, your eyes squeezed shut, your grip tightening on the wooden surface beneath you.

"Just breathe," Cillian comforted you, his fingers caressing your cheek. "It's going to burn for a second, but it'll pass," he promised, his tone soothing.

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his shaft sliding inside you as he inched forward. Each thrust drove deeper, stretching you wider. The pain was intense, but you bit your lip to hold back your groans. 

"That's it, baby," he praised. "You're doing great. Just a few more inches and I'll be fully inside you," he told you, his eyes locked on yours. "Can you feel it? My cock stretching you wider with each push," he whispered, his voice sending chills down your spine. "That's right, baby," he encouraged you, watching as the muscles of your vagina contracted around his shaft. "Just a little more," he growled, his movements becoming more forceful.

His cock felt huge inside you, filling you up entirely as he took your innocence, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"You feel so good," he moaned, his cock twitching in response to your tightness. "I could cum right now," he groaned, grinding his hips against yours before pulling out abruptly. "But I want to enjoy this for a little longer. Turn around," Cillian demanded, reaching out to spin you around on the desk.

"I want to fuck you from behind," he said before thrusting his length back into you. "Spread your legs wider," he ordered, and you did as he asked, your cheeks reddening from embarrassment as he increased his pace. 

Cillian's cock throbbed inside you, filling you up completely. He withdrew a little, teasing you with shallow thrusts. "Mmm," he moaned approvingly, running his hands up and down your body. "You're so hot like this," he whispered, pulling on your nipples roughly while watching his cock plunge in and out of your swollen pussy. "I can tell you're getting used to me," he observed, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, impaling you on his erection. "Getting tighter, too," he noted, grinning wickedly. "It's like you're trying to squeeze me," he joked, bucking his hips wildly until he was balls-deep inside you.

"Fuck!" he shouted, his cock throbbing painfully. "I might cum too quick," he muttered, grabbing your waist tightly.

"I've been thinking about this for so long," he confessed, his breath hot and heavy in your ear.

"Such a good girl," he rasped, thrusting deeper into you. "Tighter than I imagined," he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips. "I bet you're going to be a real star one day," he praised, slamming into you harder. "This isn't going to be easy, Y/N," he warned, his voice strained. "But I've got faith in you," he said, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust before pulling out abruptly and ordering you onto your knees. 

"You are going to swallow my load now, baby," he barked, your ears ringing with the harsh command. "If you want to become a star, that is," he added ominously, pulling off the condom and then holding his cock firmly in his fist while he guided it toward your mouth.

"Oh no, please," you begged, shaking your head in protest.

"Open up," Cillian ordered sternly, guiding your jaw wide while aiming his cock at your mouth. He then shoved his cock into your mouth, gagging you instantly.

"Good girl," he said gruffly, his fingers gripping your chin tightly. You whimpered, unable to speak as he fucked your mouth mercilessly.

"I am going to pour my seed right down your throat now," he ordered, his voice muffled by your gag reflex as he started to groan loudly. "Here it comes," he announced, his cock swelling and pulsing with pleasure as he released his load directly into your mouth.

You gagged inadvertently, your eyes watering from the sudden influx of semen as you swallowed his essence and, going by the sounds he made, he was clearly pleased by your efforts.

"That's good. Drink my seed," he grunted, withdrawing his cock from your mouth. "Swallow it all down," he ordered, watching you struggle to catch your breath.

"Fucking fantastic," he then complimented, patting your head affectionately. "There's a good girl," he cooed, handing you a wad of tissues to clean off before pulling up his pants. 

"Now, we start shooting next week," he informed you, checking his watch. "You did well, but I really got to run," he grinned, kissing your forehead lightly. "I'll text you our schedule tomorrow," he confirmed before saying his farewell. 

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #8

The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.

"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."

"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."

"You own a sedan?"

"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."

Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.

Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.

"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."

Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.

"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"

Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"

"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.

"Get to it then," she demands.

Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.

"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."

Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.

"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."

Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"

"Thank you."

"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'

"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."

Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.

"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"

"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."

"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.

"So what can you tell me?"

"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."

"But he's not."

"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."

"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.

"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.

"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"

"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"

"You're being more sarcastic than usual."

"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."

[totaly-obsessed]

Big Shoes to fill

Leah Williamson x reader request

pt. 1 here

-> Leah invites her struggling sister to live with her in London, where they support each other through healing and new friendships.

-> A very late pt.2. Please let me know what you think of it! If ya'll are interested I could make a pt.3 of reader meeting the team.

-> Just tagging you guys because you asked for a pt.2 in the comments of pt.1: @the-nameless-queen, @the-hottest-avenger-loves-soccer, @abcdefghijklmmopkrstuvwxyz

-> also a very big thank you to @alotofpockets and @greynatomy who read over it for me and helped with ideas - much love!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Leah sat there, stunned by the weight of her sister's words. She had always known that things weren't easy for you, but she never imagined the extent of the struggles you faced. The guilt of not being there for her little sister when she needed her the most washed over the footballer like a tidal wave.

"I'm so sorry, Bug," Leah whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea you were going through all of this alone."

You shrugged, trying to downplay the situation, ignoring the shame that showed in the redness of your face. "It's okay, Lee. I didn't want to burden you with my problems."

Leah shook her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "No, it's not okay. I should have been there for you. I should have noticed. I'm supposed to be your big sister, for God's sake."

You reached out and took Leah's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're here now, that's what matters."

Leah sniffled, trying to compose herself. "I promise, things are going to change. I'll talk to Mom and Dad, and we'll figure this out together."

You managed a small smile, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time in a long while. "Thanks, Lee. "I appreciate it."

Leah pulled you into a tight hug, holding onto you as if she never wanted to let go. "I love you, Bug. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

And in that moment, as the rain continued to fall outside, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn't have to face them alone. With Leah by your side, you felt stronger than ever before. And together, you were ready to take on whatever life threw your way.

When she was back in London and your parents were home again,  Leah couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that weighed heavily on her shoulders. She knew she couldn't let her sister continue to struggle alone, not when she finally understood the depth of your pain. After numerous conversations with her parents, Leah made a decision.

"Bug, I want you to come live with me in London," Leah said one evening when you were staying with her after watching an Arsenal game, her voice filled with determination.

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such a sudden idea. "But what about Mom and Dad? Won't they be worried?"

Leah shook her head. "They understand, they want what's best for you, and right now, that means being with someone who can support you fully."

A mixture of emotions washed over you, uncertainty mingled with relief. The thought of leaving your childhood home was daunting, but the prospect of starting fresh in a new environment with your sister by your side was undeniably appealing.

"I don't know, Leah. What about your life here? Your career?" you asked, concerned about uprooting your sister's life for your sake.

Leah smiled reassuringly. "My career doesn’t need to stop. You're my family, and family comes first. Plus, I could use some company in this big old house of mine."

Unbeknownst to you, she actually wasn’t all that alone in her house, a certain brunette spent most of her time there as well.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the depth of Leah's love and sacrifice for you. "Thank you, Leah. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Leah pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you close. "You'll never have to find out, Bug. We're in this together."

And so, with the support of your parents and the unwavering love of your sister, you packed your bags and prepared to embark on a new chapter in London. As you looked out the window of the car, watching the familiar scenery of your hometown fade into the distance, you felt a sense of excitement and anticipation for the adventures that lay ahead with your sister by your side.

Things were finally looking up.

—

Leah steered her car through the familiar streets of London, eventually turning onto a quieter road lined with rows of cozy houses. The neighborhood exuded a sense of tranquility, a stark contrast to the bustling city center. As Leah parked the car in the driveway of her quaint home, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you.

Stepping out of the car, you stretched your limbs and took in the familiar surroundings. Leah's house, though not extravagant, emanated a sense of warmth and comfort that immediately put you at ease. The exterior was adorned with climbing ivy and cheerful flower beds, adding a touch of charm to the neighborhood.

With your bags in hand, you followed Leah up the front steps and through the front door. The air inside was filled with the comforting scent of your sister and well-loved furniture that you remember from her old room. The living room greeted you with plush couches arranged around a cozy fireplace, inviting you to sink into their embrace.

It’s surprisingly tidy here, but you could make out two empty cups on the coffee table, an arsenal sweatshirt with a 13 on it, and so many sneakers by the door, that they couldn’t just be Leah’s.

"Here we are," Leah said, turning to you with a smile. "Home sweet home."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of gratitude for the familiar surroundings. "It's perfect, Leah. Thank you for inviting me."

Leah's smile widened as she led you through the house, showing you to your temporary room. The space was simple but inviting, with a comfortable bed and a large window overlooking the lush backyard. Of course, a little goal was set up. Was this even Leah’s home if there was no goal?

—

The first day with Leah was a whirlwind of emotions and new experiences. As you woke up in her cozy home, sunlight filtering through the curtains, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the warmth and comfort of your surroundings. This felt more like home than the place you had grown up in.

Downstairs, Leah greeted you with a warm smile and a hearty breakfast (the only thing she was confidently able to make), eager to show you around her neighborhood and introduce you to her favorite spots. Together, you explored the quaint streets, stopping to chat with neighbors and browse through local shops before getting a snack in a quaint little café.

With a “Lia always takes the croissant, they’re good.”, you had been convinced easily enough. And the Swiss was correct, the croissants were indeed very good.

Throughout the day, Leah made sure you felt right at home, regaling you with stories from her own adventures in the city and sharing her favorite memories of growing up together. With each passing hour, you felt more and more at ease in your sister’s company, grateful for her unwavering support and understanding.

As the day drew to a close, you found yourself curled up on the couch with Leah, sipping hot tea and sharing laughs over stories of her teammates. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and love of your sister, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

But it would not be life if things didn't get worse again.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself slipping deeper into the shadows of your own mind. Despite Leah's best efforts to create a loving and supportive environment, the wounds from your past continued to fester, leaving you feeling lost and alone.

Trauma and abandonment issues weighed heavily on your soul, casting a dark shadow over even the brightest moments you shared with your sister. The memories of being ostracized and bullied at school haunted you, triggering waves of anxiety and self-doubt that seemed impossible to overcome.

Leah watched with a heavy heart as you retreated further into yourself, the light in your eyes dimming with each passing day. She tried to offer words of comfort and encouragement, but they seemed to fall on deaf ears, lost in the endless void of your pain.

It hurts to see you suffer, not knowing how to help. So she chose to confront you after talking to Lia in depth about it, not knowing what to do. She ended up seeking a conversation on how to change things, on how to help you. Together, you found a therapist who specializes in childhood trauma and abandonment issues, hoping that they could provide you with the support and guidance you so desperately needed.

As you began your journey towards healing, your sister remained by your side every step of the way, offering a steady hand to hold onto in the darkest of times. Slowly but surely, you started to unravel the tangled web of emotions that had ensnared your heart, finding solace in the love and support of your family.

—

When the new school year started you were deemed well enough to start at the new school. Leah had asked if you wanted to do online school instead, but both your therapist and you didn’t think that to be a good idea. 

The transition to a new school was daunting and filled with uncertainty and anxiety. You couldn't shake the memories of past experiences, the taunts and jeers of classmates echoing in your mind like a cruel refrain. But as you stepped into the halls of your new school, you were met with a surprising kindness that took you off guard.

The kids here were different. They didn't make fun of you or hurl insults your way. Instead, they greeted you with smiles and open arms, eager to welcome you into their midst. It was a stark contrast to the hostile environment you had grown accustomed to, and it filled you with a sense of relief and gratitude.

As time went by, you found yourself slowly but surely coming out of your shell, emboldened by the kindness and acceptance of your peers. You made new friends, shared laughs, and discovered a sense of belonging that you had never known before.

Leah watched with pride as you flourished in your new environment, her heart swelling with joy at the sight of your radiant smile. She knew that the road ahead would still be challenging, filled with ups and downs, but she also knew that you were strong enough to face whatever came your way.

When one day you came home telling her all about two new girls you met, she was so ecstatic that she couldn’t help but cry about it to the Swiss brunette who had a permanent spot at your dinner table. The blonde had refrained from taking you to training as of now, leaving you space to breathe and be alone. With that you couldn’t just call Kyra and Alessia your friends and call it a day, you needed your own.

—

After spending weeks bonding with Charlie and Mia, you couldn't wait to introduce them to your sister Leah. One afternoon, you invited them over to Leah's house for a casual hangout, eager to share your newfound friendships with her.

As Charlie and Mia arrived at Leah's doorstep, you greeted them with a smile and led them inside. Leah welcomed them warmly, offering snacks (that you had made) and drinks as the four of you settled into the cozy living room. They wanted to get to know the sister you couldn’t shut up about.

You watched nervously as Charlie and Mia chatted with Leah, hoping that they would hit it off. To your relief, the conversation flowed easily, with laughter filling the room as they exchanged stories and shared jokes.

"So, how did you two meet?" your sister asked, her eyes flickering between them.

Charlie, a vibrant and outgoing girl, grinned and began the story. "Well, Mia and I actually met in our science class. We were paired up for a project, and the rest is history."

Mia nodded, chiming in, "Yeah, Charlie swooped in to save the day when I accidentally mixed up my chemicals. She's been my lab partner and best friend ever since."

Leah chuckled, nodding in understanding. "It sounds like you two make a great team."

You couldn't help but jump in, eager to share your own thoughts. "They really do. Charlie and Mia have been amazing friends to me since I started at this new school."

Leah's eyes softened as she turned her attention to you. "That's wonderful to hear, Bug. I'm so glad you've found some great friends."

You nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for your sister's support, and thanks to your therapy, you were not afraid to tell them. "Yeah, they've been really supportive. And it's nice to have them here with you."

Leah smiled, her gaze shifting between the three of you. "Well, you're all welcome here anytime. It's nice to see you so happy, Bug."

—

A couple of days later Leah came home from training to you making dinner in the kitchen. Instead of sitting down or waiting she stood in the doorway joking about your apron. Conversation in the middle of doing something was always the best.

As the conversation flowed effortlessly among you, Leah's eyes sparkled with an idea. "You know, Bug, my teammates have been asking about you. They've heard so much about my little sister and they're dying to meet you."

Your heart skipped a beat at Leah's suggestion. Meeting Leah's teammates felt like a significant step, a symbol of how far you'd come since arriving in London. The thought both excited and intimidated you.

Leah must have noticed the mix of emotions flickering across your face because she quickly added, "But only if you're comfortable with it. I don't want to pressure you into anything."

She knew that you had talked to most of them before. But it had always been brief and at the side of the pitch, signing a shirt for you and taking a picture. Aside from Lia, who had been at the house just the evening prior.

You took a moment to consider Leah's offer, the warmth of her support comforting you. With a newfound sense of confidence, you nodded eagerly. "I'd love to meet them, Leah. It sounds like fun."

Leah's smile widened, and she reached out to squeeze your hand. "Great! I'll arrange a get-together with the team. I know they'll love you just as much as I do."

Meeting her teammates felt like the next natural step in your journey of growth and self-discovery, and you were ready to embrace it with open arms.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 1 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Your Step Father would like to introduce you into high society but you're required to take lessons to learn how to play the part and from your instructor's perspective it seems like you have a lot of catching up to do. Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Explicit Language, not really anything else at this point lol a/n: Planning on turning this into a short series so please let me know what you think <3 p.s. this is horribly edited and was written in one sitting lol

"Why do I have to suffer the consequences of the decisions you made for this family?" I say chasing after my mother as she walks down the main hallway in our new home. "Y/n becoming a debutant is not a consequence" she says, making her way into the main living room.

"To me it is" I complain, dreading this entire ordeal already. "The whole process only lasts about a year so-" "A year? You expect me to be parade around in pretty dresses and entertain people I have absolutely no interest in just because you decided to marry a rich man? Yeah, no I'm not doing it" I say, watching as she takes a seat on the couch waiting for me to tell her my grievances, knowing that I won't back down easily. 

"It's not a huge commitment I promise. You'll have etiquette lessons twice a week, go to a fitting every once in a while and take dance lessons once a week. I'm sure you can sacrifice a few hours out of your week for this. "Your father wa-" "Step father" I cut her off, making my stance on the man known. "Your step father wants to introduce you as his daughter and the best way to do so would be having you come out at a debutant ball" she explains hoping to show me their reasoning behind it. "Oh I'm straight so don't worry I won't be needing a coming out event or anything like that" I say teasing her. 

"Very funny" she says clearly unamused, "I would really appreciate it if you just did this for us, and if you don't want to do it for us then do it for you, for your future. Do you know how pivotal this moment could be for you? A lot of important people go to these balls so if you want to make a name for yourself in this city then that's a great place to start" she says hoping to entice me, showing how this could benefit me as well. "Just think about it, okay?" she says standing up to leave the room and placing a hand on my shoulder as a sign of reassurance, leaving me conflicted. 

A few days later at the breakfast table I finally decide to give them my answer. "Um, dad" I say hoping to get his attention. "Yes honey?" he says putting down the newspaper that he had just been flipping through. "I think I want to go through with the whole debutant thing if you still wanted me to" I say playing with my sleeve, still unsure of the choice I've made but I guess theres no going back now. "That's great! I'll contact the agency and get all of your lessons set up straight away" he says quickly texting his assistant, asking them to get things set in motion.

"Would you prefer private lessons or would you like to take them with some of the other girls that are preparing to come out as well?" he questions, still looking down at his phone. "Oh it's okay don't worry about getting her pri-" "Private lessons would be great" I say cutting my mom off. The less interactions I can have with these spoiled rich kids, the better. I send her a tight lipped smile, telling her to back off before I change my mind and she does just that. 

"Alright, I have Matthew working on it now so we could probably get everything set up by the time your classes end. You finish up at four right?" he asks, catching me off guard, "You know my class schedule?" I question. "Of course I do! What kind of father would I be if I didn't pay attention to my daughter's academics?" he says, giving me a warm smile before taking one last sip of his coffee, standing up to go. 

"I've gotta head off, love you" he says giving my mother a quick peck and then coming over to me to give me a kiss on the top of my head. "Have a good day you two" he says to us as his final adieu, heading out to where his driver is waiting for him. "Thank you" my mother says, happy with the effort I'm putting into assimilating our family. "I'm doing this for you guys, but I'm also doing this for me like you had said, I guess I'll just have to suffer through it for the next year" I say, already questioning myself. 

"I promise you won't regret it!" she reassures me, reaching out for my hand across the table and I mirror her action. 'I sure hope not' I say to myself and give her a pained smile before leaving to head off to class. 

"You're what?" my friend Jesse say, not believing a word I just said. "I'm gonna start taking lessons to become a debutante" I say, repeating myself, hoping he'll just take in the information so we can move past it. "So you're blowing me off so you can go to Barbie school?" he says, still in disbelief. "It's not Barbie school" I say rolling my eyes at him before sitting down at the table we usually hang out at during our breaks. 

"Aren't they going to be dressing you up and making you all girly so you can go to tea parties and balls?" he questions, sitting across from me. "Yes..." I say trailing off not being able to prove him wrong. "Barbie school" he says satisfied with himself, taking a bite out of the apple he had just bought for dramatic affect. "Whatever" I say crossing my arms across my chest. "So when do you start?" he asks, suddenly curious about the topic. "Matthew sent me a text with the address I'm supposed to go to for my first etiquette lesson so I guess I'll be headed there after class. 

"And Matthew is...?" he questions, "My dad's assistant, I've told you this like five times already" I say rolling my eyes at him. "I'm sorry okay, there have been a lot of changes in your life and brand new characters added to the cast so it's hard to keep it all straight" he explains. "Name one other person besides Matthew that I've told you about" I say with a raised brow, curious as to who these 'new characters' might be. "Your step dad" he says proudly, not elaborating further. 

"Anyone else?" I ask, rolling my eyes at the cop out answer he gave me and he decides to sit in silence after putting little to no thought into anyone else I might've told him about. "Do you even know his name?" I scoff, feigning irritation. "Scott? No Thomas!" he says confident in his second answer. "It's James" I say standing up and grabbing my stuff so I can walk towards my next class. 

"I'm sorry, you know I have shit memory" he says throwing his arm around my shoulder after catching up to me, having only been a few steps behind. "I know" I shake my head laughing it off, "It's funny how clueless you are sometimes" I say, shrugging his arm off of me. "Hey!" he whines, semi offended. "It's okay though, I still love you" I say waving him off as we part in different directions and blowing a kiss at him which he bats off to the side, rejecting my love. "Later loser" he says and we head off to our respective classes.

After the lecture is finally over my professor calls me to the front. "Yes?" I question, waiting for what he has to tell me. "I read your paper last night" he starts, "I'm sorry Professor I had some other assignments due at the same time so I wasn't able to put in as much effort as I wanted to" I confess feeling guilty about putting that assignment on the back burner. "Well I was actually going to tell you that I was rather impressed with it" he says looking up at me from his seated position at his desk, fixing his glasses. 

"Really?" I question, surprised that it was good enough for him to even single out. "I wanted to ask if you would be interested in participating in this writing contest at the end of next month" he proposes and hands me the flyer showing all of the details. "You really think my writing is good enough?" I question, not even having considered signing up for something like this. "I wouldn't be speaking to you about it if I didn't think it was" he says laughing at my reactions. 

"This would be amazing thank you!" I say starting to skim through the details real quick. "You can take that with you if you'd like" he offers and at that I nod in thanks and say my goodbyes before walking out and heading out towards my car. 

"Now where exactly is this place?" I ask myself aloud, pulling up the text I got and putting the address into my gps. "45 minutes?" I say in astonishment, now slightly panicked seeing that even if I leave now I'll still be 10 minutes late. "What the hell Matthew?" I curse and put my seatbelt on, speeding out of the parking lot and down the street, praying that I'll be able to somehow shave a few minutes off the eta to make it in time.

"Punctuality is one of the most important aspects of proper etiquette" I hear the man say to me with his back turned as I walk into the area of his home he has dedicated to these lessons. "I'm very sorry I did not realize how far these lessons would be in relation to my University" I apologize hating that I've already made a bad impression which has clearly started us off on the wrong foot. 

"Proper planning is also something you must consider to be able to maintain a certain sense of decorum before arriving to your intended destination" he says still with his back to me. "I apologize again Mr. Jeon it won't happen again" I say using what I hope is the proper way he would like to be addressed. "See that it doesn't" he says finally turning around to face me. I nod my head in acknowledgement and he gives me a sour look showing he's displeased with my response. 

"One must verbally respond to properly communicate with one another" he says, placing his hands behind his back and interlocking his fingers while walking towards me and stalking around me like a predator sizing up his prey. "Understood" I respond and once he finally comes back around facing me he looks me up and down one last time before uttering another word. 

"For your next lesson be sure to come in a dress or skirt that sits at the knee as well as stockings and heels of some sort and a blouse of course to pair with the skirt. If one wants to act like a lady, one must dress like a lady" he says and turns away to grab something in the corner of the room. "Noted" I say under my breath already exasperated, "What was that?" he questions looking over his shoulder at me, sorting through a few books to bring over. "Understood Mr. Jeon" I say, trying to play along and follow his rules.

"Seeing as we need to start from the very beginnings of the art of etiquette I need you to read these books by this time next week" he says handing me five very large books weighing my arms down and requiring me to stumble back to regain my balance. "All of them in a week? That's almost a book a day!" I say surprised by the workload I've been given after not even starting the actual lesson yet.

"I was not aware of the fact I would be required to teach you everything from the very start so let's just say we both have a lot of work to do" he says and motions towards a place I can set my purse down along with my five new headaches for this next week.

"Take a seat here please" he now motions to a chair that he has placed in the middle of the room waiting for me to do as he says. I walk up cautiously and take a seat, sitting on it like I normally would, knowing that he's meant to critique how I sit to change it. "Sit up straight, roll your shoulders back" he says taking in my posture at all angles while I follow along with his orders. "Loosen the tension in your back and shoulders" he says placing his hands on my shoulders from behind making me tense up even more from the unexpected contact. 

"You've done the opposite of what I've asked you to" he says and I can hear how fed up with me he continues to be. "You startled me, I didn't realize you were going to do that" I say under my breath but loud enough for him to hear. "One must never mumble or talk back to anyone no matter the circumstances. Especially aimed to or in front of an authority figure" he says and walks back around to face me again. "So you see yourself as an authority figure to me?" I question, curious to see what his answer might be.

"I see myself as someone who deserves your respect and obedience" he says and tilts my chin up with his pointer finger maintaining purposeful eye contact. "And you will treat me as such". 

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[gothgleek]

"You , you love it how I move you

you love it how I touch you my one. When all is said and done, you'll believe god is a woman"

billy loomis x Reader fluff

(the song lyrics are from god is a woman Ariana grande)

Note: Hi! Sorry for the late response, it took a while to hear writers block. The god worship and the fluff is a little toned down than what you’re probably expecting but I think it came out short and sweet. At least, this is what I’d like from a slasher lol

Notes: Rated PG-13 for offscreen death, everything else is cute and sweet.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

You raised your head at the sound of knocking on your window to find Billy Loomis smiling at you from the other side of the glass.

“Hey,” Billy greeted as if it was totally normal to enter a home through the second story window.

“Hey,” You laughed and pulled him through. “What are you doing here?”

“There was a horror movie marathon and I started to think of you,” He started, walking around your bed room, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“That’s flattering,” You said with a smirk and your hands on your hips. Billy chuckled at your pose.

“It is flattering. It was a Japanese film. I can’t recall the title,” Billy stopped in front of a map with various pins marking places you wanted to visit. Billy had spent hours listening to you talk about all the places you wanted to see after graduation.

Unlike the rest of your classmates, Billy listened to you talk about the architecture and culture of these countries. As the two of you grew closer, you even taught him some dance steps from some of the countries you wanted to visit. Billy wasn’t super graceful but he liked the way you smiled at him when he made an effort. Billy even started to get excited about going with you. He rented foreign movies for your date nights, even if he couldn’t understand most of the dialogue. Since the video rental was pretty limited with foreign movies, the two of you would often rewatch them and make out during the boring scenes.

“Anyway, it was a Japanese film and I thought about all the places you wanted to go to after graduation. Senegal, Spain, Brazil, France, Egypt… Japan.” He turned to face you with a small smile.

“And you started to miss me?” You teased lightly.

He nodded, his hands shifting around his pockets. “I did. I thought about all the places you wanted to see and how much I wanted to see them with you.”

“Then I remembered how Mr. Bateman wouldn’t give you the A you needed for your parents to approve your summer abroad.” Your bright face faltered a little as you gave Billy a confused look. He drove all the way here to remind you of this?

“And as nice as it was to have you cry on my shoulder, I hated seeing you upset.” Billy walked to you and tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. “You are too important to me to ever make you upset. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you are always smiling.”

Billy pulled out one of his hands holding a kitchen cloth. He held it out to you and you gently unwrapped it. You let out a gasp when you saw the blood soaked knife.

“You’ll get that A now baby,” Billy smiled at you and pulled out his other hand. Two plane tickets to Tokyo dated for the day after graduation. You covered your hands with your mouth as you gasped. “And we'll travel the world together.”

Your eyes were filled with tears of happiness. You didn’t think anyone would have ever done something like this. “Billy I don’t know what to say-“

“Don’t say anything babe,” Billy said with a relieved smile. “I promised I will do anything I can to make you happy. Mr. Bateman was just a sacrifice I made to make sure you are happy.”

You pulled him close so you could kiss him hard. You hoped he could feel every bit of love and warmth you could give him, grateful for him.

“It’s you and me forever baby, don’t you ever forget that.”

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

congrats on 450!! I've just gotten back into my star wars hyperfixation, tis the season I suppose, and your fics have been LIFE SAVERS and so I am here to congratulate you on an incredibly well earned celebration! and to request:

7. "you're not as bad as everyone says."

28. "maybe there's a universe your there where we're friends."

with either Wolfe or Cody x fem/gender neutral (whichever you prefer)?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!! <3

Awww @hxad-ovxr-hxart that's so sweet. I'm so glad my fics have helped. That makes me so happy, and I hope you'll like the fic. I wrote with Wolffe in mind. Enjoy.

Love oo,

Friends

Warnings: Crashing, angst, death, fluff, comfort, I think that's it. If I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Commander Wolffe was never a man who suffered fools, he didn’t appreciate tardiness, he hated chit chat, and worst of all he hated personal questions. And somehow you managed to do all four on your first day on the Triumphant, which made you public enemy number one in Wolffe’s book. 

Every day you saw him, he simply rolled his eyes and growled each time you passed. 

You tried your best to fix it, but no matter what you did or said, it didn’t make a difference. You gave up after months of constant growls and eye rolls. Now you simply made a point to arrive on time for your shift as a communication specialist. You performed your role to the best of your ability, and did your best to stay out of his way. 

Things were going well, that was until your shuttle crashed, and the two of you were the only survivors. 

“Anything broken?” Wolffe asked after he checked on the two pilots and made his way over to you.

You shook your head, “No. I think …” you tested out each of your limbs, “I think I’m alright” you groaned as you tried to stand.

“Easy. Here,” he held out his hand to help you up, “alright?”

You nodded and followed him out of the crashed gunship, “Hmm… where are we?” You looked around trying to become aware of your surroundings.

“We dropped out of hyperspace somewhere in between, the Triumphant and our destination. Don’t worry they’ll come for us, I sent out a distress beacon.”

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“A day or two… maybe a week.” He went into the ship, and grabbed the emergency gear, passing one backpack to you and keeping one himself. 

“Are we going somewhere?”

“To a more defensible position, we don’t wanna be out here in case there’s Separatist droids nearby or in case there are any dangerous animals.”

You nodded and followed him, keeping pace as best you could. It was about three hours later, when you were panting and gasping for breath, “Wait … Commander, please I … I need a break.” You leaned against a boulder. 

“Alright …” Wolffe nodded, “take a break, we can rest for a minute.”

You nodded, thanking him, as you took a break, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’re a civilian. You’re not used to this.”

You looked up at him as you regained your breath and took a sip of water, “You know, you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

Wolffe, let out a laugh, “And how bad does everyone say I am?”

“That you have a short temper, you don’t suffer fools, you don’t like civilians really…”

He turned to look at you, “Really?” You simply nodded your answer, “I wouldn’t say I don’t like civilians, I’d say … civilians don’t appreciate the sacrifices me and my brothers make.”

“I know” you answered solemnly, “I’ve heard them, when I walk around Coruscant. I’m sorry. It’s not right or fair.”

“My life has never been really fair. But, thank you.”

You stood brushing off your pants, “I’m good, we can continue.”

Wolffe simply nodded as he led the way to a cave that would provide the right shelter, he set up a defensive perimeter, while you started a fire, when you were finished he came and sat beside you nodding at your achievement. 

“Good job, didn’t think civilians knew how to start a fire”

“Well I did take basic survival training, when I first joined the GAR.”

“Impressive.” He took off his helmet and his gloves, keeping the comm alert on high in case the rescue team was trying to get a hold of them.

“Commander” you looked into the fire, lost in thought, “Do you think maybe there's a universe out there where we're friends?”

“I don’t know” Wolffe answered as he kept his own gaze on the fire, “but I can tell you, you gained a friend today.” He smirked as he looked at you, “Listen, I don’t know what I ever did to make you think I hate you, civvie. But I don’t. I am actually impressed by you. It’s not easy joining the GAR to begin with, not as a civilian, certainly not as a woman, but you continue to work harder than everyone else. You’re prompt with your reports and always pleasant with your co-workers. I’ve heard nothing but praise from everyone you work with, and even today, you put up with a lot, with barely a complaint. That’s impressive.”

You tried to hide the smile that wanted to creep on to your face, “Thank you, Commander.”

“Wolffe.”

“I’m sorry?”

“When it’s just us, you can call me Wolffe. After all, we’re friends, right?”

“That’s right … Wolffe.”

He didn’t know why but hearing you say his name, brought a smile to his lips. “Close your eyes and try to sleep” he motioned to the ground, “I’ll keep watch. You’ll be safe.”

You nodded and leaned down against the ground resting your head on the backpack, wrapping the emergency blanket around you to stay warm. “Wolffe, do you think someone got our distress signal?”

“Don’t worry civvie, Plo’buir isn’t about to leave us behind.” He looked after you and smiled, “Just relax, and close your eyes. It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, closing your eyes, “Thank you, Wolffe”

“For?”

“For being my friend,” your voice trailed off as the exhaustion from the crash, the hike, and just the anxiety of the day pulled you under. Soon enough you were snoring. 

Wolffe smiled as he watched you sleep, his heart fluttering as he took in your features. He always wondered why you had kept your distance from him, but to think you thought he hated you, made his heart hurt. It was so far from the truth. However, it was too soon to point that out. Instead, for now, he’d be your friend, and hope that in the future, your friendship could progress to something more. Maybe one day. 

“Goodnight, cyar’ika. Sweet dreams.” He whispered as he put his helmet back on and kept his blaster on his lap, keeping guard, making it his job to protect you. 

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[sparrowrye]

New Story Reveal

Happy Sunday my little devils! Here’s another delicious update — be sure to read the very bottom

—————————-

The Archivist - Alastor x Reader

In a world ravaged by natural disasters and societal collapse, a devoted Archivist safeguards the ancient texts of her ancestors, determined to keep them out of dangerous hands. But her quiet sanctuary is shattered when the infamous Radio Demon discovers the location of her sanctuary. With a vision to reshape Humanity's future bigger and better than before, he’s eager to unlock the secrets within her books. But there’s one catch: he can’t read them.

What begins as a battle of wills turns into something far more dangerous and complex, as Alastor demands translations which she fiercely refuses. As an even greater threat emerges, an unexpected attraction ignites, blurring the lines between captive and captor.

In a world where survival demands sacrifice, she must decide whether to trust the demon who holds her fate or destroy the very man she’s sworn to erase from history.

—————————-

So! That's the next story that I'm already working on. Yes, I'm motivated to write a whole new Alastor story. No, I wouldn't call it an obsession.

There's some things I'm doing differently this time around. Firstly, I'm actually outlining in detail. Demi Demon got a little long and sometimes I just didn't know what to write. This will also keep my chapters under ~30 instead of 76!

Secondly, I'm writing a majority of the story before I publish anything. I have always appreciated fanfic writers who update consistently and I want to do that for you as well, especially since you were so incredibly patient with me last time.

Thirdly, chapters will be sent out once or twice a week. That will be decided later on when I'm ready to publish it.

I expect this to take me 1-2 months to finish. But Sparrow, that's so far away. Why would you tell us about this now? Because I need accountability that people are waiting on a story :P

In the meantime, I may post a teaser here and there. Though it mostly gives us plenty of time to reminisce on Demi Demon. In case you didn't see the post, I'm very open to requests or questions. And thank you to those who have submitted the opinion form, I see you there :)

I'm super excited about this new story and I hope you'll like it, too. Thank you for your constant support -- it never goes unnoticed! <3

Love, Sparrow

[lancermylove]

Date with Belphie (Scenario)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Belphie x gn!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hi! This is my first request, idk if I over did with the million ideas 🐌 hope any of them are good enough! Fandom: Obey me! I'm thinking about an oneshot or scenario of taking belphie to a date with a rich GN!mc, something like clothes shopping for him - going to a theater with a dramatic story and mc crying with the end like: IF IT WERE US I WOULD HAVE SCAPED TO BE WITH YOU!! - going to a big masquerade but preferring the balcony to see the stars - them visiting a festival and belphie buying flowers for them from a walking seller that called them a cute married couple. Or maybe them taking ball dancing lessons together 🥺💕

A/N: Thank you for sending in the request! I am sorry for taking so long to finish it. 🙇🏻‍♀️ There are a lot of ideas for just one date, so I picked a few. Hope you like it!

Word Count: 916

———————————————

The city was alive with the hum of evening chatter, glowing streetlights, and the sweet scent of blooming flowers planted alongside the street. You smiled at Belphegor, who seemed curious and mildly annoyed as he tried on another coat. You had spent the past hour browsing through clothes racks, insisting on finding the perfect outfit for tonight. Belphie, while generally indifferent to fashion, appreciated your enthusiasm and played along.

"Do I really need to try on another one?" Belphie asked in a playful whine.

You grinned, taking a step closer to adjust the lapels of his coat. "Just one more. You'll see, it's worth it. Besides, you look amazing."

A faint blush colored his cheeks, but he rolled his eyes. "If you say so, but you're lucky that I am willing to forgo sleep for you."

The two of you stared at each other before laughing. While the laughter echoed softly in the quiet of the upscale boutique, no one bothered to look at either of you. After a few more minutes of indecisiveness, you finally settled on the midnight blue coat paired with a sleek black shirt. It was perfect for the evening you had planned—a night of theater and a festival under the stars.

As you entered the theater buzzing with anticipation, your arm looped through Belphie's. The venue's grandeur, with its gold trimmings and velvet curtains, only heightened your excitement. The play you had chosen was renowned for its intense storyline and emotional depth. You couldn't wait to see his reaction to the emotional rollercoaster and secretly hoped he wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the play.

As the play progressed, you were drawn into the story—a tale of love, betrayal, and sacrifice. When the climax approached, you were on the edge of your seat while your heart pounded. By then, you forgot to steal glances at Belphie to see his reaction and ensure he wasn't asleep. The lead characters, caught in a forbidden romance, were forced to make an impossible choice. The tension built until the final act, where the lovers chose to stay bounded to their responsibility instead of escaping and living freely together.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you gripped Belphie's hand tightly. The passion in the characters' voices and the anguish in their expressions were overwhelming.

"If it were us," you whispered, barely audible over the dramatic crescendo of the music, "I would have escaped to be with you."

Belphie turned his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing gesture. "I know you would. And I'd do the same for you."

The play ended in a whirlwind of applause, but you remained seated to compose yourself. However, Belphie gently tugged you to your feet, his smile warm and reassuring.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get some fresh air."

The night air was cool, and a gentle breeze carried the sounds of laughter and music from a nearby festival. The lively atmosphere was a welcome change from the heavy emotions you experienced in the theater. Colorful lights twinkled overhead, and the air was filled with the delicious aroma of street food. If Beel were with the two of you, he would have downed every last crumb available in the stall—the thought made you giggle. Belphie also seemed relaxed in the vibrant environment as he scanned the area with a soft smile.

You wandered through the stalls, sampling various treats and admiring the artistry of local vendors. The festival was a beautiful mosaic of cultures and traditions, each corner offering something new and exciting. When the two of you walked past an elderly flower seller, her eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Flowers for the lovely couple?" she asked, her gaze shifting between you and Belphie.

"Yes, please," your boyfriend smoothly said as he selected a small bouquet of white lilies. Handing them to you, he paid and thanked the seller, who was quietly studying your expression.

"Such a cute married couple," she murmured before returning to the other side of her stall. From the smile she gave you, it was evident that the woman was only teasing you, but your cheeks burned red. Belphie also picked up on the mischievous tone in her voice, but his focus was on you. Seeing your flushed face and attempts to hide behind your face behind the bouquet, he chuckled.

Belphie smirked and wrapped an arm around your shoulders before pulling you close to his side. "Should we explore more of the festival, my dear wife/husband?"

Despite your shyness, you laughed and nodded. "There's a lot more to see."

As the night drew on, you found a quiet spot away from the crowd and sat together on a bench beneath a canopy of stars. Belphie leaned back, gazing up at the sky with a content expression.

"Thank you," he said after a while. "For tonight. For everything."

You leaned against him while the lilies rested in your lap. "Thank you for coming with me. I had a wonderful time."

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the festival lights. "I'm glad. Because there's no one else I'd rather be with."

As your heart swelled at his words, you leaned closer to kiss his cheek softly. "Me neither, Belphie."

Under the vast, starry sky, you sat together, enjoying the peaceful silence between you and your boyfriend—a perfect ending to a perfect night.

———————————————

➣  Please visit my website for the full masterlist!

[soupbabe]

Heyo, Me Again! Could I Maybe Request A Part 2 To That Jojo Characters x Morbid! Himbo! Reader I Requested Awhile Back? This Time With Weather, Kars, And Rohan?

No Pressure And It's Totally Chill If You'd Rather Not Do Repeats Or Anythin! Hope You Have A Rad Day, Yoski! 👈🐻👈

JoJo Characters with a Morbid! Himbo! Reader: Part 2

Featuring: Weather Report, Kars, Rohan Kishibe

No problem anon!! Usually I max out repeat prompts like this when it hits 3 parts, so you're good!!

Kars

- He loves keeping you around just for the pure entertainment you give him

- Usually he has no time for less than bright humans, especially if you're clumsy or if you forget things easily

- But you? The man that could describe in detail about how rattlesnake venom can rot off the limb that it bit just for the fun of it? Oh he's keeping you around

- In all honesty, Kars isn't too impressed by your little fun facts. He's lived a long life, done just about anything you could think of

- You'll try your best to unnerve him and it's entertaining to see you not grasp his "accomplishments"

- "Human sacrifices? Really, human? I was seen as a god among men, thousands have been slaughtered in my name. Try harder next time."

Rohan Kishibe

- Oh yeah no doubt this man has used Heaven's Door on you without you knowing

- Literally you are an enigma to him. It's frustrating but you pull him back in with your golden retriever like charm

- He's so used to scaring others off so that they'd leave him alone, whether by his intense stare or eating insects

- But you barely reacted. Dare I say you laugh at his attempt to get you off of his porch.

- Since then he's learned to genuinely enjoy your company !!

- He's learned to appreciate your sweet moments, smile at your dumb moments, and he makes sure to get a notebook out whenever you have a horrifying "what if" thought

Weather Report

- Yeah out of this list he's the most unphased

- Just a thing that happens when you're Anasui's mediator, he holds him back at his most violent. You having a weird idea or fun fact isn't going to shake him

- However you might get a side eye if you laugh at something at the wrong time

- Omg head empty just thinking about you bringing Weather venomous spider or snake from the courtyard and showing it off to him

- Apart of him enjoys hearing you talk and ramble, but also he wants to slap out whatever is in your hand because you picked up a dangerous animal without a thought behind your eyes

- Remember when it was raining poisonous frogs? He isn't one to believe in miracles but the fact you didn't die during that proved him wrong

[feudalconnection]

The Nomination Period for the 3rd Term 2024 Inuyasha Fandom Awards is now CLOSED!!

Hey everyone!

Below the cut you'll find a complete list of all of the Fanfiction nominations received for this term! You can also find it on Google Docs.

Click here for the complete list of Fanart nominations.

Thank you to everyone who participated in this term for taking the time to do so. We hope you enjoyed your experience! If you do not see your nomination, please reach out to us as soon as possible!

We strongly encourage that when you view a work of art or read a fanfiction, please reblog or leave a review to let the creators know how much their work and talent is appreciated!

As a reminder, we are giving 3 weeks time to enjoy all of the creations. The voting period will begin October 6th and end October 20th.

In order to be able to vote, you'll need to register so we can keep it all neat and clear. We will be posting the link to the voting form on the first day of the voting session.

Got a question? Check out our FAQ or send us an ask. You can also message one of the mods directly!

Thank you to everyone who nominated for making this 3rd Term absolutely wonderful, and happy voting!

Best Action/Adventure

"Nowhere With You" by Langus (AO3)

"Dear Sesshoumaru" by @ladydanitar

"In the Blood" by @dawnrider

"Wild Rabbit Chase" by @justafewsmallsteps / HelikaAkileh (AO3)

Best Alternate Universe/Reality

"Palmistry" by @classysassy9791

"Sense and Sensibility, An Inuyasha Retelling" by @ruddcatha

"i beg of you" by @thegoldenappleofdiscord / feudalreesespieces (AO3)

"What Happens in Vegas" by @rainandyarn

"It takes a friend to open your eyes" by @ruddcatha

"The Merrier" by TheMondayChild (AO3)

Best Canon Universe

"Whatever It Takes" by Emmyyasha (AO3)

"Sesshomaru: A Feudal Fairy Tale" by @acb6293

"Love Language" by @shikonstar

"Wishful" by @rileyoe1

"what she doesn't want" by @ssukidesu

"Without Regret" by PrettyWoofEars (AO3)

Best Angst

"Sacrifices" by @elkonigin

"Legacy" by @fandomobsessions016

"Held Up in the Rain" by @mrfeenysmustache / AshMish111 (AO3)

"Still a Fan" by TheMondayChild (AO3)

"Don't Buy Me Flowers" by ShyGuyVi (AO3)

Best Dark

"Lest the Past Haunts Me" by mauigurl808 (FFN)

"Legacy" by @fandomobsessions016

"Panic Mode" by @mitsiepitsie-blog

"Still a Fan" by TheMondayChild (AO3)

"Gilded Cage" by WickedNonProfitWhoreganization (AO3)

"Broken" by @my-inukag-fanfiction / InuKaglover69 (AO3)

"vampire empire, baby doll" by @lutelyre

Best Drama

"We Can't Be Friends" by Red_Spiderliliy (AO3)

"Inevitable" by @justafewsmallsteps / HelikaAkileh (AO3)

"Many Glowing Moons" by Woodrosia (AO3)

"Smoke and Mirrors" by flamethemightydragon (AO3)

"Nowhere With You" by Langus (AO3)

Best Humor/Parody

"Hack" by @timetravellingpaperbag

"the yakuza boyfriend" by @thegoldenappleofdiscord / feudalreesespieces (AO3)

"Sesshomaru Mer-made a Mistake" by @flowingsakura

"Wishful Chaos" by @inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

"Breaking the Ice" by @pipistrellee / Pipistrellus (AO3)

Best NSFW

"Here With You" by SomeKndOfNature (AO3)

"Many Glowing Moons" by Woodrosia (AO3)

"Daddy, Please" by @fawn-eyed-girl

"What Happens in Vegas" by @rainandyarn

"The Office Party" by @inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

"Satisfied" by @sereia1313

"Hot for Teacher" by LianaDawn (AO3)

Best One-Shot

"Whatever it Takes" by Emmyyasha (AO3)

"i beg of you" by @thegoldenappleofdiscord / feudalreesespieces (AO3)

"Pray miko, beg..." by Catzchen (AO3)

"The Office Party" by @inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

"you, I thought I knew you" by DrPearlGatsby (AO3)

Best Character Portrayal

"Sacrifices" (Inuyasha) by @elkonigin

"Dear Sesshoumaru" (Sesshomaru) by @ladydanitar

"Wishful Chaos" (Inuyasha) by @inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

"A Memory of Red Flame" (Sota) by @artistefish

"A Fleeting Moment" (Kaede) by Simply_ivy (AO3)

Best InuKag Romance

"Inevitable" by @justafewsmallsteps / HelikaAkileh (AO3)

"Here With You" by SomeKndOfNature (AO3)

"In the Blood" by @dawnrider

"My Brother's Bestfriend" by @keichanz

Best MirSan Romance

"More Than Enough" by @serial-doubters-club / hakomorebi (AO3)

"Sense and Sensibility, An Inuyasha Retelling" by @ruddcatha

"An Auspicious Fortune" by @fawn-eyed-girl

"Scars" by @skyelara

Best Romance

"time will tell" by @savethelastdan / Shespitsfire (AO3)

"For the Dancing and the Dreaming" by @flowingsakura

"Our Special Love" by @jeremymarsh

"Red" by @sagemcmae

"This is Unnecessary" by @jewel-shard

Best Fluff

"Home" by @witchygirl99

"Riding my Professor" by ValentineHeart14 (AO3)

"Boyfriend's Hoodie" by @classysassy9791

"Love Language" by @shikonstar

"Peony For Your Thoughts" by @sereia1313

Best Serial

"Hanyou Holidays" by @dawnrider

"Firsts" by @soliska / Evilillusions (AO3)

"Beneath Goshinboku" by Ldesu (AO3)

"Spiritual" by @rileyoe1

"This Is How I Show You" by @minakok

"Your Place or Mine?" by LianaDawn (AO3)

Best Ficlet

"From the Brink" by @serial-doubters-club / hakomorebi (AO3)

"The Western Lord's Dilemma" by @theshipthatgotaway / SimpforSessKag (the_ship_that_got_away) (AO3)

"Boyfriend's Hoodie" by @classysassy9791

"Shippo's Wish" by @heynikkiyousofine

Best Friendship Portrayal

"Hachi the Raccoon-Dog" (Hachi & Inuyasha) by @jewel-shard

"The Inquizition" (Miroku & Inuyasha) by @kstewdeux

"Coterie" (Miroku & Inuyasha) by @elkonigin

"Prayer Hands wear Cursed Gloves" (Miroku & Kagome) by @mrfeenysmustache / AshMish111 (AO3)

Best Completed

"Hack" by @timetravellingpaperbag

"Held Up in the Rain" by @mrfeenysmustache / AshMish111 (AO3)

"Nuts About You" by @shikonstar

[yanderes-galore]

Oof, I'm here now! Better later than never, so first request is concept/HCS for Solas from Dragon Age Inquisition, please -🐈

I'm really hoping I don't mess up this character because he's so damn important. But if I do... I apologize as my knowledge on the topic is still not the best. I appreciate feedback since this character is so complex.

Adding "V1" to this since this was written when I'm very new to Dragon Age... also DA4 isn't out, so that may change things.

Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition/Trespasser

Yandere! Solas Concept V1

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Deception, Overprotective/Possessive, Isolation, Kidnapping, Solas thinks he's doing the right thing, Somewhat lucid yandere, OOC Solas most likely, Dubious companionship/relationship.

I personally feel, due to his origins, his obsession is more likely to lean platonic.

He is capable of feeling love but he may feel more like a mentor towards his obsession.

After all, he's really an ancient elf that's lived for thousands of years.

He is a man who wants to do whatever he can to help, just like he wanted to do for his people.

Yet his efforts probably isn't always the right thing.

He is a wise being who would first concern himself with watching over you.

Especially if you are an Inquisitor.

Solas does care about his obsession despite what he does, just like in his romance.

He's surprisingly honest, sometimes admitting things you don't quite understand.

His obsession makes him falter in his goals.

At first he isn't sure what to think of that.

His goal is to take down The Veil to restore Ancient Elves to their former glory.

Solas is loyal to his people and would sacrifice anything to achieve his goal.

But he begins to hesitate when he thinks of you.

Maybe he really does just see your bond as mentor and student.

That or he catches himself having genuine feelings for you.

Either way, the obsess he has over you makes him wish he could ignore it.

He cares about you... he knows his goal may end up hurting you in the end.

By the point he really starts to focus in his goal you've both known each other for a few years.

Which is why his decisions hurt him more.

I feel most of Solas' feelings and obsession are bittersweet.

It feels like yet another tragedy between him and his obsession.

He's torn between his goals that he's been focusing on, and you.

He feels you're both victims of fate in this situation.

He's always cared about you... even if things aren't meant to be.

Solas found the missions you did together enjoyable, your chats being a welcome form of entertainment for him.

He feels horrible that he's deceiving you and soon going to betray you in the end.

But when that eventually happens and you two cross paths... he'll find a way to compromise.

I imagine until his plan is fulfilled... Solas does not plan on letting his obsession go.

He's a powerful ancient elf mage who is extremely intelligent.

Solas may outsmart his obsession, he's seen a lot as an ancient elf.

Once you meet him again, years after the events of Inquisition, he has a plan.

He hopes you will forgive him when he constructs a trap for you.

By the time of Trespasser Solas has proven to be very strong with his magic.

The moment he gets you close enough, he embarks on his plan.

You'll stay beside him while he prepares to collapse The Veil...

Somehow he plans to safe you while sacrificing all the rest.

He never liked others around you while in the Inquisition.

He felt in a way they were unworthy, since the start Solas has felt a connection with you.

So... who cares what happens to the rest when he collapses The Veil?

He just cares about you... even though he hates to admit it, he wants you.

If he has to trap you beside him with a spell, so be it.

You may look at him with such betrayal in your eyes... but he tries to soothe you.

He says he's sorry... yet this is how things are meant to be.

He'll keep you beside him for as long as he can.

Even if he fails to save you... he'll never forget you.

Solas is a very tragic yandere... one who seems like he's your friend and companion...

Only to betray you in the end in many ways.

He wants to soothe the pain you feel... all while he keeps you trapped by his side, away from all you know.

You may be a friends... you may be lovers...

Regardless of what you are... you're his... and that's all that matters to him right now.

[guspartenza]

A letter from Clara Kent to Louis Lane, 1947

Art by Mary † (@rolarym_) • Instagram photos and videos

(...) September [crossed out] October 1947

My dearest Louis, It's nearing two years since...I've penned countless letters you've yet to discover...since I embraced what I believe to be my duty. I'm writing now, unsure if these words will ever find you, compelled by a need to sort through my thoughts. It's a quest for self-understanding, hoping that, in time, you might grasp the essence of me. There are moments when I scarcely recognize the woman in photographs, or the heroic murals painted in the streets. At times, a profound melancholy engulfs me, alongside a yearning to simply be Clara Kent. Yet, I am acutely aware of the sacrifices my duty entails, uncertain of when I may fulfill it. To ignore the talents bestowed upon me by God, or to withhold the aid I can offer to others, would be unjust. By the love I bear for you and my parents, I do not consider myself superior to anyone. However, I am convinced that my abilities can be of service. Just that. There was a period when I viewed these powers as a curse, but it would be dishonest to claim I don't revel in the role of Superwoman, despite my aversion to the moniker they've assigned to me.

I cherish the opportunity to aid others, the thrill of flight, and even the power of super-strength. Yet, there are moments when I find it burdensome. Sometimes, I feel like a child harboring a delightful secret that must remain hidden, and I find myself blushing whenever the topic of Superwoman arises in conversations. There are times when pain seeps in as I listen to you on the radio or read your words in the newspaper, painting me as a non-human entity, unpredictable and unworthy of trust. Your perspective is not lost on me; I might share the same view if our roles were reversed. Indeed, there was a time when I viewed myself through a similar lens. However, it's unfair for you to see me that way. Every day, you're sitting right in front of me. I'm honest with you about everything, presenting myself exactly as I am, with two exceptions: my role as Superwoman and my deep love for you. I fear the misconception that I might be someone I'm not. Finding the right moment to reveal the truth seems impossible, and sometimes, I wonder if it's better left unsaid. It's a challenging balance. I manage merely an hour of sleep daily, Louis, and spend much of my time soaring back and forth across the sky. It's a kind of madness, perhaps a beautiful one. I don't want to give it up, yet part of me wishes for a life without such burdens. This contradiction is mine to bear, hoping someday you'll grasp it. And maybe, one day, you'll open up to me too. We women sense these things, perhaps I even more so. I notice your glances, the way your smile lingers after our disagreements. Your inventive excuses just to spend an afternoon together or share a meal. I see through you. I understand the complexities of your marriage, your values, and your daughter. Your marriage exists in name only, a fact we're both aware of, just as your wife lives her life independently.

Occasionally, it seems there isn't much of a way out of your dilemma, just as there isn't much of a way out of mine, despite the vast differences between them. And I appreciate that you are honest in your own way. Other men wouldn't have a problem with a double life, they would take me as a lover without hesitating. While I could come to terms with that, I find joy and an even greater love for you in your decision not to pursue such a path, adhering instead to a set of morals that I might not fully subscribe to, especially when so many others vocally committed to these ideals fall short in their daily lives. I'm clinging to the hope for a miracle, a miracle of understanding between us. Perhaps such a miracle is elusive, and we're destined to remain forever intertwined as dear friends and confidants, which seems a bitter twist of fate. Maybe my thoughts are naïve. The world teeters on the edge of destruction, with looming threats of war, dangers from Luthor and others, and the recent brush with obliteration at the hands of Zod just eighteen months prior. When I reflect on the global turmoil and my own responsibilities, our adventures, yours and mine, chaste adventures confined to the spaces between office desks and a restaurant's corner, feel all too fleeting, and it strikes me as profoundly unjust. How can I expect you to understand me when I'm still grappling with my own identity? Yet, you grasp the concept of duty to others, of our purpose here to "love thy neighbor as thyself." Perhaps that shared comprehension is the foundation upon which you might come to understand the purpose behind my choice to don the red cape.

Art by (99+) AP en Tumblr

Read or download full fanfic here THE SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON - LordMallory - Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Elseworlds, DC Extended Universe, DC Universe Online, DC: The New Frontier, DCU, DCU (Comics), Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, Supergirl (1984), Supergirl (Comics), Supergirl (TV 2015), Superman & Lois (TV 2021), Superman (1940), Superman (Christopher Reeve Movies), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman Returns (2006) [Archive of Our Own] or here SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON-FREE ILLUSTRATED FANFIC by lordmallory on DeviantArt

[chaosincurate]

The best song ever made

So I want to discuss the song "Heroes" by David Bowie and make my case for why it is easily the best Bowie song, possibly the best song of all time, and how it represents the subjectivity of art in a really interesting way. So let's dive right in.

But first a quick note to say the best way to view this post is on my new (and WIP) website! The words are all the same as what you'll get here on Tumblr, but I'll have more formatting control over there, and I'll be posting updated versions of old posts that won't make it onto here. I'd appreciate it if you checked it out!

David Bowie's Best

First, I need to discuss the song within the context of Bowie's discography. Now, Bowie has a lot of great songs - he's a legend after all - so the claim that this is Bowie's best song is a big claim in and of itself, let alone the claim that it is easily his best or that it is the best song of all time. So why do I claim that so confidently?

Let's start with the fact that the instrumental is so perfectly conflicted, interesting, and powerful. The guitar that screeches in the distance like an air raid siren above the steady and secure drum beat and bassline. The second guitar that comes in with a catchy lick that sounds like a glimmer of hope... There's this perfect balance to the contrasting elements, and a comfort amongst a relatively bleak soundscape that makes this song a masterpiece regardless of Bowie's vocal performance.

Thankfully though, he didn't phone it in. Instead, he gave us the most impactful performance of his life. When it comes to the vocals on this song, it's all about the way it builds. We'll get into lyrics in a moment, but regardless of your interpretation, the vocal performance grounds it in some sense of reality and gives the song it's stakes. The way it begins almost conversationally and gradually becomes a desperate, begging yelp to his lover turns it into an operatic blend of acting a role and performing a song and that is yet another way this song is exceptional even amongst the most exceptional songs within an exceptional artist's discography.

Then there are his lyrics...

A Lyrical Rorschach Test

My favourite thing about "Heroes" is the fact that it's so open to interpretation. I have heard several people talk about their interpretations of this masterpiece, and every single person has had an at least slightly different take on the meaning, with almost all being valid readings as far as I could tell. And usually something this open-ended tends to sacrifice poignancy to that end, but here, it's hard to imagine a more poignant version of the song. In fact, I think the ambiguity only adds to it.

Some of this comes down to that conflicted instrumental I wrote about in the previous section, but a lot of it is to do with the lyrics. On a less important level, there are the aesthetic interpretations. This is basically in terms of the context of the struggle of the song. Essentially it comes down to "is this a relationship that exists within a warzone or a warzone that exists within a relationship?". It isn't really that impactful to the meaning of the song, but it does change things slightly, to either make it about fighting something external or something internal. It's spice to the meaning, and there is some variation in what people think about it.

This is the more interesting bit to me though: the balance of hope and dread. Does the narrator here believe that one "win" - this one heroic day - is a domino amongst many that will lead to sustained positive change, or the one thing they need to be able to end it (whatever that "it" refers to) in peace, knowing they went down swinging?

That is a very macro view of things, but you could do this for almost every line. I had this idea for a post after my brother and I went through the lyrics with differing interpretations on the lyrics, going line by line explaining what that line means to us and how it relates to our overall view on the meaning of the song. He had an interpretation akin to the domino one I mentioned previously, where one good day can prove to them that they can become better people (that is my recollection at least, I can't quite remember if he thought the allusions to conflict were metaphorical), and my interpretation was essentially that it's a desperate man's hopeful plea to his significant other for one more chance at this doomed and mutually destructive relationship. Every. Single. Line. Was followed by an agreement that each of our interpretations were, not just supported by the lyrics, but equally valid and cast-iron interpretations.

I had already heard a few examples, but this prompted me to ask others what their interpretation of this song was, and again, everyone had a slightly different, valid view and it was so intriguing to hear them all.

The Perfect Work of Art

If you thought the previous sections were pretentious, just you wait, I'm about to get downright insufferable.

I think "Heroes" is the perfect work of art. And I don't use the word "perfect" lightly at all. I'm extremely hesitant to use it, but it is just hard to deny it's suitability here. This song excels at everything that you want art to excel at, and that list is very contradictory, so that's no easy task. Much like trying to define what art should be, which I'm going to try to do here, but don't take it too seriously, this is just a blog post from a painfully autistic music nerd.

The main thing for me is that art should speak to something powerfully human. The best thing you can experience with art is the feeling you've been seen on some core level. That the art is showing you something about yourself that is buried so deep that no society has even found the words required to uncover it. I think it's safe to say that "Heroes" accomplishes this. The desperation to cling onto connection is something that I think everyone can relate to on some level, and when you mix it with the dumb hope and desire to try something that seems doomed just because it feels wrong to do anything else, and you've got a very human reaction to hardship. Despite how often we tell ourselves that we could never go on living if this happened, how often we tell ourselves we're doomed if that happened, when actually confronted with hardship on that scale we can be beautifully dumb and illogical, clinging to a ship no matter how submerged it may be. And "Heroes", I feel, captures that stubborn hope excellently.

In addition to speaking to something powerfully human, I think art is at it's best when its open to interpretation. It allows the experience mentioned above to happen to multiple people, or even in multiple different ways to the same person, uncovering a new core element of the same person's being each time they pay attention to the art. I've already talked at length about how much the song excels at this point, but I can't express enough how this song has the most valid interpretations of a song that I have ever seen. It is truly exceptional in that area.

The Death of the Author

As some of you will be aware, the death of the author is an stance regarding interpretations of art that argues that once a given work is released, the author of that work is, for all intents and purposes as it regards interpretations of their work, dead. Essentially, the person reading their book, watching their movie, listening to their song, decides what that work means. The author can have a say, but their say means no more than anyone else's.

With that in mind, I would like to make a rare call-to-action here. I know, calls-to-action are icky, I hate them too, but this isn't about going viral, I promise. I just want to hear your interpretation of the song. You can do that in any way you would like, whether that's via the comments here, Tumblr, Bluesky, the contact form at the bottom of the site, wherever. I just really want to hear your thoughts!